Super Powereds: Year 3

     By Drew Hayes

     Edited by Kisa Whipkey (kisawhipkey.com)

     Cover by Barry Behannon (barrybartist.com)

     Copyright No 2015 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 book is dedicated to those who founded the legacy that would steer my fantasies toward capes flying across the sky. To Joe Shuster, Jerry Siegel, Jack Kirby, Stan Lee, and the myriad of other creators too numerous to name. You turned what might have been a practical, normal, child into a hopeless dreamer, and I will never stop being grateful for that.

     I also have to take a moment and thank my amazing beta readers. To E Ramos E, Priscilla Yuen, and Bill Hammond; you three really kicked this up a notch.

     Foreword

     Damn, made it to Year 3, didn’t we? Only one more left after this one, though it bears mentioning that there is a spin-off currently running on DrewHayesNovels.com. At this point, I think you know what you’re in for. There will be booze, and violence, and even a bit of the old sexual themes. And, last but never least, a healthy amount of curse words. By this point, you probably saw all that coming though, but, on the off chance you just picked this up without reading the other two . . . don’t. That’s a bad idea. It’s not how a series is supposed to work.

     All right, you know the score for what’s ahead. I’ll shut up now and let you get to the good stuff. Hope you enjoy!

     Prologue

     Nicholas was waiting for a fresh drink when he spotted a familiar figure practically stomping through the casino below. A thin smile touched his lips as he charted the figure’s path from his balcony. The figure was male, and he was a few days later than Nicholas had expected, though he was certainly moving with haste now that he was here. Nicholas briefly entertained the idea of letting security deal with the clearly irate man, but then thought better of it. For right now, he needed to play a gentle hand; being too antagonistic would work against his long-term strategy. Besides, this was not a man one trifled with lightly.

     “Diane,” Nicholas said as his waitress appeared with a fresh cocktail. “Bring me a glass of scotch—whatever Gerry keeps on reserve should be fine—and tell security to show the man they’re tracking to my table.”

     “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

     Nicholas paused for a moment, then responded with two words: “Crab cakes.”

     Orders taken, Diane dissolved into the regular area of the restaurant, from which she’d emerged. Nicholas was sitting in a private section that jutted out, overlooking the casino below. It was reserved for high rollers, visiting celebrities, Heroes of a certain caliber (who were really just another type of celebrity), and friends of the Family. It was where he took most of his meals, at least the ones he ate in view of the public.

     The scotch had been delivered and Nicholas’s own drink drained by a quarter when his guest finally arrived. Nicholas rose from his seat, slapped on a happy grin, and extended his hand in welcome.

     “Dean Blaine, such a pleasure to see you.”

     Dean Blaine, to his credit, did a better job concealing his frustration now than he had when dealing with the lackeys below. Rather than giving into the temptation to deck his former student right in his smug little face, Dean Blaine merely ignored the extended hand and took a seat at the table.

     “What,” he began, striking the “t” against his teeth, “do you think you’re trying to pull?”

     Nicholas lowered his hand and sat back down. His left hand twitched as he suppressed an urge to adjust sunglasses that were not, and had not been for months, still present on his face. Strange that though Nick was gone, the tics he’d crafted remained.

     “I’m having dinner. The drink is for you, by the way, and we should have some crab cakes here in a few minutes.”

     “You know perfectly well that’s not what I’m talking about.” Dean Blaine reached into his jacket pocket and produced a folded stack of papers. He set them on the table, and then pushed them across. “This is your class schedule for the coming year. At Lander.”

     “I appreciate it, but I already printed a copy when I registered,” Nicholas said cheerfully.

     “Which is, essentially, the core issue we seem to have. You were expelled. While most of your memories of the HCP were obscured, that part should have remained very clear.”

     “I remember it so well I even recalled your name, didn’t I? No, you were very clear, and I am under no misimpressions. I understand perfectly that I have been expelled . . . from the HCP.” The weight Nicholas put on his final words left no doubt at their implication.

     “Lander and the HCP go hand in hand,” Dean Blaine replied. “We welcome back those who merely fail out of the program; however, being expelled carries the understanding that you are no longer welcome on campus.”

     “You’d think so, but our lawyers were able to find a surprising amount of precedent suggesting that not to be the case.” Nicholas paused while Diane returned with the plate of crab cakes, still steaming slightly and looking positively delectable. Once she was gone, he continued. “While grades at Lander can hinder one’s progression in the HCP, it seems that’s a one-way street. Leaving the HCP, situation regardless, is not in itself reason for the college to bar a student from regular classes.”

     “You’re not the only one with lawyers,” Dean Blaine said stiffly. “And let me assure you, the ones we keep are good enough to make it a much cheaper, and easier, solution to just change schools.”

     “Sadly, my heart is set on Lander,” Nicholas shot back. “And the fact of the matter is that I can make a stronger case for staying than you can for me leaving. My HCP memories are gone—I can’t blow the whistle on any of the Supers I was in class with, thanks to the memory mojo—and I’m sure you’ll make everyone aware of the fact that they should steer clear of me. On the other hand, all my class memories are intact, I have a community of friends and teachers outside the program that I don’t want to leave, and consistency is a key factor for growing minds, like my own.”

     “You never talked to anyone outside the program.”

     “I had enough interaction that my lawyer can paint me as a boy being victimized by the big bad HCP. I even had a girlfriend freshman year; maybe I want to rekindle things with her, now that I have free time.”

     Dean Blaine took a long drink of the scotch in front of him. It wasn’t bad, but he’d definitely had better. “So, you can probably come back. But that still doesn’t answer the question of why you’d want to. You seem far more at home here.”

     Nicholas leaned back in his chair, surveying the room around him. Dean Blaine wasn’t wrong. This was his kingdom, his domain. Here, he was a prince being groomed for a throne. Here, he was someone special, with or without his ability. His hand twitched again, breaking his concentration.

     “My reasons are largely my own, Dean Blaine. I’ll tell you this much though: HCP or not, Lander is far from boring.”

     “Far from boring,” Dean Blaine repeated.

     “Indeed.” Nicholas glanced away to spear a chunk of the crab cakes cooling on his plate, and, in doing so, he missed the instantaneous flash of a smile that lighted upon Dean Blaine’s face, then vanished just as quickly.

     Which just went to show, a moment’s distraction can make even the most skilled manipulator miss the clues that he is being played.

     *              *              *

     Vince coughed roughly, a few flecks of spit and blood splattering onto the ground. They were quickly absorbed by the thick layer of dust that coated everything in this awful place. He pressed his hand into the dirt and pulled himself to his feet. A few blinks cleared more of the damned dust from his eyes, and he was ready to go again.

     The sun gleamed off George’s metallic form, a tactic he’d already used several times to blind Vince just before an attack. Unlike the younger man, he wasn’t affected by the scorching heat, nor by the bits of brown dirt that swirled around them constantly. This environment was only taxing for someone made of flesh. It was one of dozens of variables specifically calculated to leave Vince weary and weak. Personally, George thought it was overkill, but he wasn’t the one calling the shots.

     “Need me to get you a rock to sit on?” George taunted. “I don’t think you’re going to make it through another day. Best to call it quits, and get back to the safety of your dorm.”

     There was no response from Vince; he’d learned by the third day that responding to George’s barbs only sapped him of saliva, intensifying his sense of dehydration. Periodically, the robotic man would stop to demand Vince take a drink from the nearby canteen. No one wanted him to drop dead, it seemed, but he’d over-taxed himself and passed out more than a few times. He always got back up, though. He always kept going after his opponent. Not out of some sense of duty or obligation, nor even a misguided belief that there was nobility in fighting a hopeless battle.

     Vince pressed on because of the deal they’d struck on their first day here.

     He charged forward, feinting right, then darting left. It wasn’t going to fool George—Vince knew that already—but it would force him to expand his observational field, in case Vince did it again. And that would dilute his attention, even if it was only by a fractional amount. Every little bit helped. Vince reached down deep and grabbed some kinetic energy. Electricity was wasted on a man who could convert it into his own power source, and fire would only make this wasteland more hellish on himself. Besides, the way George was knocking him around, there was no shortage of kinetic energy to replace it with.

     Vince spun forward, just shy of George’s reach, dancing back a half-step, then barreling toward him with renewed intensity. It threw off the timing of the punch George had directed toward his face, catching Vince in the shoulder instead. He was ready for this one, though; the bone-shattering force of the blow instantly became part of Vince’s internal arsenal, rather than sending him flying. His own attack was deflected by George’s nimble hand, jerking him off balance and loosening his shoulder in its socket. Vince was able to stop himself from falling over, but the momentary distraction meant he wasn’t ready for the knee George drove into his ribs.

     Vince let out a soft whimper of pain and collapsed. With extreme care, he poked his sides. Two ribs were broken, and at least one more was bruised. But all of it would be gone in the morning. Vince didn’t know why his broken bones vanished as he slept, nor why the continual healing did nothing for his everyday aches and soreness, but he’d come to accept it as just another part of this strange situation.

     “Nice try, kid. Now, how about we get you to a hospital and let things be done.” George backed off to let him recover. It may have seemed like this was a kindness, but in truth, it was almost sadistic. If he hammered on Vince without pause, the young man would be beyond repair; he wouldn’t be able to fight on. That would mean this deal, and his suffering, were over. So instead, George let him get back up, and the excruciating process dragged on.

     “Bet you thought you’d have figured something out by now. Bet you were feeling all kinds of badass after that little spectacle you put on at Lander. Sorry, kid, but you need to accept reality. Just because you were able to hold back a few sophomores for a couple of minutes doesn’t mean you’re ready to play with the big boys. Especially when you had to have Campbell brain-jack you before you could pull off even that. Give it up.”

     Vince dragged himself back to his feet, his breathing labored as each gasp drew protest from his ribs. The first few days, he’d been fired up, taking George’s barbs and coming back harder and faster. After a week or so, he’d learned to steady his emotions. George once said that inner fire might make you scary, but inner cold made you dangerous. Vince was beginning to understand what he’d meant.

     An unsteady step forward confirmed that he could at least still walk under his own power. Good. As long he could keep going, he hadn’t lost. The deal was still in full effect.

     It wasn’t a complicated bargain—neither party was that sort of thinker. George had merely made him a proposition, once his seeming captive had awoken: Vince was free to go at any time, and if he ever reached a point of injury so great that he couldn’t continue, he would be transported to a hospital and abandoned. The flip side was that, if Vince was able to beat George, even once, then George would willingly return himself to jail. That alone might have kept Vince going, but then George had added a cherry to the top of the offer. If Vince beat George, he got more than returning a fugitive to rightful incarceration. George would also take him to see his father. With that carrot dangling in front of him, Vince never, even once, considered giving up. George could taunt him, beat him, and ridicule him all he wanted. Vince wasn’t quitting. And if he could at all help it, he wasn’t going to lose by injury either.

     The silver-haired young man took two more weary steps forward, drops of sweat falling from his forehead into the damned dusty ground, and charged.

     *              *              *

     Mary jumped slightly at the sound of a tree being shattered into kindling. She’d gotten lost in her book and hadn’t noticed when Alice switched her training. Looking up from the depths of the dense tome, she noticed her blonde friend had moved toward the edge of the clearing for this round of practice.

     Alice’s face was furrowed in concentration as she focused on reversing, then intensifying, the flow of gravity in a defined area. The small tree she was staring at began to shiver as one of the natural forces of the universe was suddenly thrown out of whack. A quick sweep of her hand removed a lock of sweaty hair from Alice’s eyes. She’d been training for a few hours, alternating between using her body and her power, and if she followed the routine she’d established, it would be several more hours before she was done. If Mary had feared allowing her to come would fill this silent sanctuary with chatter, those worries had been unfounded. Whatever Alice was going through, she’d evidently found more solace in training than talking. Not to say she was unfriendly or aloof, merely constantly occupied.

     The tree tore from the ground as the upended gravity proved to be too much for even strong roots to struggle against. It drifted into the air lazily, the powerful pull reduced almost immediately to a sense of weightlessness. It had taken Alice two weeks to get a sapling out of the ground, and another three days before she’d been able to keep one from flying off into the air. That had been some time ago; the tree currently suspended in mid-air was far larger than a mere sapling.

     Alice took hold of both ends with opposing gravitational forces, pulling them tight and bringing its drift to a stop. She’d wasted more time than she cared to admit trying to fine-tune this trick to the point where she could actually pull the tree in half. No matter how much she put into it though, she was never able to conjure enough force to overcome the structural integrity of one of Mother Nature’s oldest designs.

     Another prodigious cracking filled the air as the tree shattered at its center, then fell to the ground. Alice couldn’t pull them in half, but she could now add a third pull of gravity in the middle. Once it was pulled tight, not even a mighty oak could overcome the laws of physics.

     A quick walk to a new target—a few feet away—began the cycle anew. Alice would do this for some time longer, working hard at focusing her mind on singular tasks, learning to blot out all other thoughts, all other distractions, all other curiosities. Learning to blur out everything but the task at hand.

     Especially things related to her parents.

     *              *              *

     Hershel stretched backward, listening to the soft pops from his spine as it crackled, giving him blissful but all too short relief. He’d gotten better at lifting with his legs—that much had been necessary to avoid serious injury—but even after several months of work, he still hadn’t quite managed to eliminate using his back entirely. That meant, by the time he was ready to change into Roy, his body had acquired quite a number of throbbing aches and pains. And that was on the good days. Sometimes, he didn’t even get to turn into Roy, which meant the pain persisted through the night.

     With a mighty haul of effort, Hershel yanked two pails loaded with feed up from the ground. Grunting and snorting came from the stalls, all reinforced with a myriad of metals designed to keep the altered animals contained. They worked well, for the most part. There had been an incident or two, but from the way everyone else shrugged them off, Hershel had assumed it was par for the course around here. Of course, after the first one, he began keeping an emergency container of whiskey on him at all times. Hershel was easy-going, not stupid.

     “Hurry up!” Gus yelled from the arena. “We need you to check the saddles before tonight’s show!”

     “Hurrying,” Hershel called back, throwing his already pained body into motion. This hadn’t really been the sort of training he was anticipating when he asked his mother to find him a teacher, but if the protesting in his muscles and smaller waistline on his pants were any indication, it was certainly yielding results.

     Roy was less optimistic about their situation, but then again, what was new about that?

     *              *              *

     Sean Pendleton looked around the room anxiously. It was strange; there was a time when he’d have been filled with comfort to see so many masked faces perched atop flamboyant costumes. Then again, he would have been wearing one as well. Nothing so ostentatious, obviously, as Subtlety Heroes tended toward more muted color schemes. When Sean had been Wisp, his outfit was done in black swirls and soft grays. It didn’t have built-in armor, like many of the others, so it was thin enough to wear under street clothes when need be. The mask and gloves he’d been able to carry, but the real issue had been the boots. Those boots were a pain in the ass. Not that any of that mattered anymore. Wisp was gone, and Sean was dearly hoping no one recognized his lean face as the one that once been under a mask.

     There were other people in regular clothes dotted amongst the Heroes. Some were liaisons for the Hero community, some served purposes best left unspoken, some were lawyers kept on retainer in case they were needed, and others were people who had walked away from the spandex and action some years earlier. Among them were Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers, talking to a petite woman and a large man, both wearing suits that matched their own. Another un-costumed individual, Dean Blaine, walked through the room and sat in an uncomfortable folding chair next to Sean. Both of them were now facing the stage, a moderately sized, elevated platform with a white screen hung behind the podium.

     “Feeling awkward?” Blaine asked.

     “How could you tell?”

     “Let’s call it Hero’s intuition.”

     The others were filtering into their seats as well, an unstated yet understood signal telling them the presentation was about to start. Sean noticed a few of his fellow Lander professors among them, though he was less familiar with the clusters of Heroes they were speaking to. That was understandable; one always had a deep connection with the fellow graduates of their class. It was impossible not to, they’d scrapped and battled and trained alongside one another until only they were left standing. That sort of experience bonded people in a way that was nearly unbreakable.

     Even when one might fervently wish to break it.

     “Thank you all for coming,” the keynote speaker said, stepping onto the stage and taking his place at the podium. Charles Adair had also come out of costume, choosing a fine gray suit instead of The Alchemist’s attire. Blake Hill was a few steps away, adorned in the deep black shades of his Black Hole costume. Though they were not the ones who had called and organized this gathering—at least, not officially—they had been recognized as the people most suitable to lead it, given their relationship to the subject matter. Sean might have been able to think of people who knew the subject better than Blake Hill, but Charles’s expertise was beyond reproach. Not that many people here knew why.

     There was a gentle electronic hum and an audible clicking sound before the screen behind Charles filled with a familiar image. It had been all over the news in the past weeks, the subject of many round table discussions and piles of speculations. It was of a man perched atop a floating hunk of rock, a woman at his side, and a recently freed prisoner at his feet. He was the reason they were all here. He was the problem that warranted the collective attention of as many Heroes as possible.

     “As you all know, my former teammate, Globe, revealed himself to be alive some weeks ago with the very public jailbreak of Relentless Steel. Since he was kind enough to make his identity public before his retirement, I can tell you this prisoner’s real name is George Russell, and he was an educator in the Hero Certification Program for many years.”

     The room murmured. One Hero going rogue was bad, but a teacher was far more dangerous. A single Hero would only have in-depth knowledge about the identities and weaknesses of his graduating class, and possibly a few Supers who’d been in class years close to him. A professor would have that same data on every Hero he’d ever taught.

     “Yes, the implications here are very serious. Yet, bad as they are, the reemergence of Globe is still a higher priority,” Charles continued. “Most of you know that he turned on us, his teammates, after murdering Intra, and that we were only barely able to defeat him, thanks largely to Black Hole. We thought we had triumphed; however, it now seems we were wrong. For any of you wondering how we could have made a blunder of that scale, let me say this: that thought alone tells me you’ve never had any dealing with the man called Globe. And that is largely why we have called this conclave. If you go up against him, it is imperative you know what you are dealing with.”

     The clicking sound came again, and now they were staring at the same man, but decades younger. His face was lean, his mask crisp, and his eyes shining with pride. Sean recognized the photograph; it had been cropped from their graduation picture. He knew that Intra was next to Globe on one side, and Shimmerpath was on the other. Three people down, one could find Zero and Raze, then one more over and Wisp’s smiling face would beam back at them. It had been an unspeakably happy day.

     “Globe was the top-ranked graduate in his class. No small feat any year, his was especially impressive, given the quality of Heroes that came out along with him. It has been referred to by some as The Class of Legends, and while the name is hokey, I urge you to take it seriously. The graduates of that year’s class were of exceptional power and skill, and Globe handily trumped them all.”

     Sean wondered how Blaine felt about that. It had been closer than some people thought. Most believed Intra to be Globe’s main contender, but Zero hadn’t been too far behind either.

     “As to how Globe managed to come out on top, that’s part of what we’ll be going over. His ingenuity, his resourcefulness, his determination, and the largest factor in his, or any Hero’s, success: his power. I know there has been much speculation on what, exactly, Globe can do, given the variety of abilities he demonstrated during his tenure as a Hero.”

     There were rapid clicks as a series of images flashed before them: Globe, holding up a hand to stop a giant robot’s impending fist. Globe, walking unscathed through a river of lava that parted before him. Globe, holding a bus overhead with a single finger as he calmly knocked back a bolt of destructive energy.

     “Many have theorized that Globe was a telekinetic the likes of which had never been seen. Others believed he had an ability that randomized, giving him different gifts on different days. As is policy, his true talents were kept secret, just as his identity was. Since he was believed dead so soon after becoming a criminal, this data was never declassified. However, given the extenuating circumstances, we have received permission to educate you all on the actual nature of Globe’s ability. I wish I could say this was meant to be helpful, but in truth, I’m just hoping it helps you stay alive.”

     The slide clicked again, this time, showing what appeared to be a bastardization of DaVinci’s “Vitruvian Man”. A human silhouette was in the center, with a carefully measured radius encircling him.

     “Globe’s ability was area manipulation. His body exuded a field that allowed him to control his surroundings. I don’t mean minor things, like moving objects or melting butter. Globe’s control was total, down to the molecules. He could sunder the very laws of physics. He negated energy, he changed chemical compositions, he could even render all other Supers in his field powerless. Or use their bodies to do what he wanted. When it was studied originally, one of the researchers dubbed Globe’s ability ‘The God Field.’ That term is more accurate than any other I’ve heard associated with his power. To all things in his sphere of influence, he was effectively God.”

     If the news of George’s profession had drawn the frantic murmuring of nervousness, this revelation drew something far more terrifying: silence. Each Hero in the room was comparing their own ability to the one just described, trying to think of a way to overcome it. The lack of outburst meant all of them were coming up empty.

     “The obvious limitation to Globe’s power was that it only applied within the field he emitted. At graduation, his sphere was estimated to be around sixteen feet in any direction from his body. Just before his supposed death, it was around twenty. The growth rate slowed as he aged, however, it did continue to inch forward over time. We have to assume this trend has continued in the years he has been hidden. It also bears noting that, since the field seems to emit from his skin outward, Globe’s physical body was not encompassed by it, meaning he had no more control over his body than an average human. Aside from that weakness, his power is limited only by his concentration. We believed we had bested him thanks to the pain Intra inflicted by cutting off his arm in their fight. And, on that note, there have been two recorded Supers Globe could neither control directly, nor suppress the powers of. One was Intra, whose own ability was believed to overpower Globe’s in regards to his body.”

     Sean already knew who the other was, but still tried to look away from his seat neighbor anyway.

     “The other was, of course, the Hero who was immune to all abilities. I’m sure everyone here is at least passingly familiar with Zero.”

     *              *              *

     The office was dark and cool, a place designed for ambiance over functionality. Ms. Pips had little need for an office, outside of the occasional private meeting. Her official job was in the casino, schmoozing high rollers and making sure everything ran the way she liked it. Her unofficial job . . . well, that was often conducted in the same casino, or far less savory places. Though, as she grew older, she found herself more inclined to let her subordinates handle the second category. If she were male, she could have delegated such errands to them entirely, but it seemed that, even in their unorthodox world, people were more willing to assume that the moment a woman stopped doing something, it was because she was no longer able. This was not that sort of meeting, though it could become one. Every meeting Ms. Pips conducted could always become one.

     “Have a seat,” she said to the young man (more man and less young than she remembered) who stepped through the door.

     “Of course,” Nicholas replied, walking across the plush rug and settling into a high-backed leather chair. He might be flippant when out and about, but he knew that this office was a symbol of her power. It was a place of tradition and, more importantly, respect.

     Gerry shifted almost imperceptibly. He was under orders to be silent, but, as the boy’s primary caretaker, he had the right to be up to speed on his assignments. Personally, Ms. Pips felt they should have cut the cord a long time ago, but she saw too much use in their closeness to tear them apart. Nicholas had so few weaknesses; it paid to have one of the few things he cared about directly under her control. Aside from which, Gerry was her top employee, and in this business, it was inexcusable to not take care of those who showed loyalty and dedication. If all Gerry wanted was to watch over his charge, then Ms. Pips would need a good reason to refuse him.

     Besides, it wouldn’t matter for much longer anyway.

     “I thought you’d like to know we got your book list for the coming year in the mail today,” Ms. Pips said, after an appropriately intimidating amount of silence had passed. Nicholas wore an expression of interest without giving away any shred of what was going on in his head. That lesson, at least, he’d learned well. “Along with a letter expressing the school’s happiness that you’ve decided to continue your education with them. “

     “I suppose Dean Blaine's objections were overruled then,” Nicholas assessed.

     “Fearsome as Supers are, they always pale in comparison to lawsuits,” Ms. Pips replied. “So you’re back in Lander, even though you’ve remained close-mouthed on exactly why it is you are so insistent to return.”

     “Be fair, the entire reason I had my memory fogged over was to hide valuable information. It stands to reason that Nick wouldn’t have included it in his end of semester reports,” Nicholas countered. Decoding the massive files he’d written during his breaks was relatively easy; it had been his mind that created the code in the first place, after all. Sorting out the context though, that had been more difficult. He still hadn’t pieced together what it was he’d thought he was on to, though he suspected Nick had purposely excluded key clues from the final report, as well as having bits of the previous reports destroyed. Nicholas trusted it was for good reason. After all, his own brain and its scheming were the only things in this world he really could trust.

     “Yes, Nick certainly did seem to feel he had a lot to hide. But, as is clear to all of us, Nick isn’t here anymore. Your cover character was effectively wiped out by your mental alteration. So why bother trying to solve his mystery? Why should I let you return to your little game with yourself, when there’s real work to be done here?”

     Nicholas leaned forward and allowed himself a light smile. They were to the heart of the matter now.

     “I can give you three reasons. Firstly, we both know I need a degree for our long-term plans, and Lander is a perfectly respectable institution to have on a diploma. Secondly, Nick made connections and built rapport with some very strong people, people who have an excellent chance of becoming influential and powerful in the future. Having friends in high places, especially ones who owe us favors, is the backbone of our enterprise. By going back, I can expand and deepen those relationships.”

     “I doubt the dean is planning to let you pal around with your old friends,” Ms. Pips pointed out.

     “Don’t worry, if the files are even close to accurate, they’ll come to me. These people are stupidly loyal, though I suppose that term was a bit redundant, wasn’t it?”

     Gerry didn’t twitch, didn’t shuffle in place, didn’t let his expression change. He did nothing to show the splinter of heartbreak that stabbed at him upon hearing Nicholas’s words. It wasn’t just the collection of sound from the young man’s mouth, it was the ruthlessness in his eyes. Gerry had seen those eyes soften over the past two years, but no sign of such sentimentality remained in the boy seated before him.

     “I think you said you had three reasons,” Ms. Pips reminded him.

     “Globe,” Nicholas said, spreading his hands. “The man is quite an enigma. So little is known about him, or what caused him to kill his team member. The one fact that is concretely agreed upon is that he is powerful. Tremendously so. He’s a man who can bend other Heroes to his will, and we know one thing he cares very deeply for. Add in the fact that Nick’s records indicate he thought he was on the trail to unraveling the mystery of Globe’s fall, and it all sums up the potential of gaining sway over one of the strongest Supers in generations.”

     “Quite a longshot,” Ms. Pips chided him.

     “Extraordinarily so. But, as I said, there are also good reasons to go. If one can throw a few chips on a longshot while also working a safe bet, and there is little extra cost, then doesn’t it make sense to give it a whirl?”

     Ms. Pips drummed her fingers against the wooden top of her desk. For over ten minutes, the rhythmic motion of her digits was the only sound that filled the room. She stared at the boy across the table, gauging him carefully. When she finally spoke, it was with confidence that she’d seen every angle he was working and could twist each to her own designs.

     “I’ll give you another year. We’ll see what you can do with it.”

     “Thank you,” Nicholas said.

     “However, I’m not certain that you aren’t doing all this just to satisfy your own curiosity, so I’m sending along some extra insurance.”

     Had Nicholas been Nick, he would have been wearing his sunglasses, and Ms. Pips wouldn’t have noticed the subtle tic of his eyes as he avoided looking at Gerry. Yeah, right. He wished. She pulled a pair of pages from a folder on her desk and slid them across the well-waxed wooden surface. Nicholas intercepted them before they careened off the edge. A small frown formed at the corner of his mouth.

     “Those two have been enrolled in Lander as well. They’ll be keeping tabs on you and making sure I stay in the loop. Memorize everything on that sheet. You’ll be expected to help sell their covers.”

     “Eliza, I don’t mind, but did you need to send her guard dog too?”

     “Yes, I did.” Ms. Pips pulled another sheet from her folder and sent it over. She didn’t wait for Nicholas to catch it before continuing. “We got a heads up on this last week. I decided to wait until we knew if you were allowed to go before telling you about it.”

     If the frown at the first two sheets had been noticeable, this one may as well have had giant neon signs pointing to it.

     “Nathaniel Evers has registered at Lander,” Nicholas said slowly.

     “Indeed. I’m sure your location was protected while you were in the HCP, but now that you are a regular student, they were able to track you down. That’s the other reason you’re going to have company.”

     Nicholas snorted. “I think I can handle Nathaniel.”

     “Maybe so, but I doubt he’s gone to all the trouble of going to California just to admire you from afar. Our Family has big plans for you, that much is common knowledge. Out there, away from our seat of power, you’re far more vulnerable.”

     “Careful, you’re starting to sound worried.”

     “I am very worried. The Evers have been growing bolder as of late, the McCrackens are sniffing around the edge of our territory, and my supposed greatest asset wants to go dick around in California on some wild goose chase left to him by a wiped cover identity. So yes, I worry for our Family, as is my duty.”

     “Then let me do my duty as an employee and take some of that worry off your shoulders. I assure you, Nathaniel will not be a problem. Not for me, not for us.”

     “You sound confident.”

     “Of course I’m confident. Nathaniel has never successfully bested me, not even when I was a Powered, and he was a Super. Anything he brings at me, I’m sure I can handle. Not to mention, even if he does manage to put together some surprise I’m not prepared for, I can always show him one of my trump cards.” Nicholas allowed a genuine smile to take the place of the frown that had previously soured his expression. “And I can promise you, no matter how far-fetched Nathaniel may believe my resources, the last thing he’ll be anticipating me to have is friends.”

     On that account, both Gerry and Ms. Pips could certainly agree, though doing so filled them with quite contrasting emotions.

     *              *              *

     The soft crackle of the fire was barely audible over Vince’s loud snores. They could have been muffled, or muted entirely, but Globe found he had no real desire to silence them. It was a comforting reminder of happier days, days when he didn’t have to knock his son out before he could be around him.

     “Tonight the night you finally cave and wake him up?” George asked. He’d nearly finished gorging himself on the food Globe brought, replenishing the steadily growing number of calories it took to spar with Vince each day. Staying in his robotic form would stave off hunger, not eliminate the need for it entirely. All energy had to come from somewhere, and his was no different.

     Globe sighed softly and looked up at the sky. The stars were staggering out here, so far from any man-made light source. Yet another reminder of the second life he’d cast away. What was he on now? His third? He wondered how many more there would be before the saga of Globe finally came to a close.

     “Of course not,” he eventually replied. “When they grill Vince on his summer whereabouts, I can’t be anywhere in his memory. Spending a few months trying to bring a fugitive to justice is defensible, if not admirable. If they catch any wind of me, everything changes. I can’t risk that.”

     “They’ll know he wanted to see you,” George pointed out.

     “I’m his father; of course he wants to see me. What matters is whether I came to him or not.”

     “It would have been a lot simpler to just leave him alone.”

     “After all these weeks, you’re still arguing with me? You know he needed help getting his abilities under control. Nick Campbell’s stunt bought him a year, but unless he learns to replicate that power on his own, it won’t matter. Not to mention, he needed practice with an opponent who was not easily damaged.”

     “I just think we have bigger fish to fry,” George said.

     “Let me worry about that. Right now, our focus is on moving without being detected. Which reminds me, we’re due for a refresh.” Globe closed his eyes for a moment. The air around them all shimmered slightly, an almost imperceptible alteration to the area's natural magnetic field. It would shift back eventually, but until it did, no Super would be able to discern their location. It was one of Globe’s many tactics in his extensive bag of tricks, a bag that even George had yet to see the bottom of.

     “Thanks, don’t want any unexpected guests showing up,” George said. “I got my fill of prison food already.”

     Globe’s eyes reopened. “I dearly wish I could promise you that you’d never have to go back there. Unfortunately—”

     “I know what I signed up for,” George interrupted. “All of us do. You worry about getting the job done. That’s all that matters to us anymore. Until then, I’ll keep following orders. Even if the orders are beating the hell out of your kid daily. Did you heal him yet?”

     “Got all his broken bones and bigger injuries,” Globe replied. “Left him plenty of fatigue.”

     “Good. I’ll give your boy this: there is not a single drop of Quit in him. If he manages to survive the whole summer, he’ll be a tough little bastard.”

     Globe smiled, the firelight rendering it more than a little disconcerting.

     “He’ll survive. Don’t you doubt that. The only thing I’m worried about is him actually beating you. I was a touch concerned he’d replicate his tactic of draining you down to human form again.”

     “He’s tried a few times, but it’s not quite so easy without a telekinetic holding me down. Since he has to touch me, I just knock him in the head and screw up his concentration whenever he gives it a go. Your boy has a useful ability, no question, but it still has some fundamental weaknesses. Only absorbing one energy at a time being the second most prevalent among them.”

     “I think it’s a good thing that his ability is imperfect,” Globe replied. “Too much power is a burden in itself. A sense of invincibility is even worse. If Vince truly believed himself the most powerful Super in the world, he would never know a moment’s peace. His entire life would be consumed by mission after mission, terrified that his not going would mean a weaker Hero failed or died.”

     “Or he could turn into a real asshole,” George pointed out.

     “I suppose that is also a possibility,” Globe conceded. “But I think the first is more likely.”

     “You’re the expert,” George replied. Conversation concluded, he began stuffing his face with food once more, preparing for the coming day’s battle.

     1.

     It was strange being back on campus after a summer away. Hershel trekked down the winding sidewalk that would, eventually, encircle all of Lander. Branches would split off periodically, leading to any destination one might desire, but the main path wrapped around the whole campus, serving as both a guide and a divider from the outside world. It was comforting to trace the familiar cement walkway; it reminded him that no matter how much had gone awry last year, the school was still at least somewhat constant.

     A quick turn took him down one of the many splits, putting him on track to arrive at Melbrook in a few moments. He could have had his mother drop him off closer, but traffic was already reaching levels of utter insanity as wistful parents deposited eager students ready to resume, or begin, their independent lives. Besides, Hershel was making a point of taking the more physically taxing option whenever he could. Small as it might be, a leaky faucet can still flood a house if given enough time.

     The roller bag behind him bounced unevenly over the dividers. There wasn’t much in it—a few garments and some souvenirs from his summer. He’d left the majority of his belongings in his Melbrook dorm. Why bother moving them? It had been heavily implied that he’d be returning. Even if he hadn’t put on the show Vince did at the end of the year, Roy had definitely kicked a respectable amount of ass. And since he hadn’t been told not to come back, he was pretty sure they were in the clear. A part of him wondered who hadn’t been so lucky; however, that thought was so wrapped up in the empty room waiting for them in Melbrook that it was too painful to dwell on. Losing Nick was hard. What if someone else they cared about didn’t return?

     Hershel shook off that line of thought as best he could, focusing instead on maneuvering his way through Melbrook’s front door. It took a little more coordination than normal, since he had to deal with his cargo, but within moments, he had passed through the hallway and made it into the common room. There was just enough time to take a deep breath of familiar scent before a female voice grabbed his attention.

     “Hershel?”

     “Hey, Alice. Guess you and Mary beat me.”

     “We absolutely did, but that is so not the most interesting story at the moment.” Alice turned and yelled past the open door to the girls’ lounge she’d been walking through. “Mary! Come see this!”

     A slight blush crept into Hershel’s cheeks. He’d expected some reaction—the change was appreciable—however, this seemed a bit much. Mary popped her head out the door, her eyes widening slightly as they caught sight of her boyfriend for the first time in months.

     “Hershel?”

     “Yeah, it’s me,” he assured her.

     “You look great,” she said, stepping out and greeting him with a more affectionate hug. “I mean, you always looked good to me, but this is a heck of a change.”

     Hershel’s formerly pudgy form looked as though it had collapsed in on itself. His belt-overlapping stomach now tapered neatly into his pants—pants which were clearly a size or two smaller than they had been. His face had thinned noticeably, accentuating cheekbones that, while still not prominent, were now certainly discernible. He even appeared to have put on a bit of muscle here and there, though it was not fully defined yet. Far from lean, and certainly still out of shape by HCP standards, it was still clear that Hershel had put in a summer of incredible effort to make such an improvement.

     “Thanks,” he said, shuffling his feet a bit awkwardly. Hershel wasn’t used to having people look at him with such admiration; that was something only Roy had really experienced. “Is Vince here yet?”

     “Vince will be along in a few hours,” Mr. Numbers said, stepping into the room from the kitchen. It was a rare occasion, for Mr. Transport—always at his partner’s side—was nowhere to be seen. “He is currently meeting with Dean Blaine and some of the professors for an important discussion.”

     “Wow, you guys aren’t even letting him get settled before the grilling starts, are you?” Alice asked.

     “In this case, it was Vince who requested the meeting,” Mr. Numbers corrected. “He had a very unusual summer, and has professed a desire to be upfront with the faculty on all such matters.”

     “And let me guess, you’re not going to tell us any more than that,” Hershel ventured.

     “Correct. It will be up to the committee to decide if Vince’s summer will be declassified, and then up to Vince to decide if he even wants to share it. I trust all of you had more normal vacations?”

     “Normal is a relative term with this group,” Mary said. “But I didn’t do anything that would require a special meeting.”

     “Ditto,” Hershel agreed.

     “I was with Mary, so her answer counts for both of us,” Alice chimed in.

     “Excellent. In that case, let us move on to new business. As you know, your first day of junior year begins tomorrow. They will let you know which of your classmates failed to make the cut and return, but I have been allowed to give you one tidbit of information beforehand. Aside from Nick, everyone from Team One has advanced.”

     The students felt a strange, simultaneous combination of relief and stress surge through them. It was good to know Camille and Alex were still with them; however, they all had friends on other teams. Knowing two more slots were filled forced them to start running the numbers yet again for who else could remain.

     “Also on the subject of teammates, I’m sure you are all aware that Melbrook’s five-person capacity has dropped to an occupancy of four,” Mr. Numbers continued. “While I can appreciate how significant the loss of Nick Campbell was for all of you, Mr. Transport felt that leaving his room empty would only serve as a constant reminder of what had been lost. To that end, we are pursuing the option of allowing another of your classmates to take up residency here.”

     “I thought the whole point of this facility was to keep us separate from the rest of the students,” Hershel pointed out. “‘Contained’ was the word someone used.”

     “That it was; however, this project is evolving, and some of the higher ups have begun to think that segregating you from the general populace impedes the relevancy of the data.”

     “The data?” Alice asked.

     “We’re prototypes,” Mary reminded her. “They’re testing us to see if the procedure is viable. Not just if it works, but if there are any side effects they might not have anticipated.”

     “Well said,” Mr. Numbers agreed.

     “I don’t know how I feel about someone else moving into Nick’s room,” Alice said.

     “I’m actually on board with it,” Hershel countered. “No one will, or really ever could, take Nick’s place. Having someone live with us won’t change that. It will, at least hopefully, keep us from dwelling on his absence constantly. I miss him too, but setting aside his old room as a shrine isn’t going to bring him back.”

     “I guess so,” Alice begrudgingly admitted. “Who gets it, anyway? Do we have a vote?”

     “If we succeed in getting permission, then you will certainly be consulted before a decision is made,” Mr. Numbers told her. “Though the pool might be a small one. We will need someone willing to sign the proper waivers, and who has an actual desire to bunk with all of you, given your unfortunate reputation.”

     “Classy way to phrase that,” Alice said. With Nick gone, she felt someone had to take over at least part of the sarcasm duty.

     “Thank you,” Mr. Numbers said, either ignoring the barb or entirely ignorant of it.

     2.

     “—and then I woke up, sitting on a bench near the Psychology department’s building,” Vince concluded. “My bag was next to me; I don’t know how long I was there before I came around. As soon I realized where I was, though, I came to see you. That’s pretty much all of it.”

     Dean Blaine nodded, his eyes flicking to the other people in the room. All of the professors were in attendance, as was Mr. Transport, sitting by his charge’s side. There was also a man with shoulder-length dark hair, one Dean Blaine would have much rather left out of this interview. Ralph Chapman was a member of the board that oversaw all the Hero Certification Programs at colleges across the nation, and he had been handpicked to spearhead the investigation into Vince’s past, looking for information on Globe. He was also an unbearable ass. Still, the investigation was happening whether Dean Blaine liked it or not, and he wouldn’t do Vince any favors by impeding the man facilitating it. All that would come from such an action was himself being cut from the loop, leaving Vince truly on his own.

     “Are you certain that’s all?” Ralph asked, his tone probing but not accusatory. “No other details about Globe, what he’s planning, or where he is?”

     Vince shook his head. “I never got to see him or talk to him. I never beat George. I went to sleep expecting another day of fighting. Honestly, I didn’t even know how much time had passed; I completely lost track of the days out there.”

     “What about this place where he trained you? Could you find it if you saw it again?”

     “Maybe. I don’t know much about geography; are there a lot of flat, featureless areas in deserts?”

     “I think that’s a no,” Mr. Transport supplied helpfully. His years with Mr. Numbers had taught him a thing or two about reading people, and he already knew he didn’t like the outsider among them, pleasant smile be damned. He also knew better than to be openly defiant. This was a slow game, one that would be played over many months. Rash action aided no one.

     “I see,” Ralph said. “One last question. You say that George promised to turn himself in if you defeated him, and that you were free to quit and come home at any time. Why not just give up and alert the authorities?”

     “Because George should be in jail. I had the opportunity to make that happen, so I took it. Plus, I wanted to see my father.”

     “Your father,” Ralph repeated. “Globe, currently the most hunted criminal in the world, that’s the man you wanted to see?”

     “Yes,” Vince said immediately.

     “I suppose you’re going to tell me you had aspirations of bringing him to justice as well.”

     “Not really. I just wanted to see my father. I miss him.”

     “Vince, do you realize what you’re saying? This is a wanted villain we’re talking about, an accused murderer.”

     “If, tomorrow, your father robbed a bank, would that stop you from loving him?” Vince replied.

     “It might if he killed a man in the process.”

     “Then I feel sorry for you. You must have a pretty crappy father if he’s that easy to stop caring about.”

     “I think we’ve taken this line of questioning far enough,” Dean Blaine interrupted, working hard to hide the smirk that was manifesting at the sight of Ralph’s reddening features. “Was there anything else you needed to ask Vince directly?”

     “No,” Ralph said, after a momentary pause. “That’s fine. Thank you.”

     “Vince, Mr. Transport will see you to your dorm. He’ll also bring you up to speed on a few things you need to know. We’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

     “Yes, sir,” Vince replied, rising from his seat. Mr. Transport followed suit, and the two exited the room. They were scarcely out the door before Ralph whipped his attention over to Professor Stone.

     “So, what was he lying about?”

     “Nothing.” Professor Stone barely kept herself from snapping. The older woman had had plenty of practice minding her tongue; however, she’d also long passed the point where she felt needlessly compelled to tolerate other people’s rude bullshit. “His thoughts matched his words in every regard. The recount was as honest and accurate as he could give.”

     “Impressive. I’d expect no less from the son of Globe,” Ralph muttered. “Or perhaps you merely aren’t adept enough to pick up on his deception.”

     Professor Stone opened her mouth to tell him to shove it up his ass, but Professor Pendleton proved quicker on the verbal draw.

     “Are you a fucking idiot?”

     Ralph glared at the lean man, Professor Pendleton’s own expression one of presumably mock confusion. Professor Pendleton leaned on the conference table, head pressing against his lengthy fingers as he stared right back at the man making this situation so very uncomfortable.

     “I beg your pardon? I must have misheard you.”

     “I asked if you’re a fucking idiot,” Professor Pendleton repeated. “Do you know how many Heroes live long enough to retire? Or how many of that percentage are active combat types? Let alone how many are considered skilled and smart enough to take a position teaching in the HCP. Here’s a hint: not very many. Yet, the woman sitting in front of you did all of that, and has been educating other Supers to do the same for decades. And you think to question her abilities? That makes me wonder if you’re a goddamned moron.”

     “You certainly have a curiously high opinion of HCP professors, given that they allowed a convict to become one,” Ralph shot back.

     “A convict who was active and constantly pursued for well over a year before being caught,” Professor Pendleton countered. “Immoral, unethical, illegal, all of those words can be used to describe my activities, but the fact remains that I was really good at what I did. And I’ve got nothing on Professor Stone.”

     “Very well,” Ralph said. He turned back to Professor Stone, but there was no question that his malice was still lingering on Professor Pendleton. “My apologies for doubting. So, everything Vince told was true as he knew it?”

     “Correct,” Professor Stone confirmed.

     “Then what remains next is to determine what Globe hoped to accomplish by having the boy battle endlessly for months on end.”

     “Actually, that’s the easy part,” Dean Blaine corrected him. “It was training. We can speculate on the why all we want, but there’s no other way to interpret his activities. Any HCP graduate will tell you the same.”

     Ralph snorted. “Seems like a waste of time. How much could this George fellow possibly have taught Vince in a couple of months?”

     Had Ralph been born with telepathy, he’d have heard a resounding chorus of thoughts wondering just how big a dumbfuck he could possibly be. Professor Stone had to cough into her hand to keep from laughing.

     3.

     Nicholas Campbell tossed the final empty box into his apartment complex’s dumpster with a curious sense of satisfaction. The moving company had done most of the real work—what little there was when moving into a furnished apartment—but he still felt as though he’d accomplished something by emptying the few boxes of possessions he’d brought with him. The items had been stored in closets and chests as appropriate, leaving a home that was far too organized to pass as the domicile of a regular college junior. He’d have to muck up the place before having anyone over. Such was the onus of blending in. At least his new persona wasn’t trying to fly below the radar in a program filled with superhuman teens and recent post-teens. All he had to do was convince those around him that he was living a regular college life. Well, almost everyone.

     He’d barely gotten the door closed before a light series of knocks echoed from the other side. Momentarily, Nicholas considered locking the door and ignoring it, but pursuing that option would cause him more headache than it was worth. Had it just been the two people he knew were standing outside, there would have been no issue. Unfortunately, they were not alone; they carried a directive from Ms. Pips, and that meant that, even without being there, she was still telling him to treat her employees with respect. Respect was a very important thing in their world, almost as important as money.

     “Yo,” Eliza greeted as Nicholas pulled open the door, throwing up a peace sign and walking in without invitation. She’d lost the biker gear and thrown on jeans and an unbuttoned plaid top tied in the middle. It made her look like a slutty farmhand.

     A strange twitch rippled through Nicholas’s mind—he felt like he knew someone who would approve, but then came up empty on who. It was probably Roy; he affected a southern persona, according to Nick’s notes. These twitches were a cause of confusion for Nicholas. His brain kept reaching for information in a place it was no longer allowed to access, then reconciling from data he’d only read. It made for a slower thinking process, which Nicholas considered unacceptable.

     “Afternoon,” said Jerome, walking up a bit more tactfully. Despite what one might expect from the name, Jerome was clearly of Asian heritage, though Nicholas had never been able to quite figure out exactly which locale. No one knew his real name, except perhaps Ms. Pips, which was effectively the same as no one knowing. He’d been caught stealing food from the buffets when he was ten, but ambition, and a useful ability, had persuaded the Family to offer him work, rather than taking the crime out on his flesh. Jerome must have appreciated how rare that opportunity was; the man was beyond reproach in his dedication. He was also proper and polite, which annoyed Nicholas to no end.

     “You may as well come in, too,” Nicholas sighed, swinging the door wider to accommodate Jerome’s mighty frame. Whatever his genetic ancestry, it was definitely one that favored large builds to which muscle came easily. “I doubt I’ll be getting rid of her any time soon.”

     “Why thank you, I’d love a beer,” Eliza called from the couch. She was looking through his bookshelf and had already managed to destroy its alphabetic arrangement. Oh well, he would have had to do that himself eventually.

     “So sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t had the chance to swing by the store.”

     “You sure? Check your fridge.”

     Nicholas did just that, also looking in the shelves and cabinets, confirming what he’d already suspected. All were full, stuffed with food and supplies enough to last a week or so. He’d only been down at the dumpsters for seven minutes, tops. This was pretty impressive work.

     He tossed Eliza a beer, helping himself to a gin on the rocks. That much, at least, he’d put in the cabinets himself. Jerome got tossed a beer as well, though he politely set it on the table. Jerome didn’t drink, so it would ultimately end up in Eliza’s stomach, but propriety demanded Nicholas make him the offer anyway.

     “Not bad,” Nicholas said, settling down in a chair that needed severe ergonomic overhauling to be comfortable. “Are those going to dissipate in three days?”

     “No, you got the originals,” Eliza told him. “Though I did duplicate a few of the better items for us.”

     “I expected as much.” Eliza was a Super, one with a very useful talent that made her the Family’s best counterfeiter. She could create duplicates of any non-living object she held. These copies were effectively real; they could be taken apart, would pass any examination, and were, molecule for molecule, identical to the original. The only difference was that hers would dissipate after seventy-two hours, or whenever she wanted it gone, whichever came first. “Ms. Pips give you a key?”

     “Yeah, but I picked it anyway. You need a better lock. I cracked it in under twenty seconds.”

     Nicholas frowned. For the price of the rent, he’d expected at least somewhat decent security. Evidently, this place thought the location alone—a few blocks from campus—made it worth the exorbitant cost.

     “I’ll look into it. Any word on Nathaniel yet?” The two had arrived and moved in (a few apartments down) a week earlier, their assignment to keep watch and see if they could find where that orange-eyed fuck was holing up over the semester.

     “Nothing so far,” Jerome said. “We don’t think he’ll show until classes actually start, and even then, he might come late.”

     “We doubt he gives two wet fucks about his G.P.A. or perfect attendance,” Eliza added.

     “Right. At any rate, the Evers family has ample holdings in the area, including a few hotels, so it is possible he moved into any one of them without notice, and we don’t have the resources to watch them all.”

     “Good, that would be a waste of time, anyway,” Nicholas said. “He isn’t going to break into my house in the middle of the night, or, if he does, it won’t be to attack me. They could have taken a shot at me in Vegas, if they just wanted me dead. Even our Family’s reputation doesn’t stop bullets.”

     “So, you don’t think he plans to kill you?” Jerome asked.

     “Oh no, I’m positive he plans to kill me, but that’s an outcome, not a plan. Nathaniel and I have been having these matches since we were kids. Matches that he, incidentally, always loses. Nathaniel wants me dead; however, he wants it to happen in a way that doesn’t start a war. And even more than that, Nathaniel wants to beat me. That’s the only reason for him to take this route. He can’t let me die without at least one mark in his win column, so he’ll undoubtedly engage us in some drawn-out game of wits and subterfuge.”

     “Sounds like a pain in the ass,” Eliza muttered. “I guess there’s no other way to deal with him, though.”

     “Of course there is,” Nicholas replied, taking a sip of his drink. “I don’t owe him anything, certainly not entertainment. I have enough on my plate, and I have no intention of playing whatever game he comes up with.”

     “So, then, what’s the plan?” Jerome asked.

     “Isn’t it obvious?” Nicholas shot back. “When he comes to confront me in some idiotic manner, I figure out the game he’s trying to play, then I do what I’ve always done best: I cheat.”

     4.

     The underground section of Lander, the place only those currently enrolled in the Hero Certification Program could access, was bustling as the juniors filed through. The freshmen had arrived and taken their initial ranking exams yesterday, but the entry hall seemed thick with black uniforms and young, uncertain faces.

     “Were there this many of us during the first year?” Alice asked.

     “Probably back in the beginning,” Mary replied. “Hard to believe though, given that only twenty of us are left.”

     The juniors were filtering down the lifts slowly, a splash of gray amidst the sea of black. Aside from alterations to accommodate growth spurts, each still had the same uniform from their sophomore year. Those who made it to senior year would earn the right to don a white one. No such uniforms were currently visible; they would have their orientation the following day. This one was devoted to sophomore team selections and whatever activity awaited the migrating juniors once they arrived.

     It took some time to traverse the crowded hallways of freshmen, but eventually, all of the juniors made it to the gym. Dean Blaine waited patiently for them to fall into a line, allowing for a certain amount of gawking as everyone tried to figure out who was missing. Professor Pendleton, Professor Fletcher, and Professor Stone all stood to his right. Professor Hill, Professor Cole, and Professor Baker were to his left. A man that most of the students didn’t recognize hung out near the rear of the gym. In contrast to the professors, he was exceedingly normal-looking, dressed in a polo shirt and cream-colored slacks that would have looked more at home on a golf course than in a heavily fortified training facility. Once the last student arrived, Dean Blaine began to speak.

     “Julia Shaw. Agatha Mason. Tiffani Hunt. Stella Hawkins. Nick Campbell. Michael Clark. Hector Morrison. Gilbert Reid.”

     At first, the students were confused as he rattled off names of classmates, however, as each recognized the name of a friend they knew about, a sense of uncomfortable understanding seeped in.

     “Those are the students that are not with us this year. They were friends of yours, people you bonded with and cared about. They are powerful, skilled warriors, who, for the most part, upheld the principles a Hero is meant to stand for. But they are gone, and the odds of them coming back are strikingly minimal.”

     Dean Blaine moved forward and surveyed the faces of the students before him. The sadness was nearly palpable. A shared dream united people, gave them a familial sentiment toward one another. The cost was that, when one had that dream die, it pained all who cared for them.

     “I know that’s hard for you to hear. It isn’t easy for me to say, either. I cared for all of them as I care for you. Losing our companions is a bitter part of this process, one that I have the unfortunate task of telling you will only get worse as this class shrinks. But trust me when I say that, as much as you dislike this, it is infinitely worse for those not currently wearing a uniform. I don’t say that to sadden you further, I just want you to know that it can be worse, and encourage each of you to try your hardest not to experience that side of the equation.”

     Reaching the end of his speech, Dean Blaine turned and began walking back.

     “Now that the past has been spoken of, let’s move on to the future—your year ahead, specifically. In light of last year’s . . . unplanned excitement, we didn’t manage to close things out properly. As a result, we never collected the information on which of your courses you wished to drop, and which you hoped to stay in. Given the hecticness of everything and this gaffe on our part, we’ve decided that everyone who has made it to this year may keep whichever two classes they like. When I finish, you will speak to your professors and let each one know whether you intend to drop or keep their course. At the end of this year, you will meet with your two remaining professors and decide which course will become your major. I urge you to take this seriously, as your designation will greatly influence the training you receive, as well as the expectations placed upon you at graduation.”

     Dean Blaine arrived at his original starting point, and then motioned to his educators. “They are excellent assets. You will never again have so much knowledge, in so many different areas, freely available to you. Make a wise selection. That said, there are three other matters to discuss. Firstly, I’m sure you are all wondering about the updated rankings. They will be posted tomorrow before the beginnings of your first classes. Until then, we will answer no questions regarding them. Secondly, as you all recall, last year was focused on learning to work in a team, how to allocate resources effectively, and how to use each member to their full potential. That was key training for your future careers as Heroes. This year, we will focus on a less pleasant, but equally, if not more, important aspect. You will be learning to take on multiple enemies at the same time. The nature of this conflict will vary based on your courses, so once more, I caution you to choose with forethought. We’ll go over the details for each as the first trial grows closer, however, I think those of you in more battle-oriented majors can draw a few informed conclusions.”

     Here, the dean paused and motioned to the man at the back at the gym. He came forward with a casual gait, nothing to suggest he felt nervous, despite an entire class’s worth of attention focused on him. The man gave the class a warm smile, then turned to the dean and waited to be introduced.

     “Our last matter of business is one relating to actual business. We understand that college is financially taxing for many students and their families, and that being in this program has prevented a lot of you from being able to earn money like regular students. Now that you have all made it to your third year, the odds of you staying in this town for the remainder of your college career improve significantly, so, as a courtesy, we set up a partnership with several local businesses to give part-time jobs to those who want them. These will be owners that know what you are and the demands on your time, and have agreed to accommodate those issues. The gentleman beside me is Kent Mears, the liaison who coordinates between eager students and these kind employers. Anyone interested in a job can speak to him in a few moments. For those who do, I urge you to do your best at any job you get. Remember that these positions require business owners to work around our program, and that a poor employee may make them less likely to offer HCP students any future opportunities.”

     A smooth step moved Dean Blaine back in line with his professors. He saw all the students waiting patiently and allowed a slight smile across his face. They had come so far from this day two years ago, and there was still so much ahead of them.

     “Okay, students, please begin.”

     5.

     The gym immediately filled with the distinct hum of chatter as the students spread out. Some made a beeline for their professors; others talked over the decision with friends, Dean Blaine’s remarks clearly inspiring them to doubt their original choices. Only a few headed for Kent Mears, though the fact that one of them was Chad Taylor did not escape notice by most in the room. It didn’t draw much curiosity, either. If anyone could handle a job on top of the demands of the HCP, it was Chad.

     *              *              *

     Roy finished letting Professor Fletcher know that he would definitely be pursuing Close Combat in the coming year, and then looked around the room for his next target. There was a mini-mob around Professor Stone, which sort of made sense. Focus was a useful discipline for any Super, it centered on calming your mind and drawing out more of your abilities, so they tended to toss anyone without a clear third skill into it. As a result, it was a pretty full course, so an ample number of students needed to tell her if they were keeping or dropping it. Roy’s eyes wandered over to Professor Cole, who somehow managed to look bored despite the layers of clothing and mummified bandages concealing her face. Not many people seemed to be competing to talk to the Weapons instructor, and Roy could take a decent guess why. He suspected the course’s already small number would shrink significantly after today.

     Not being one for lines, Roy walked over to Professor Cole. He threw a hand up in lazy greeting and gave her a smile. She might have returned it; there was definitely movement under her face-wraps.

     “Let me guess, you want to drop my class,” she said, once he got close to her.

     “I guess you noticed my lack of enthusiasm during all those drills last year,” Roy replied.

     “It’s hard to stand out at not caring, but you made it happen. Congratulations, I guess. You’re keeping, what, Close Combat and Focus?”

     Roy nodded. “Let’s be real though, we all know I’m majoring in Close Combat, this was just a question of who got the axe first.”

     “So you drop the one more closely related to fighting, rather than the one about a bunch of mental mumbo jumbo that won’t do you a dick whip of good,” Professor Cole said.

     “Learning to think on my feet has actually done me a lot of good.”

     “I’m sure it did, but you’re nearing the end of what you’ll get out of it. Once you’ve learned to fight with your head, there’s only so much Focus improvement a person with a purely physical power can do. You should be training your body, learning new skills to help give you options in battle.”

     “I’m a bare-handed fighter. What do you think I’m going to get out of a Weapons course?”

     “For starters, if nothing else, it will teach you how to deal with other Supers who do use weapons. For another, you shouldn’t be a bare-handed fighter. If you had listened to anything I said last year, you’d understand that a weapon’s primary purpose is to magnify your strength, to up the level where you can compete, something I’d have thought would interest a person like you.”

     Roy let a sarcastic retort die on his tongue. Those were actually good points, and a few months ago, they’d have been wasted on him. However, after Vince’s year-end shitstorm and the summer spent under tutelage, Roy’s ego had finally started accepting the fact that if he wanted to reach the finish line, it would mean taking every advantage he could get. Heroes were top tier, and you didn’t reach that summit by turning down things that might give you an edge.

     “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. “I guess, since I’m going Close Combat anyway, I don’t risk much by taking another year of Weapons instead of Focus.”

     Professor Cole blinked in evident surprise. Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting her arguments to work; she’d just been making them out of habit. Within seconds, her eyes were back to normal, but Roy knew what he’d seen in that brief instant.

     “Glad you’ve deigned to stick around. Try not to get in the way of the students actually trying to learn.”

     Roy flashed his smarmiest possible grin.

     “No promises.”

     *              *              *

     “Thank you, Alice. No need to say anything, I accept your desire to drop my course without objection,” Professor Pendleton told her.

     “I didn’t say I was dropping your class. I literally just walked up to you,” Alice protested. She’d spoken briefly with Professor Hill, who had already known she would want to continue her Control lessons, and had then walked over to the dark-haired Subtlety teacher, only to be met with his odd greeting.

     “I know, you didn’t need to say it. Busy day, just thought I’d speed things along.”

     “Okay, well, you’re wrong. I’m keeping Subtlety. That’s what I came over to tell you.”

     Professor Pendleton arched an eyebrow in the practiced manner that only a man who has spent over a decade in prison with little else to do is capable of. “Are you sure that’s wise? Given what you learned about your powers last year, Control and Ranged Combat would offer you a much more useful set of skills.”

     “I’m keeping Control, but Ranged Combat is redundant in a few areas. Subtlety is unique. I learned a lot last year.”

     “I should remind you that you won’t have a teammate to cheat off of this time, though,” Professor Pendleton said. “Even if you excel in Control, a poor assessment from your other course could hinder your chances of moving on. With that in mind, are you absolutely certain you want to keep my course for another year?”

     Alice felt a strange pressure on the sides of her head, like there was a swelling going on under her temples. Her eyes narrowed, and it took conscious effort not to raise her voice or clench her hands into fists.

     “I’m positive. Or do I need to remind you that I cleared your tailing exam all by myself, as well as keeping passing grades on most of the written work? I don’t know what your issue is, but it’s obvious you don’t want me in the class, and I don’t think you ever did.”

     “You’re right,” Professor Pendleton agreed. “You don’t belong in Subtlety.”

     “Well, tough shit, because the dean just said we could keep any course we wanted, and I’m keeping yours. See you in class.” With a polished turn, she walked off, making a beeline to Professor Baker to cement her choice and drop Ranged Combat. She hoped she’d be able to get her temper and blood pressure down by the time she was able to talk to the crimson haired woman.

     Behind her, Professor Pendleton struggled to keep the emotions off his face. At the same time, he tried to puzzle out whether the more dominant feeling he was suppressing was disappointment or pride.

     6.

     Having finished with his teachers, Thomas headed out into the hall, a half-formed idea of grabbing an early dinner bouncing about in his head. When he saw the familiar silhouette already lurking there, waiting for him, that idea quickly dissipated. He’d known this was coming; such things were as inevitable as the rising of the tide.

     “Good day, Vince,” he greeted, preferring to get this conversation started so it could be over more quickly.

     “Hey, Thomas,” Vince called back. His eyes kept glancing at the ground, his feet shuffling constantly. It was hard for Thomas to picture this man as the same powerful beast who’d forced him to retreat last year. It was what it was, though, and standing around wouldn’t change the fact that it had happened.

     “Vince, I know why you were waiting for me, and we can skip it. I am not mad at you.”

     Vince’s eyes leapt up from the ground to check the expression on what he hoped was still his friend’s face.

     “You aren’t?”

     “We know what we’re here for. Our training, this process, they’ve never sugar-coated it. Forging friendships is great, but when we are told to fight, we must do so with every ounce of strength we possess. That is what you did, and had the tables been turned, I would have come at you just as hard.”

     “Oh. That’s not what I came to apologize for. I just . . . what I did to you. Draining you. It feels incredibly wrong, like I crossed the line on a personal level,” Vince explained. “I tore something out of you. That can’t be right.”

     Thomas felt the sliver of tension in his gut twist slightly. He’d worked very hard not to think about that part. In mere moments, he’d been made powerless, the gift that had been with him since childhood suddenly absent.

     “I won’t lie to you, I dearly hated that experience, but that isn’t the same thing as hating you for doing it. You were trying to win, and you used the skill set you had. Besides, even if I was upset, it wouldn’t make sense to hold the grudge against you. The things you did that day weren’t truly your actions.”

     “Yes, they were.” The shuffling stopped, and the insecurity melted away. Social parameters were far from Vince’s forte; taking responsibility, on the other hand, was something he was far more comfortable with. “Nick might have set up the scenario, but I was still me. I own those actions, and if you’re mad about them, I’m the one who needs to make things right.”

     Sometimes, Thomas found himself tempted to think he was the only one in the program besides Chad taking it seriously. Beach weekends, drinking, house parties, none of it seemed like the actions of people who comprehended the amount of responsibility that would ultimately rest on a Hero’s shoulders. At that moment, however, it was abundantly clear that even if Vince didn’t appreciate all of what lay before him, he certainly took his time here seriously.

     “Then they were,” Thomas agreed. “But there was still no lasting harm done. My energy replenished back to full in a day, and I learned a valuable lesson about underestimating my opponent. Actually, if memory serves, this is the second time you’ve given me such an education. Though I doubt anyone will make that mistake again, after last year’s final match.”

     “Honestly, I’m just glad people are still talking to me. I saw a recording of myself, and I wouldn’t have blamed any of you for staying away.”

     “This is not a place where great power is feared just because it exists,” Thomas reminded him. “The scariest part of that entire event was your attitude and demeanor. You seemed to act as if you truly held no regard for the lives of those around you.”

     “You aren’t wrong,” Vince admitted.

     “I confess, I’ve wanted to ask you this for some time now. Knowing you for the past two years, I can’t imagine what it would take to drive you to that point. What was the vision Nick had Rich place in your mind?”

     “It’s kind of fuzzy in some parts. I know that I saw all of you as monsters, though I think I somehow still recognized enough to know what your abilities were.”

     “So, you were trying to stay alive amidst a monster attack? I suppose I can see how that would force you into a corner,” Thomas said.

     Vince shook his head. “It was more than that. The depository box looked like someone I loved, someone who’d been beaten bloody to within an inch of death, and who the monsters were coming back for. That’s why I wouldn’t let any of you get near it.”

     Thomas briefly considered asking just who it was Vince had seen, but then thought better of it. He’d been as candid as he could in the other parts. If the identity had been skipped, then it was likely on purpose, and now was hardly the time to go prying into Vince’s personal life. He’d have to make sure never to tell Violet, though; if she knew he’d had the chance to do recon on Vince’s love life, and hadn’t taken it, she’d never let him live it down.

     “That sounds like a terrifying ordeal,” Thomas said at last.

     “I’ve had better days,” Vince agreed, daring to flash a small smile for the first time in their conversation.

     “You know, despite your insistence that your actions were your own, the fact remains that your head was invaded, you were subjected to illusions of a frightening nature, and you were forced into a situation that could have easily led to your expulsion through no fault of your own. It would not be a stretch to say that you were the real victim in last year’s events.”

     “I guess you could see it that way,” Vince admitted. “But it overlooks a very key fact.”

     “Which is?”

     “I’m still here. And without Nick and his crazy plan, I sincerely doubt I would be saying that. So no, I don’t think I’m a victim in what happened. I’m the guy who got handed the luckiest break of us all.”

     “It’s your choice how you see it,” Thomas said. “And I must say, in truth, I respect you for the one you have made. I was thinking of getting something to eat, would you care to join me?”

     “There is nothing I’d rather do.”

     7.

     Nicholas Campbell’s first day was a far cry from what the HCP students were experiencing. No shattering revelations, no future-determining decisions; really, the greatest challenge he’d faced was finding something remotely palatable in the dorm cafeteria come lunch time. He could have raced home to grab a sandwich; however, he’d built his schedule in such a way that his Tuesdays and Thursdays left little to no free time, giving him an abundance of it on the other three weekdays. It was a move many college students were familiar with, though most of them struggled with it a good bit more than Nicholas had to. His classes were, for the most part, some variation of math or business related to his major, subject matter he’d been intimately familiar with since he was old enough to sit and watch someone deal cards.

     There was one exception in his lineup, though, a class he’d taken ostensibly to satisfy a science credit, but truthfully had been chosen primarily out of curiosity. It was the type of course no member of the HCP would dare be seen in, despite the relevance of its subject matter. After all, if you were looking for Supers, wouldn’t you start in a class that centered on them?

     “Good afternoon,” greeted the professor, a slight-statured man with thinning brown hair. “My name is Professor Lee, and this is Theoretical Physiology of Variant Homo Sapiens. My Teaching Assistants are walking around with a syllabus, and I’ve started a roll sheet on the first row. Pass it along, please. I realize many professors at our institution don’t bother taking attendance, but I am not one of them. Showing up is part of the curriculum, and I expect you to fulfill it just as you would any paper or test.”

     There was ample squirming throughout the smaller-than-average lecture hall as many of the students hoping for a blow-off class were disappointed. The room held tiered seating, but students only filled a little over half the seats. Due to either subject matter or perceived difficulty, this had never been a class with a waiting list for entry.

     “Now, for those of you I lost with all that fancy terminology, this is a course dedicated to the discussion of what we currently know about the humans commonly referred to as Supers, specifically the difference in their anatomy. There is no text book, and there is notably limited required reading, because, despite Supers having been among us for over fifty years, we still have very little cumulative knowledge about what makes them different.”

     A hand went up near the front. Nicholas expected the professor to ignore it, but evidently, this happened often enough for him to have accepted it as part of the class. The older man pointed to the student, signaling him to speak.

     “I thought Supers were the same as us, genetically. That’s why no one has ever been able to artificially create one.”

     “You’re not wrong,” Professor Lee said. “But you also aren’t right. The ‘same as us’ is a misnomer in itself. If everyone had the exact same genetic code, then things like DNA testing wouldn’t work. We have a general code we all fall into, Supers and Powereds included, but within that spectrum of similarity, there are also countless differences that contribute to things like hair color, which hand is dominant, various diseases, and the ability to lift a truck overhead. We know what does a lot of those things, but no one has figured out the variation that causes Supers to exist.”

     The professor paused to see if anyone else needed clarification, but they either all got it or his first explanation had been too intimidating to inspire more curiosity. He swung by the podium and grabbed a drink of water, then continued.

     “While there is little reading in this course, I don’t want you all to get the idea that no one has explored this subject matter. Quite the opposite, actually. There are endless terabytes of data out there on the physical makeup of Supers. The problem is that the research is largely conducted by private corporations with no inclination to share, and what is done in the public sector is subject to serious government censorship.”

     Another brave student found the gumption to raise her hand. After a nod from Professor Lee she went ahead.

     “Why would they do that? Isn’t this something that everyone would be interested in?”

     “They don’t share for the same reason that The Manhattan Project didn’t send Germany regular updates on what they were doing. Right now, as we speak, a great race is taking place in labs across the world. You, and I, and everyone in this room, unless they are Super themselves, wake up every day with the knowledge that there are people out there who can do things we never will. No amount of effort or moxie will allow me to levitate off this floor under my own willpower. Some of you might be at peace with that, but the mass of humanity is not. As a species, it is not in our nature to acclimate to being second best. So, imagine that, tomorrow, some company comes out with a new chemical compound that could alter you, give you abilities you never had before. What would you pay to be better than human?”

     The class grew silent as each student looked inside themselves and realized they would indeed pay a tremendous amount to be one of the few in the world with extraordinary powers.

     “And that’s just one aspect of it,” Professor Lee continued. “Imagine being able to control the abilities given. You could create a private security firm of a few thousand capable of besting any army in the world. What if they were to locate the difference between Powereds and Supers? How many unfortunate souls do you think would trade their life savings to go from worse than normal to better? No, the reason research is so hard to come by in this field is that, until the code is cracked, the scientific community is on what might be the greatest treasure hunt in all of known history. Still, we do have a few smatterings of knowledge; enough to make sure you all leave this class smarter than you entered it, at least.”

     Professor Lee picked up a syllabus and began going over it with the class, but up in the top left row, one student was barely paying attention. The professor could scarcely have chosen better words to seize the attention of Nicholas Campbell than “treasure hunt,” and right now, that brain of his was caught up in all the unseen possibilities of what he knew and so few others didn’t: one company was closer than anyone else to finding that chest of intellectual doubloons.

     8.

     Alice was the last to get back to the dorm on their first day of school. Her French course had filled up faster than expected, so she’d been forced to grab a later class or put it off until next semester. It would be nice if HCP students were given some sort of priority in registration, but that would make it too easy for every teacher to know who in their class was secretly a Super. Aside from those bound by the HCP’s Secret Identity Rule, lots of Alice’s kind chose to live out the open. However, it was far from unheard of for Supers to be treated with some discrimination, either out of fear, jealousy, or good ole-fashioned prejudice. Powereds might be looked down upon, but there was no real point in going out of one’s way to shit on them. Life had already done a spectacular job of that.

     As soon as Alice walked in the door, she knew something was off. For one thing, everyone, including Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers, was gathered in the common room without the television on. For another, Mr. Transport and Mr. Numbers scarcely ever joined them in the evening—at least, not for prolonged periods. But even without those clues, she would have known this situation was out of the ordinary. Dean Blaine standing in the center of the room made that abundantly clear, as did his guest.

     “Good evening,” Dean Blaine greeted. “Please, take a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

     Somewhere in the pit of her stomach, Alice felt a stone of fear manifest. This was how she’d always imagined it would go. Gather them together, make Dean Blaine neutralize their powers, and have Mr. Transport send them home. No muss, no fuss, no more freaks in the HCP.

     “For anyone who doesn’t remember, the gentleman beside me is named Kent Mears,” Dean Blaine continued.

     “Right, he’s the job guy,” Vince recalled.

     “Employment Liaison is the more official title, but at least you got the gist,” Dean Blaine said. “Mr. Mears is here because while, for most students, the option to work a job during college is optional, I’m afraid that, for you four, it is not.”

     “Let me guess, someone out there wants to see just how much stress we can handle without cracking,” Hershel surmised.

     Dean Blaine gave him a nod. “Partially, yes. It’s also partly to ensure that you can interact with regular humans as well as fellow Supers. These jobs put you back into the real world, a place where you have to be discreet with your abilities, and more importantly, a place where you are not surrounded by equals.”

     “Not surrounded by equals? Didn’t we get enough practice at that when we were Powereds?” Alice asked.

     “It’s not the same,” Vince told her. “We were weaker than everyone else; we had problems that made us less functional. Now, we can do more than regular people, and sometimes, feeling like you’re better than other people makes you treat them like crap.”

     “Vince hit the nail on the head,” Dean Blaine agreed, barely concealing his surprise at the silver-haired student’s insight. It was easy to forget that, despite his failings in most social regards, Vince had a good idea of how people behaved in regards to strength and power. “Every other student in the HCP has spent their life knowing they were, technically speaking, greater in some way than nearly every other person they met. They’ve had to temper their egos and learn to suppress that sentiment in order to function in society. None of you have had to deal with that; you went from being Powered, to being in a place where you were surrounded by fellow Supers. Except for class and a few outings, you haven’t had extended dealings with the outside world. A point has been raised that, if we don’t give you some experience, it could lead to disaster once you are done with the HCP, regardless of whether it is through failure or graduation.”

     “Not to mention, it gives people one more field to observe us in, and one more chance to watch for failure,” Mary added in.

     “I won’t lie to you; that is true, too. But I wouldn’t have agreed to this stipulation if I didn’t believe there was genuine merit in it for all of you,” Dean Blaine said.

     “I want to jump in and say that I understand this isn’t exactly a normal situation, and that’s quite a statement, given what I do for a living,” Kent Mears said, stepping forward from the corner where he’d been standing. “Blaine has explained to me that you four are working under special circumstances, so I’m going to do my darndest to place you in jobs that won’t be overly taxing or shove you too far out of your comfort zones. Unfortunately, it’s been clearly dictated to me that all occupations need to carry a social component, so I can’t stick anyone away to do data entry, but I still aim to make this as painless for you folks as possible.”

     “Thank you,” Vince said, rising from the couch. “I’m sure we’ll all appreciate whatever help you can give. So, Mr. Mears, what do you need from us?”

     “A few documents, a scan of your driver’s licenses, and a chance to talk with each of you one-on-one. I want to get a sense of who you are and what you’re good at, so that I can find positions best suited to you. Once I float your resumes, you’ll probably need to come in for an interview with the owners, and they’ll let you know if you’ve got a gig or not.”

     “I should point out that, while Mr. Mears always has enough job openings to accommodate the junior and senior class, many of them are at the same establishments, so the odds of you working with fellow HCP members are very high,” Dean Blaine added.

     “That shouldn’t be too bad,” Vince said. “I think we’re on good terms with most of our class.”

     No one had the heart to point out that Vince was still gauging their acceptance by looking at the time before he’d wrapped himself in flame and torn a swath of destruction through last year’s final match. Things might still be okay—it was certainly possible—but there was also a very real chance that his escapade had placed a large target on their collective backs.

     After all, a Powered becoming Super was hard for most HCP students to swallow. A Powered becoming stronger than them . . . that was a problem on a whole other level.

     9.

     Roger Brown skimmed over the application in front of him. It was light (not that he’d expected a wealth of experience), though it did have more than he usually saw in these applicants. This kid had at least worked a part-time job in high school, which was something. Unfortunately, it had been at a pet store, which wasn’t exactly the same set of skills needed in the establishment Roger owned. The Six-Shooter was a western themed bar and dance club near the edge of town, several miles from Lander. Unlike many of the nearby bars, The Six-Shooter didn’t put up with fake IDs or other such shenanigans. Roger ran a club, which was sleazy by definition, but he liked his sleazy club to be clean, safe, and free of harassment from local authorities.

     The single sheet of paper made a light rustle as Roger set it on his desk. He turned his attention to the kid, no, the young man sitting in front of him. Roger was predisposed to thinking of his employees as kids, but that wasn’t a good description of the male currently looking awkward in the silence of their interview. He was tall and blond, with medium-sized shoulders and an obviously muscular build. Even if Roger didn’t know Chad Taylor had powers, he would still have been sure this younger male could kick his ass. Chad was handsome too, high cheekbones and a strong jaw. That was a check in his favor: looks made sales and tips go up in any service job.

     “I notice you’ve never had any experience as a server,” Roger said, the first words spoken since their initial greeting.

     “That is correct,” Chad confirmed.

     “Normally, that’s not such a big deal—waiting on tables is pretty easy, as long as you’ve got the head for it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a pain in the ass and the customers can be awful, it’s just not a difficult skill to learn. The problem here is that you’re applying for a bartending position.”

     Chad nodded, his face curiously impassive. Roger wondered what this guy’s ability was. Technically, it was illegal to ask if someone was a Super, just like you couldn’t ask their age or religion, but since Roger went out of his way to specifically hire them, he considered it more along the lines of bad manners to probe.

     “What made you think this would be a good fit?”

     “Angela DeSoto was quite adamant that it was the right position for me,” Chad replied. “I asked for her advice, since she’s been working since her own junior year, and she immediately insisted I apply here as a bartender. No other options were suggested. I trust Angela’s advice, so I followed it.”

     Roger gave a nod of his own. Angela was one of his best shot girls: sexy, sassy, and able to put the fear of Lucifer into any patron who got handsy. She had come in earlier with a glowing recommendation for Chad; however, she’d somehow left out his overall lack of experience.

     “Look, let me level with you. Bartending well takes a great memory for recalling drink mixes, excellent organization for getting everyone served, and at least decent dexterity for pouring. Charm is nice too, but as a male bartender, people will expect you to be efficient more than flirty. We both know you aren’t exactly a regular Joe, so you tell me: are those skills you think you’ve got?”

     Chad reached across the desk and plucked four pens from the coffee mug where Roger stored his writing utensils. He lobbed the first one in the air, then followed suit with the others, one by one. As each descended, he moved it along from hand to hand, until he was juggling all four pens.

     “A Royal Flush is one part Crown, one part cranberry, and a half part peach schnapps, amounts adjusted based on whether it is a shot or a drink. A Vegas Bomb is Crown, peach schnapps, and Red Bull. A Cosmopolitan is vodka, triple sec, cranberry juice, and a squeeze of lime.”

     Chad went on for a minute and a half before Roger raised his hand and signaled him to stop. Chad complied, catching all the pens in one quick motion and carefully placing them back in the cup.

     “Since we’ve established you’ve never bartended before, how do you know all that? Heavy drinker?”

     “I very rarely ever imbibe alcohol. I read a bartender’s bible last night in preparation for this interview.”

     “Right. So, photographic memory then.”

     “Yes, sir.” Chad knew the proper term was eidetic, but he was aware enough of social conventions to at least not correct a potential employer mid-interview.

     “That could come in handy,” Roger admitted. “And I guess there’s no doubting your dexterity. Organization, I suppose we can delay for now. You’re clearly strong, so I guess there’s no worry about you being able to haul beer from the back. Now, this might be a dumb question, however, I know not all of you HCP kids are fighters, so I still need to ask. We keep bouncers here, good ones, but occasionally a customer will get rowdy with my staff. Are you able to handle yourself until the bouncers get to you?”

     Chad found it surprisingly difficult to suppress his urge to smile.

     *              *              *

     There were a lot of things Angela liked about her job. The tips were great, getting to take drinks with customers was fun, and the late hours never conflicted with her training. She even liked how the mandatory outfits made her feel sexy, even if the plaid half-shirt didn’t always insulate her from the AC, and the tiny Daisy Duke shorts had a tendency to ride up her ass by the end of the night. The only thing she hadn’t really liked was how boring all the men she worked with were. Sure, they were muscular, and some of them were even good-looking, but all of them were so invariably weak of gumption. That was fine, she supposed. The world didn’t need a glut of conquerors tearing it apart, but she found she couldn’t enjoy the company of regular folks. Maybe it was the HCP’s fault for surrounding her with elite competitors. More likely it was her grandfather’s fault, but then again, she found the trade-off for what he’d taught her to be more than worth it. No, the simple truth was that Angela was a warrior, and the only men she’d ever found appealing had been like her.

     “You’re here early,” said a shorter girl with bright red hair and a set of dimples framing her smile. “You don’t usually show up until right before your shift.”

     “And a hello to you too, Cora,” Angela replied. “I’m here to congratulate my friend when his interview is done. He’s going to take over one of the bartending spots.”

     “Oh wow, that’s great. Are you sure he’ll get it though? Roger is really picky about his bartenders.”

     Angela answered her question with a smile that would set the hearts of foolish men on fire and fill the souls of wiser ones with a sense of inescapable dread.

     “Trust me. As of today, Chad works here.”

     10.

     The once neat and tidy apartment that Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport shared at the back of Melbrook was now cluttered with boxes stuffed to their brims, full of files and papers. These, at least, were organized carefully, many labeled with the date of first review, and of any subsequent reviews that occurred afterward. The files and pages were similarly marked. Each bore an identical number, all in the same handwriting.

     Mr. Numbers made a few motions with his pen and stuffed yet another file into a box that currently bore no date. He reached for the next one, only to discover that nothing remained undated. His joints crackled as he rose, lifting the box and writing numbers on it, then selecting a new, unmarked one from the pile. Off went the lid, and out came the first file. He’d been at this all summer, and a little bit before, thus far filling and emptying the room twice. The others were doing their own investigations; however, this was the part that only he could execute. Lander had dozens of security systems, safeguards on top of safeguards, which made it an incredibly safe place to be. The downside was that, when something did go wrong, it meant there was a truckload (literally, it had taken a truck to move all this paper) of data to sort through looking for abnormalities. Normally, they could use someone with technology gifts like the Murray twins, but in this case, the number of people the group could trust was far smaller than the staff and students.

     Before he left, Nick had called their attention to the fact that Globe somehow knew Vince had freaked out and been put under while he was in the HCP’s secured area. That meant he was getting information about the school. His ability wouldn’t allow such actions outside of his field, so either he had a Super with a spying gift, or he’d found a way to snoop on them through more mundane means. The Super aspect was possible, but unlikely. HCP schools were built with every known protection against things Supers could do, and were upgraded quarterly. Add in the fact that Dean Blaine’s presence would be sure to make all observations dodgy at best, and it just wasn’t all that likely they had a Super who could see everyone’s actions.

     That was why Mr. Numbers had to slog through all this data. He was searching for any blips of irregularity that might indicate Globe, or one of his minions, had hacked their way into the security system. That, at least, was plausible. Hard as hell, but plausible. Mr. Numbers genuinely hoped he found something too, because locating a flaw in security was by far the preferable option. The other way Globe might be getting information was more reliable, more executable, and much harder to uncover.

     The other way Globe could be fed information about what was happening in the HCP was if someone in the program was still working with him.

     *              *              *

     Jill finished unpacking her last box alone. Normally, she liked to make a bigger deal about the final moment of a move, when she could good and rightfully say she lived somewhere new. If she’d asked the others, they would have joined her, or at least Will would have. They didn’t begrudge her this room, quite the contrary actually. She’d taken over the missing part of the rent, which is why they were able to keep their house. They felt no anger when they saw her drifting through the halls, only a slight pang of sadness. For her part, Jill felt a bit morbid, as though she had cannibalized Stella’s room. After all, she was only here because the steel-shifting student wasn’t.

     It had been hard to believe at first. How could Stella not make the cut? Her power was solid, her skill undeniable—hell, even the way she’d asked questions was aggressive. She was a fighter, and a damn good one. Jill probably could have beaten her, but only because Will was always keeping her stocked with new gizmos and upgraded systems. And he was still here. That was a real brain-scrambler in its own right. She loved her brother dearly, but in a real fight, Stella would mop the floor with him.

     Jill took out a hammer and surveyed the wall, deciding where to hang some pictures. They didn’t need to worry about holes in the wall; Will had already built a doodad that filled them so perfectly they were impossible for the landlord to detect. He was useful; Jill had to give him that. Ultimately, she supposed, that had been Stella’s failing. Stella was strong, but far from the strongest. She was tough; however, she wasn’t near the toughest. And in terms of skill, she came up short compared to the best among them. Stella had never given more than a passing shit about her other courses. All she’d focused on was Close Combat, and at the end of the day, that was an area where she was good. Good, not great.

     Violet was about on par with her; however, her ability let her do more than just punch things. She could float, change an object’s density, even lower her own mass enough to pass through things. Really, everyone in Close Combat who did well had varied talents. Vince could do the energy thing, Shane’s shadow manipulation had endless uses, and Chad was fucking Chad. Who knew what he couldn’t do. The only person who had the same limited skill set as Stella was Roy.

     His continuation was the subject of plenty of whispered debate among the less accepting of their class, however, Jill didn’t entertain such silly ideas. There was no conspiracy to keep the Powereds in the HCP; the difference between Roy and Stella was one of power. They had the same basic skills, yes, but Roy was undoubtedly the stronger of the two. He’d trained with Chad for half a year, and there were rumors he’d even gotten a few hits on him. Not to mention, when Roy sparred with Violet and Stella, they’d both later admitted his raw physical capability was higher than theirs. No, Roy wasn’t here because he had a varied set of skills, he just had one set that he did extremely well.

     Jill idly wondered how long that would keep him in. Maybe it was the better strategy. Not that she had such an option. If she wanted to make it to the end, then she had to cultivate a whole myriad of talents and battle options. She needed to excel in multiple fields. That was the only way she would stand on stage and hear Dean Blaine announce her as a Hero.

     A few rapid blows set the nail in the wall, and then Jill carefully hung the framed photo and straightened it. The picture was of a family beach trip they’d taken in high school. She was beaming at the camera, giving a smile she always tried and failed to recreate in new pictures. Will looked sullen, though that was likely because of the sunburn already spreading across his spindly frame. Strange to see him now—after two years of HCP gym, even his scrawny body had packed on toned muscle. Behind them both was their father, grinning broadly and looking slightly away; he’d been worried the auto picture function had failed and was looking for some sign it was still going to go off.

     She appraised her handiwork and set down the hammer. Now, she was officially home.

     11.

     Unlike freshman year, the new rankings were not posted on a giant board for the entire HCP to see. This time, they were written on a chalkboard and easy to miss if one wasn’t looking for them. However, every student filtering into the gym certainly took notice. Some of the changes, or lack thereof, weren’t that surprising. Chad was still on top, of course. Since this was the first co-ed ranking they’d gotten, Mary was now number two overall, bumping Shane down to three. All of that was well within everyone’s expectations. The next rank, however, was a bit more surprising.

     “I’m number four?” Vince said, staring at the board while the other students bustled around him.

     “Were you expecting to be on top? You put on a good show, but the others still have far better overall records than you,” Alice pointed out. She was glad to have the attention off of her own rank, which had leapt from near the bottom to eleventh in the class. Since it was based on the single match where she’d shown her power, it seemed a bit excessive to her.

     “No, I mean I can’t believe I’m that high,” Vince replied. “I don’t have that many official wins. Definitely not as many as some of the other people on here.”

     “Tell me about it,” Roy, the number five rank, grumbled. “Some of us have been busting our ass for two years and haven’t moved up a single spot.”

     “Considering how much changed, I’d say staying in the top five is a real accomplishment,” Mary told him. “As for you, Vince, I think they weight the year-end matches more heavily than our overall record when determining these ranks. The whole point of these things is to see where we are now, not where we were when the program started.”

     “That is my understanding as well,” Thomas chimed in. He was taking his new rank, seventh in the class, with his usual taciturn demeanor. If not for the episode with Vince, he would have felt the rankings unfair; however, the act of running away had wounded his pride so much that he was thankful to still be in the top ten at all.

     “I think that’s long enough for everyone to have seen their ranks,” Dean Blaine announced to the junior year class, a not-so-subtle prompt that it was time to get the real work started. The students moved to the usual starting line, whispering with curiosity over why the dean was in attendance. Usually, one of the combat professors oversaw their physical training, Professor Fletcher being the most common, though Professor Cole showed up quite a bit as well. Their curiosity was short-lived, though, as once they were arranged, Dean Blaine began speaking once more.

     “Now that you’ve all seen your standings, I wanted to have a brief discussion with you about what exactly the ranks mean at this point in your HCP career. Those are an assessment of your overall combat potential, what you can do in a physical altercation based on what we’ve seen you do so far. Will Murray, please step forward.”

     Will took a quick hop forward immediately. In this gym, obedience was automatic. That was one of the lasting lessons George had imprinted on them all.

     “I’m sure you saw the board. What is your current rank, Mr. Murray?”

     “Nineteenth in the class,” Will replied. If he held any shame about being one away from the bottom, it wasn’t evident on his narrow face.

     “That it is. Given that we only take fifteen students in our senior course, would that lead you to believe you’re on the shit list and likely to be cut?”

     “It seems a logical assumption,” Will admitted.

     “It does seem that way, doesn’t it,” Dean Blaine agreed. “Mr. Murray, you are, currently, the student with the top grades in Subtlety. Professor Pendleton sees a tremendous amount of potential in your ability, but more importantly, he thinks you have the ingenuity and resourcefulness to be a very effective Hero in the Subtlety field. You are far from the shit list. You are, in fact, one of the top contenders for graduation. Step back in line, please.”

     Will complied, somehow keeping the grin that was tugging at his cheeks under control.

     “These are combat rankings, nothing more, nothing less,” Dean Blaine continued. “We do them because fighting is an undeniable part of what Heroes must do. Strength, speed, resistance to damage: all of these are essential for many of the functions a Hero fulfills. Many functions, but not all of them. Professor Pendleton’s ability gives him excellent defense, but minimal offense in combat. My own power does nothing to stop general means of incapacitation or injury. Yet we are both graduates of a class renowned for the caliber of Hero it produced. We are not exceptions in that grouping; we are counted among them. So, if all of that is true, why even bother with the ranking system? That’s what some of you are surely wondering.”

     Though no one nodded overtly, several faces wore a sentiment of agreement with the dean’s words.

     “Because, for some of you, this is the only path forward. Roy Daniels, for example, has no talent for anything other than combat, at least not on a Super level. For him, that ranking is very important. All his training, his energy, and his time needs to go toward getting it as high as it will go. Alex Griffen could excel in both combat and recon missions. For Will Murray, the ranking as a whole is far less relevant. You all know your abilities better than anyone else. You know where your strengths lie. The rankings have their place in our system, but do not take them as a gospel list of where you stand in ultimate usefulness. Figure out what gives you the best chance of moving forward, and focus on that. Talk to your professors. Everyone is here to help you find the right path. But now is the time to start making those commitments. Your final two years will go faster than you imagine, and setting the wrong goals early on can leave you with no opportunity to correct yourself. Something to keep in mind when you select your ultimate major at the end of the year.”

     Dean Blaine finished his speech and headed out of the room, leaving behind a group of students far less certain of their overall standing than they had been minutes earlier.

     Which, truth be told, was exactly the point.

     12.

     Mary was surprised to find herself called into Professor Stone’s office after the first day of Focus. The upside to having a pair of telepaths in proximity was that there was no need to send notes or give a message in front of the rest of the class. Mary had long ago grown accustomed to listening to her professor’s thoughts while she taught; it was not only considered proper, it was part of her training. So it was that, as the rest of the students filtered out the door, off to their next course of the day, Mary walked over to Professor Stone’s desk and took a seat in her usual place. They’d had several after-class conferences over the last year, usually to discuss some area Professor Stone felt she should change tactics or improve on, and Mary had no reason to suspect this would be anything different.

     “I want to know,” Professor Stone began, taking her own seat behind her desk, “why it is you’ve been neglecting your training?”

     Mary inched backward in surprise. Nothing in the older woman’s thoughts had betrayed this sentiment, but then again, she was likely very adept at controlling what rose to the surface of her mind.

     “I haven’t been,” she said after a moment. “I do the concentration exercises, the listening exercises, and the precision exercises, all just like you instructed me to. I’ve improved my level of delicacy with telekinesis by quite a bit, and I still make sure to keep up with telepathy.”

     “Yes, Mary, you’re very diligent in working with your advanced mind abilities—at least the standard ones. Perhaps I should have been clearer: I want to know why you haven’t been trying to achieve a better skill level with your dream-walking talent. You’ve yet to come to me to discuss it, and I’ve never picked up any thoughts about you experimenting with it, or even musing on how to get better.”

     “To be truthful, my plate was already pretty full with trying to keep my team nudging along and making sure my own skills improved. The dream thing seemed rather unimportant by comparison,” Mary admitted.

     “That is . . . fair,” Professor Stone said, her tone somewhere between a grumpy sigh and a stage whisper. “This program does put a heavier emphasis on the abilities that produce more tangible results, especially in the first few years. I’ve never quite agreed with that strategy; however, it has proven to be effective overall. Still, I’m sure you were paying attention to the dean’s speech today, yes?”

     “Yes, ma’am,” Mary replied immediately.

     “Then you know that there are considerations made beyond raw damaging power when we select who will graduate. Yes, with your strength, you could qualify going that route, but it would be a waste not to use your time here to explore this very rare gift you’ve been given.”

     “Is dream-walking really that rare?”

     “Incredibly so,” Professor Stone said immediately. “Dream-walking is what we refer to as a deep-mind ability. Telepaths like you and I are considered to have a shallow-mind, or upper-mind, ability. We skim the surface of a person’s thoughts. We see only what’s going through their head in a single moment, and even then, a trained person can control what gets into our view. Some of the best telepaths can go a little bit deeper, sensing what is dwelling beneath the surface, but those thoughts aren’t as well organized, and even if one can see them, it doesn’t mean that person can correctly interpret them.”

     “I think I follow,” Mary said. “So, since, when I dream-walked, I was able to go into Nick and Vince’s subconscious, I was accessing a part of their brain most telepaths can’t get at.”

     “Precisely. My own skill to view a willing subject’s memories is another example of a deep-mind ability. We’re breaking through the surface and interacting with the core of what composes a person’s very consciousness.”

     “If deep-mind abilities are that rare, how do they wipe memories at the other HCP schools? Do you travel to them at the end of the year?”

     Professor Stone’s expression clouded, the genial look she wore during conferences giving way to the hardened eyes of someone uncomfortable with the situation. “Beg pardon?”

     “I know you’re the one who wipes people’s minds when they fail out,” Mary replied, her own eyes not quite, but nearly, as unyielding. “I’m not saying it’s wrong, and I’m not trying to take you to task over doing it to my friend, but you’re the one I have the most to learn from at this school, and I thought it was time to put all our cards on the table.”

     Professor Stone let out a slow breath as she perused her student’s mind. This was a conversation she’d managed to have thankfully few times during her tenure at Lander, but it was one she definitely never looked forward to. At least Mary seemed to be telling the truth; the girl was holding back judgment, since she saw the necessity for such precautions.

     “I only have to travel on occasion. There are two other Supers who can do what I do, or at least a close enough approximation of it,” Professor Stone said, after a few moments had passed. “Much like the way a chartable percentage of elemental controllers have the ability to emulate or turn into their element, approximately one in ten Supers who possess the advanced mind power will also have some form of deep-mind ability. Of those, about twenty percent will have the ability to engage the memory in some form or fashion. Dream-walking manifests in less than five percent of those with deep-mind abilities.”

     “I see. That’s why you want me to work on mine,” Mary surmised. “But, I feel like I should point this out—so far, that power is really limited. I’ve never walked into a genuine dream. I was only able to do it when Rich put someone under, and then only when I was touching them and had been put under myself.”

     “Yes, it does have a lot of limitations so far,” Professor Stone agreed. “Yet, just as you didn’t gain telekinesis and immediately throw a two-ton boulder, so must this talent be worked on and honed to be more useful.”

     “Great, so how do I start?”

     “The same way all training begins,” Professor Stone informed her. “Lots and lots of repetition.”

     13.

     Weapons class was starting off differently than Roy had expected. During their first year of it, Professor Cole had focused on learning about a tremendous amount of weaponry, both ancient and modern, as well as their strengths, weaknesses, and purposes. Some were meant to incapacitate, others to kill. Some were structured in a way that increased the power of the wielder’s blows, while others counted on a thin edge and dexterity to be effective. Some were electric stun batons, and some were pepper spray. It was a foundation of comprehensive knowledge, so that, by the time the first year ended, any student could identify a sword or morningstar by name, style, and proper way to be held.

     The second year began with Professor Cole having them arrange themselves in a wide circle, while she stood in the center of it. She wore her usual vestment of cloth wrappings and layered clothes, an overdressed mummy with visible eyes and the occasional tuft of hair. The difference was that this time, her large sword was not in its sheath, instead, it was clutched in one of her hands. Several of her bandages wrapped around it up to the hilt as she clutched the sword with seemingly little effort. It made more than a few students wonder if her power was enhanced strength.

     “I am not a coy woman,” Professor Cole announced, causing a few students to jump involuntarily. It was easy to forget the power in her voice, how it was strong, yet delicate all at once. “Many of your other classes will keep you in the dark as to what the test events will be. They’ll want you guessing, want you to prepare for multiple scenarios, want you to push your versatility to its limits. I don’t care about any of that. I’m telling you today what your tests—all of them—will be.”

     She twirled her blade absentmindedly. Will noticed the tip always came down at the exact same distance from the floor. Even if her action was effortless, it was still incredibly precise.

     “Did you ever wonder how both George and Professor Fletcher were able to fight you combat folks as a group? Seems like a strange skill for two men in very different fields to have acquired. The reason is that both of them have spent time in the real world, and out there, taking on a group is almost more common than going one-on-one. Gangs existed before Supers, and they’ve rolled out the welcome mats to our kind now that they know about us. It’s why Heroes work in teams so frequently. But sometimes, shit happens, and you’ll have to handle multiple enemies on your own. That’s what this year is about. This is where you get the training to put five criminals on the ground, instead of letting them beat the hell out of you.”

     The blade was still twirling, still staying on the same path without so much as a millimeter of deviation.

     “For your first test, you’ll be facing three classmates of my choosing. Second test will be five. Last test will be you against everyone who is still here. Yes, still here. I won’t kick you out of the program; however, every year, a couple of people always come to me and ask if they can drop my course early. Turns out, once the weapons become real, they lose their nerve. And make no mistake people, we will be using real weaponry. The street thug you go against isn’t going to use a dulled knife, so I don’t want you trained against one. People will be hurt; however, I will make certain no one is killed. That is my promise to you, and it is the only one I’ll be making. Other than that, you’re on your own. I want you to get hurt during these sessions, because I want you to feel the consequences of not respecting an opponent’s weapon.”

     The sword halted with no warning. One moment, it was steadily in motion; the next, it was still.

     “All of an opponent’s weapons. Everyone, please look at the third button from the top on your uniform coats.”

     The students did as they were instructed. Nestled dead center in the mass of each button was a small silver needle that hadn’t been there when the coats were put on. Upon removal, some realized that the needles were balanced and weighted, specifically designed for throwing.

     “Misdirection is an important skill in fighting groups,” Professor Cole informed them. “Control your opponent’s vision, and you can control what they don’t see, which is infinitely more important than what they do. Keep that in mind. I know several of you aren’t the type with physical gifts,” her eyes lingered on Will and Britney just a few moments longer than either would have preferred, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t defend yourself. Battle is about so much more than who punches harder. Each one of you has the capability of getting through, if not passing these tests. If you didn’t, then I wouldn’t have allowed you in my course to begin with. Now, the first step for each of you is choosing your preferred weapon. You’ll be using several different kinds throughout the year, but this will be your home base, the one to which you’ll apply all the things you learn. We’ll spend the next week making sure each of you finds a good fit. After that, we start learning how to use them.”

     She gestured to the racks of weaponry that lined the cement wall of her large classroom, indicating that it was time to start seeing if they could find a good match. Most of the students followed her implied orders, however, one lingered behind.

     “Is there a problem, Mr. Murray?”

     “There is. I don’t think I’m going to find the right weapon for me in the classroom stock,” he replied. “I have no physical augments, nor do I have a talent that would allow me to approximate them like my sister does.”

     “Is this your way of asking if you can drop the course already?”

     “Very much the opposite,” Will said. “I think the only chance I have here is to design a weapon customized for me specifically. My body, my natural movements, my capabilities. I wanted to ask if that was against the rules.”

     “No,” Professor Cole confirmed. “The rules here are that, if you can create it, then you can use it. It’s why we’ve let you bring all your high-tech inventions into fights, while everyone else is restricted to nothing more advanced than a Taser.”

     “You’ve allowed Jill to bring in my works as well,” Will pointed out.

     “Cultivating resources is a Hero skill too. Jill got them from a fellow HCP student, so as far as we’re concerned, she procured them under her own power. I’m sure that was your roundabout way of seeing if you could make something for her too.”

     “Perhaps a bit,” Will admitted. “However, in this case, my own needs are first priority. Jill can get by with what she’s got. I seem to only have a week to craft a tool that will give me a fighting chance.”

     “Do you need more time?”

     “No, that should be plenty, though I may consult you for your expertise. Personally, I think it should prove quite the rewarding project.”

     14.

     “Again, we both really appreciate this,” Vince said, repeating his thanks for what Camille guessed was the fourth time.

     “It’s no big deal. This address is only fifteen minutes from campus anyway,” she replied, trying to soothe him. The overflowing gratitude was likely due to jittery nerves. Vince might be able to face down a horde of angry Supers without so much as a twitch; however, social situations he was unfamiliar with still put him a bit on edge. In that regard, Camille could certainly relate.

     She saw the street she was looking for and turned the wheel to the side. Kent Mears had gotten all of the Melbrook group interviews on the same day, no doubt assuming they would carpool. What he hadn’t realized was that sending Alice and Roy to one location, while Vince and Mary went to another, left the latter pair without transport. If not for Camille’s sedan, free time, and willingness to help, they would have been in quite a pickle.

     “Did he tell you anything about the place?”

     “Only that it was a restaurant,” Mary answered from the car’s back seat. “He said it was somewhere that my eyes and Vince’s hair wouldn’t stand out.”

     Camille couldn’t picture many businesses where that would be true. Though it was fashionable to emulate the strange physical characteristics some Supers, like Vince and Mary, were born with, it was still frowned upon in a professional setting. Much like nose rings or tattoos, there was definitely a crowd that appreciated them; however, that crowd was rarely staffing the human resources department at major corporations. Mary would be able to get by if no one looked too closely at her eyes. However, if Vince wanted a non-Hero career after college, he was going to have to get used to the idea of shaving his head, or wearing a lot of hats.

     One last turn put them in a half-filled parking lot with a sizable building in the center. The color scheme was garish, to say the least, and a large neon sign announced the establishment’s name proudly for all to see. Through the windows, they could see a woman in a bright blue-and-yellow outfit showing a family of four into a booth, then setting down menus in front of them.

     “Supper with Supers,” Vince said slowly, reading the words off the glowing sign and taking in the colorful business where he was scheduled to interview.

     “Well, you guys definitely won’t stand out,” Camille said, trying to point out a silver lining. It was not terribly effective.

     *              *              *

     “That is . . . not a whole lot of clothing,” Alice said, eyeing the uniform critically.

     “No, it is not,” Angela agreed, “which is why it gets us such generous tips.”

     Alice had been surprised to find Angela already working at the place where she was set to interview, but it made sense. There could only be so many businesses that had agreed to take in HCP students, so some overlap was unavoidable. Alice had been sitting by herself, since Roy was interviewing first, when her fellow blonde had recognized her and come over to chat. It seemed Angela genuinely enjoyed working here, and was adamant that Alice apply for a position as a fellow shot girl, a prospect she’d initially found appealing, until she took in exactly what the uniform consisted of.

     “Wouldn’t it be easier to start as a waitress?” Alice asked. “What do they wear?”

     “Jeans and a low-cut top, though they can also go with shorts if they want. The plaid half-shirts are all us though. Makes sure the customers know they can buy booze right off us, not ask for more lemons or napkins or any of that bullcrap. Trust me, shot girl is much more fun than waitress. They have closing duties and cleaning and all that. Us? We are agents of alcohol delivery, and nothing more. We flirt, we get guys to buy more rounds, and we take a few shots ourselves, if the customers feel generous.”

     “How often do they feel generous?”

     “Often enough that I carry an empty beer bottle for spitting some shots into.”

     “I think I saw that in a movie,” Alice recalled.

     “It’s a trick that’s been around for ages. Trust me, you’ll want to carry an empty.” Angela paused and looked her fellow Super up and down critically. “Actually, with your chest and waist, you might want to carry two.”

     Alice noticed the discussion had somehow maneuvered from whether or not she even wanted the job to what she should know before starting it. Some might have thought Angela was manipulating the conversation to lead her to a conclusion, but the truth was much simpler than that: Angela had already decided what the outcome would be, and the idea that she could be wrong hadn’t even occurred to her. Alice decided to steer the topic of conversation back to something that didn’t require her to walk around half naked.

     “How can you keep this up senior year? I sort of assumed things would be . . . busier.” Discussing the HCP in public, even when it seemed they were alone, was always handled with careful word choices and vagueness.

     “Oh it is, but you’ve got to make time for other things, or you go nuts,” Angela replied. “Besides, I’m still top of the class, so graduation is looking imminent. My biggest worry is lining up an internship, and even that’s not too stressful, thanks to some connections.”

     “Internship?”

     “Yeah. Blaine should have told you all about it back in freshman year.”

     “I think he mentioned something, but never explained it.”

     “Oh, well he’ll do that before the end of this year, don’t worry,” Angela assured her. “I can’t go too much into it right now, obviously, but you know how, after doctors finish med school, they still have to work under the supervision of more experienced doctors before they’re trusted on their own?”

     “I actually didn’t know that,” Alice admitted.

     “Well, now you do,” Angela said with a smile. “Anyway, same basic premise.”

     There were an abundance of questions Alice wanted to ask, but she didn’t. Partially because this wasn’t a safe place to talk about HCP business more than they had, and partially because, at that moment, the owner and Roy emerged from his office, and he motioned for her to come over.

     “Remember,” Angela encouraged as Alice walked across the bar, “you want to be a shot girl!”

     15.

     Brenda, the general manager of Supper with Supers, could be faulted on many fronts, but lack of enthusiasm was not one of them. She’d greeted Vince, Mary, and Camille at the door, and immediately pulled all of them into her office, either ignoring or not hearing Camille’s protests that she would wait outside.

     “As you can see, we have licensing arrangements to allow our employees to wear the costumes of many famous Heroes,” Brenda said, gesturing to the wall lined with staff photos, all of them in some sort of costume. “However, for the most part, our staff wear generic ones, designs we have ample stock of. It makes accommodating different sizes much easier. For those who have been here more than six months, we allow them to design their own outfit and name, if they want to be unique. Of course, we retain all rights to those designs, so not many of our HCP workers take us up on that opportunity.”

     “So, it’s just a restaurant where people wear costumes?” Vince asked.

     “It is a theme, dear boy. We transport the customers to a world of high-paced action, where capes and costumes are everyday occurrences. The point is to submerge them in the culture, to turn a simple meal into a memorable experience.”

     “It seems lovely,” Mary said, defaulting to politeness, since she had no idea what else to say.

     “Thank you very much. I’m quite proud of it, and we have a great reputation for fun and delicious food. Now, I’ve got two openings for wait staff,” Brenda said, checking her folder. “And I can squeeze one of you in as a host.”

     Camille debated speaking up once more; however, by now, it seemed obvious her protests were not making any dents in Brenda’s enthusiasm. Plus, if she were honest with herself, the idea of working with Vince wasn’t totally unappealing to her.

     “The waiting jobs require more social interaction. You have to chat with the table, remember orders, that sort of thing. Host duty will revolve around charting the wait times and making sure to seat customers in a rotation that lets the waiters serve them best.”

     “I think Vince and I should be the wait staff,” Mary suggested. Camille threw her fellow small-statured girl a glance and received a not-too-sly wink in response. There were definite benefits to having a friend who was a telepath. “Knowing Camille’s sense of organization and sweet demeanor, I think she would excel at the hosting position.”

     “She does seem downright adorable,” Brenda agreed. “Any objections to that, Camille? Don’t worry, you still get to wear one of our amazing costumes!”

     “Sounds . . . great,” Camille said weakly. She was immediately beginning to regret going along with this; however, if it had been hard to back out before, then doing it now was well beyond the realm of impossibility.

     “Fantastic. Now, that leaves you two as servers. The training process is a little more arduous for those positions, but I’ve never had an HCP student who couldn’t hack it. Running food and pre-bussing is much less stressful than fighting or robot battle or whatever it is you folks do in there.”

     “I did have a question, ma’am,” Vince said, raising his hand tentatively.

     “Go right ahead.” Brenda gave him a warm smile of reassurance when she spoke, the type that can only be conjured by master politicians and the truly sincere.

     “I get that the costumes will let us blend in somewhat, but how does that help with things like my hair or Mary’s eyes?”

     “A very fair question,” Brenda replied. “The answer is two-fold, actually. For one thing, many of our wait staff like to employ the sort of look you two have naturally. This is one of the few establishments in town where bright green, spiky hair and makeup that looks like a salamander make you more likely to get a job, rather than less. The other aspect is that, for those employees who don’t favor such affectation in their personal lives, we offer a wide variety of wigs, contacts, and makeup, all for your use. Since people come to work in costume—a policy I’ll have to insist you adhere to as well— they won’t know your look isn’t just part of the uniform, as long as you don’t spend time with them outside of work. Even if you do see them beyond the restaurant’s walls, you can always claim you dye your hair.”

     “Thank you, that does make me feel more at ease,” Vince said. His opinion of both Kent Mears and Brenda were rising steadily. This really was the perfect place to stash Supers like him and Mary. Some of the others were quite noticeable when they used their powers, but at least they could blend in when they needed to.

     “Perfectly natural. So, when would you be able to start?”

     “Don’t we need to be tested or something?” Mary asked. Even she had expected the hiring process to be a bit more arduous than simply showing up and answering a few questions.

     “In normal process, yes, you would, however, I’ve had nothing but positive experiences hiring from the HCP pool in the past. Rather than make you jump through the hoops, I’d prefer to give you the benefit of the doubt. Obviously, if we run into attitude problems, or you can’t handle the work, I’m afraid you won’t be able to stay here, but otherwise, I don’t see any reason not to push forward,” Brenda explained.

     “I guess we can start whenever you’d like us to, then,” Vince said, once the reality of impending work had set in.

     “Great. First, I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork, get me copies of your schedules so I don’t put you on shift during HCP courses, and, of course, we’ll need to do your fittings.”

     “Our fittings?” Camille asked. “Don’t we just put on a costume?”

     “Oh heavens no, these things are full-body suits. You don’t want one that hasn’t been hemmed and trimmed in the right places, or you’ll be tripping over loose fabric. Don’t worry though, we’ve got a wide selection, and I’ll make sure each and every one of you looks eye-catching."

     Brenda couldn’t have chosen a better phrase to alarm Camille.

     16.

     Her team wasn’t really her team anymore. Mary had difficulty with that realization, yet the longer she mulled it around, the more she realized how it couldn’t quite be denied. It wasn’t just because the team dynamic had been dissolved at the end of sophomore year. They’d been a group long before that had even been a part of their education. It wasn’t losing Nick either, though that damn sure hadn’t helped things.

     No, the problem was one of focus. They’d once had a shared goal: keeping their secret and making it through the program for as long as they could. Even after they’d been outed, they’d been the collective of freaks and had needed to stick together. It had galvanized them, given them the teamwork they needed to overcome opponents with years more experience than they possessed. Then, somehow, they’d lost it.

     Vince still trained relentlessly, but at least one part of his mind was always on his father and the criminal actions he’d taken. Alice dwelled endlessly on the mystery of her mother. Hershel and Roy were focused on the goal of graduating the HCP, but they thought of themselves as a duo rather than a piece of the group. She heard all this swimming about in their thoughts, along with the occasional pang of sadness for their lost comrade, one who had returned to campus, and whose presence would eventually be noticed—it was only a matter of time. When that happened, it would likely splinter their focus more. On top of that, the addition of jobs wasn't going to help the situation one bit.

     Mary’s own mind drifted back to freshman year, when they’d been left on the mountain. At the time, she’d thought it overkill, but in retrospect, it hadn’t been a bad idea. They’d bonded, they’d come to rely on one another, and they’d had their first taste of functioning as a team. She wondered if she could talk Mr. Transport into doing it again. No, even if she could, that wouldn’t be much of a challenge anymore. Alice could float them all up with ease, and Vince would keep them toasty as she did it. Even her own control had evolved to where she could hold and lift a normal person’s body without accidentally crushing them. Strange to think that what had been a nearly insurmountable task only two years ago would now be little more than an inconvenient few minutes. Assuming they worked together, of course.

     With a groan, Mary set her head on her desk. She’d been best at moving them along personally, helping each one find their own strengths and talents. Wrangling Roy’s ego, pushing Vince through his fear of himself, helping Alice to stop seeing herself as useless, this was stuff she could handle. Nick had been the one who could move them as a group. He saw the way people fit together, how to use them as a unit, and how to tighten the cogs so that it worked more efficiently. Mary’s chess skills had advanced to where she could utilize each piece for the whole of a greater strategy, but that didn’t mean she knew how to impart in them a sense of unity.

     They needed a goal, or a trial, or something to push them back into a solid mass. Right now, they were drifting apart, turning into four people working to graduate, instead of one team. That might work for everyone else, but they were different. The others couldn’t hear the barbs, the angry thoughts percolating in some of their fellow student’s minds, but she could. To much of the student body, they weren’t welcome here.

     And if Mary didn’t think of something soon, she doubted they’d be here for a whole lot longer.

     *              *              *

     Mary wasn’t wrong about Hershel and Roy’s dedication; at that very moment, Roy was underground in the HCP gym, pushing hard to find his new limit. Only a year ago, the concept had terrified him. Not the concept of running out of strength during a lift, but of hitting the sort of wall where, no matter the effort, his muscles refused to make progress. That had been when he thought such things were permanent, though. Now, he knew better. Now, he understood it was his way of tossing the ball back into Hershel’s court.

     In a way, it had become a game between them: could Hershel ratchet up Roy’s potential before Roy hit the wall? It drove them both to train hard, each brother trying to stay one step ahead of the other, to avoid plateaus and continue growing. And they were growing, that was ridiculously evident. Roy’s strength had risen exponentially, and his endurance had nearly kept pace. Even his reaction speeds were improving, though at a slower rate. Hershel had taken up sparring over the summer, the genuine combat experience helping to push up Roy’s potential just as effectively as Hershel’s exercise.

     It was a testament to the construction of Lander’s workout equipment that the weight bench didn’t shudder as Roy set down the bar after his final rep. No, there was no question of his strength anymore, even if there were still miles to go. The real hurdle facing him was skill. Despite Owen’s belief that their kind only existed to hit and get hit, Roy saw value in learning to punch and dodge more effectively. He had a feeling they weren’t going to move him up the ranks unless he was able to actually land his blows, and Roy absolutely intended to move up the ranks.

     Mary had been right about their dedication, but not about their goals. Hershel was focused on graduation, that much was true, but Roy’s eyes were set on another prize. He’d come here with an undeserved ego and been put in his place. He understood now just how far behind the head of the pack he’d been. But that didn’t mean his pride wasn’t still there. Roy wanted to be on top, he wanted to be the King, to use Nick’s old analogy. This time, he didn’t want to claim to be the best from misplaced idiocy though. He intended to earn it.

     Roy was aiming for one thing and one thing only: beating Chad.

     17.

     As he checked his schedule and walked down the hall, scanning for the appropriate room number, Vince was definitely confused. It was Friday, and everyone else was done with HCP classes for the week. He, on the other hand, had a single remaining item on the printed paper clutched in his fingers. “General Discussion” was all it said—that, and a room number Vince was certain he hadn’t been in before. If not for the subterranean location, he would have assumed it was some lab that went with one of his usual classes that he’d forgotten about. The fact that it was underground, however, and that no one else seemed to have it on their own schedules, made him wary.

     Vince finally located the room; it was only about half a hallway down from the infirmary where he’d woken up so frequently last year. The door was open, so he was spared the awkwardness of knocking. Instead, he stepped through and took in the surroundings.

     Immediately, it was clear this wasn’t a classroom. Though the walls were thick concrete like all HCP rooms, it was too small to accommodate more than a few people at once. Besides that, there were personal knick-knacks and a large central desk that gave away this room’s function as an office. The curious part was that the woman sitting behind it was unfamiliar to Vince. After two years in the HCP, he believed he had met all of the teaching staff, yet the salt-and-pepper-haired woman with dark-framed glasses currently sitting at the desk before him was utterly foreign to his memory.

     “Hello?” Vince said tentatively. The woman looked up from her desk and greeted him with a warmer smile than he’d been anticipating from her professional appearance.

     “Vince, right on time. Please, shut the door and take a seat,” she instructed, gesturing to a large, cushioned chair that would have looked more at home in someone’s living room than in an office. Vince complied automatically, pulling the door closed and settling into the indicated chair. It was even more comfortable than it looked.

     “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” the woman said, once he was situated.

     “Yes, ma’am,” Vince confirmed. “No one else seemed to have this class.”

     “That’s because this isn’t a class, per se,” she told him. “I think it’s best if I start from the top. To begin with, my name is Dr. Moran, and I’m the head physician here at Lander.”

     “I didn’t even know we had a head physician,” Vince admitted.

     “That’s because most of my work is overseeing the healers taking care of you students. Healing is a discipline that one can only improve through practice, so except in very extreme situations, I leave all the patching-up work to the students who need the experience. Of course, in years where we have no healers, I take a more active role, but right now, we have many skilled Supers with healing talents in attendance.”

     “My friend, Camille, is a healer,” Vince supplied, still unsure of what he was supposed to say.

     “And a wonderful one at that. Camille is one of the most skilled students I’ve ever had the chance to work with,” Dr. Moran told him. “However, we aren’t here to discuss that kind of healing. Vince, in addition to being a Super with a healing ability, I am also an M.D. who has done fellowships in Internal Medicine and Psychiatry. I even ran my own practice before coming to Lander. I’m telling you this to assure you that you are in safe, experienced, and professional hands.”

     “I don’t really understand what you’re talking about,” Vince said.

     “You were informed that your continued attendance at Lander would come with special requirements, correct?”

     “Yes, ma’am.”

     “This is one of those requirements. You and I are going to sit here for an hour, once a week, and talk. The goal is to make sure that you’re handling everything that’s been thrown at you well, and to provide help if you need it,” Dr. Moran told him.

     “Oh. So you’re making sure I’m not crazy,” Vince surmised, understanding finally kicking in. “Awesome.”

     “If you choose to see it that way, then I can’t stop you,” Dr. Moran said, setting her hands down on her desk. “What you get from therapy rests more on your attitude than anything I have the ability to say. But Vince, if I may be so bold, I think you would benefit from having someone to talk things through with.”

     “I’d rather if that someone wasn’t working for Ralph Chapman,” Vince said defiantly.

     Dr. Moran’s smile darkened, just for an instant. “I do not work for Ralph Chapman. He wanted to bring in his own personnel for this task, but he was unable to find someone more qualified than I. And let me assure you, Vince, standard confidentiality applies. Unless I suspect you are about to become a danger to yourself or others, everything said in this room will remain between the two of us.”

     “That’s not so bad, I guess.” Vince paused for a moment as he contemplated this new information. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I should have assumed you were working for Mr. Chapman so suddenly. This whole situation of being constantly screened just has me a little worried.”

     “Perfectly understandable,” Dr. Moran said. “In your situation, a little bit of suspicion is not only excusable, it’s healthy.”

     “Still, I don’t know why I need to be in therapy.”

     “Vince, I believe a good relationship between doctor and patient is built on trust, so I’ll be honest with you. Yes, part of it is to determine if your mental state is healthy enough to continue in the HCP. But I’ve read your files extensively, and I sincerely doubt I’m going to find you unfit for this program. As to what you could gain out of it, I can cite two incidents that make my case for me. One, when you learned about Globe’s reemergence, you inadvertently began releasing fire until you were sealed away. Two, when Nick Campbell convinced you someone you loved was in danger, you reacted with the kind of murderous rage one would hardly expect to see in a person of your demeanor.”

     “Those were extreme situations,” Vince defended.

     “It is in extreme situations that our true natures can be seen,” Dr. Moran countered. “You are a kind, respectful, very loyal young man. But it seems evident to me that there are emotions inside that you are not dealing with. Anger, fear, frustration, and that’s all just what I could get from those two examples. I’m sure you could tell me far more.”

     “I keep myself under control.”

     “Except when you don’t,” Dr. Moran said. “It seems to me that a Super with such a perpetual fear of losing control of his power would be more inclined to address the one avenue where he’s lost that control multiple times.”

     “That . . . is a good point,” Vince said, his own rebuttal failing before it could leave his mouth. She was right. Even if no one had made a big deal out of it, he’d still gone overboard both of those times. Maybe he did need to address some of the things inside himself that he’d purposely left unattended. Which, it dawned on him, was exactly the conclusion she wanted him to reach.

     “You are really good at this,” Vince said.

     “Of course I am. That’s why I’m at Lander.”

     18.

     “It’s certainly unique, I’ll give you that,” Professor Cole said as she examined the curious instrument in her hands. It was about three-quarters the length of a normal staff, with a curve slightly off center for no discernible reason. One end held a silver-colored blade, made from a metal Professor Cole highly doubted she’d be familiar with. The other had a small protrusion of what looked like geode crystal, but again, probably was something very different. The crystal did seem to be giving off a slight blue glow, which Professor Cole found to be worth noting. Along the shaft of the weapon were various switches and what appeared to be compartment hatches, though she was unable to get them to open.

     She and the designer were in the hall outside her classroom, a few minutes before Weapons class was due to start. Will had tracked her down to get his weapon vetted in private, which, given the apparent complexity of it, made ample sense to Professor Cole.

     “I designed it to be augmentable,” Will informed her as her cloth-wrapped hand ran carefully along the length of his weapon. “I presume there’s no objection to that?”

     “No, as long as you can design the modifications, then you’re free to make them. Though we don’t often see the need for such things, it would, in principle, be no different than choosing different bullets for a gun.” Professor Cole handed Will his strange weapon, noting the way he gripped it along the curve and held it with the blade halfway raised. Odd though it was, she was experienced enough to glean ample information just from the way an unfamiliar weapon was handled. “Tell me about the tips.”

     “The blade is mostly just a blade, though I tinkered with the metal’s composition and set it to run a variable electrical current.”

     “Shock and slice, huh?”

     “Yes, ma’am. Our fight with Professor Fletcher last year made it clear to me that electricity is probably the most common weakness among Supers. Likely because it interferes with the nervous system, which many of us rely on to utilize our abilities. Since I needed a martial option, I saw no reason not to rig it in a way that imparted maximum stopping power.”

     “Smart call. Tell me about the other end,” Professor Cole instructed him.

     “Variable by design. Currently, it is set so that, upon contact with the epidermis, it causes a tremendous amount of agitation.”

     “If you touch people’s skin, it makes them really itchy?” Professor Cole was about to chide him on the silliness of that, however, she paused for a moment before speaking. Will had done an impressive job in a few short days; she highly doubted he would have slapped a silly gag on his weapon. “How itchy?”

     “Roughly enough that it would cause insanity if it were not temporary. I designed it as a mechanism to stop those with enhanced endurance, since their ability renders them immune to most pain I could impart.”

     “I like it,” Professor Cole complimented. “It’s an inventive workaround. Though I should point out that some of them will be immune to that too.”

     “I suspected as much. That’s why I made it augmentable, so that, as new ideas manifest, I can implement them.”

     “That was forward thinking of you. Okay, I see no objection to your weapon, with one caveat.”

     “Yes?”

     “You need to get all augmentations approved by me before you’re allowed to use them on fellow students. There’s a fine line between effective neutralization and unnecessary cruelty, and I’ll be the one making that determination.”

     “That seems very fair,” Will replied.

     “Even if it wasn’t, we’d still be doing it,” Professor Cole told him. “Now come on, everyone else is already inside.”

     Will moved a few steps ahead of her, walking in and joining the other students in the concrete space set aside for Weapons training. Professor Cole entered moments later, her eyes taking in the neat row of Supers, many of whom were already holding their choice of weaponry.

     “Glad to see so many of you took the assignment seriously,” she announced as she took her usual spot in front of them. “Today, we’ll start by you showing me what weapon you’ve selected. I may ask you some questions about why it was chosen, so I hope you all put genuine thought into it. If you didn’t . . . well, a year is a long time to make sure a student regrets something, and I have ample practice at it.”

     The students gave no reaction, not because they doubted her capability to make them regret lack of forethought, but rather because each had come into this class already knowing the consequences if they didn’t take the assignment seriously. The HCP was not a place that forgave laziness or incompetence. After two years, even the most stubborn among them had learned that.

     “No questions? Then let’s get started. Violet Sullivan, since you’re at the far end, bring me your weapon choice.”

     Violet complied immediately, stepping up and handing the professor a cumbersome hunk of jingling metal.

     “A spiked chain? Aren’t you more of an up-close, brawler type?”

     “I am, that’s why I picked this,” Violet explained. “Last year’s fight with Alice showed me my need for something with range. Since I can change the density of objects, this seemed like it could be useful with practice. Make it heavy for blows, but light for building up momentum.”

     “Well-reasoned,” Professor Cole said, handing back the weapon with as little jingling as was possible. “Approved.”

     The professor continued to call up students from the line, not needing any explanation for Britney’s rapier or Rich’s staff. When she got to Roy Daniels, however, her voice grew stern as she examined the weapon he’d handed her.

     “A metal baseball bat? I didn’t think I stocked one of those here.”

     “You don’t,” Roy told her. “I bought it at a sporting goods store.”

     “Did you now? I must assume you have a dazzling reason for this choice then.”

     “Sort of. I’ve never really been much of a weapon user, obviously, so I don’t know how to correctly wield any of this crap. I probably won’t have time to learn it worth a shit either. I’m a brawler; it’s what I do. But I wanted to try, so I chose something similar to what Hershel uses in his LARP games. Even if it's second-hand, I have at least a little bit of knowledge on how to wield that. It seemed like my best bet.”

     Professor Cole remained silent as she handed back the hunk of aluminum. Roy accepted it with an equal lack of words. Both stood silently for several moments, until Professor Cole finally made up her mind.

     “That won’t hold up in real battle. It’s not made to take on quality weaponry. But, as surprised as I am to admit it, you clearly put a good bit of thought into that choice. It’s logical too, and in a curious way, a simple, blunt instrument fits your fighting style. Take that back to the store; I’ll have a sturdy one commissioned. It will weigh a bit more, but I suspect that won’t be an issue for you.”

     “No, it won’t,” Roy concurred.

     “Then your weapon is approved; conceptually, at least.”

     19.

     The door to Dean Blaine’s office slammed open without so much as a knock. He glanced up, his face impassive, while his hand pressed against a switch beneath his desk that would simultaneously fill the area with tear gas, detonate a concussion blast, and send an electrical current through every living being within fifty feet of the office. When dealing with Supers, emergency procedures tended toward overkill, so much so that Dean Blaine would be caught in his own defense measures if he used them. He’d requested it be that way; holes in security only gave the cunning a place to slip through.

     As it turned out, this was unnecessary. The man coming through the door was Mr. Numbers, though a far less composed Mr. Numbers than Dean Blaine was accustomed to seeing. He was unshaven for at least a day, and his suit hadn’t been pressed in some time. Briefly, Dean Blaine wondered if the task had been too much and had driven his calculating brain over the precipice of madness. Then he noticed the sheets of paper clutched tightly in Mr. Numbers’ hand, and it all came together.

     “You found something?”

     “I did,” Mr. Numbers replied. Mr. Transport followed a few steps behind, more put together than his partner, which was a curiosity in itself. The duo sat down immediately, and Dean Blaine paused the conversation long enough to pour them both some water. He then got up and shut the door firmly, flipping the light switch a curious number of times. Only when this was done did he retake his own seat.

     “All recording devices and cameras are off. I’ve expanded my negation field so that our minds should be unreadable. This room is specially insulated and equipped to make it impossible to hear through, even with augmented senses. In our world, it is impossible to say if anything is truly secure, however; this is as private as I can possibly make our conversation. Did you find a hole in security?”

     “No,” Mr. Numbers said. “So far as I can tell, your internal systems still haven’t been compromised. What I found was something that made me think it’s time to shift the focus of the investigation entirely.”

     “Oh?” Dean Blaine tried hard to hold on to his detachment. There were precious few options outside of having been hacked, and none of them were positive.

     Mr. Numbers slid the pages across the desk. “Despite months of scouring information, I’ve yet to see a single sign that someone entered any part of the Lander system without authorization. However, in my reviews, I did notice something peculiar. On the day of Mary and Hershel’s kidnapping, there was an authorized access and a large download of information. The user was George Russell.”

     “Not to be a doubter, but all of the teachers access the system and the data stored within on a regular basis. Helping our students often requires sorting through massive amounts of historical information, searching for past students who have faced similar personal obstacles, or had the same type of power, and what tactics worked best for them. I’ll give you that it’s curious, however, I fail to see what conclusion it could lead to.”

     “There’s something more,” Mr. Transport told him.

     “Yes, yes there is. Two things, really. One, the part of the system this data came from is not connected to any pathway or archive I’ve seen so far. I’m assuming you have a few chunks of data not meant for just anyone, even professors, to see?”

     “There are certain pieces of information which are considered too dangerous to be given out freely. Board approval is required for access,” Dean Blaine admitted. “Even I’m not privy to all the information on those servers. The only time I accessed one was back in my Hero days, when a former student turned villain was threatening a town with a doomsday device. He’d created something similar in his time here, and looking at the schematics aided me in finding a way to defuse it. That’s the sort of information kept on those files. Too useful to destroy, too dangerous to spread.”

     “Well, George found a way in, and he took a big-ass chunk of it,” Mr. Numbers replied.

     “That data is heavily encrypted. Even if he downloaded it, he wouldn’t be able to read it,” Dean Blaine assured his guests.

     “Encryption can be cracked,” Mr. Transport reminded him.

     “We utilize an incredibly complex one. It would take centuries to break, if ever.”

     “Complex by whose standards? Because I can do computations in my head seven times faster than the best computer built so far. Then again, that Murray kid hasn’t taken a swing at it yet, so maybe I’ll lose my record before I die. Or maybe some Super out there has the gift of looking at a scrambled code and reading it like a daily newspaper.”

     “Point taken. We can’t dismiss anything as impossible,” Dean Blaine yielded. “But while I grant you that this does finally give us a stepping off place on their motive, I fail to see how it informs us about our leak in security.”

     “Because George made the download at eleven that night. Or rather, he connected at eleven and finished his business at one the next morning. Seems it took him some time to access what he was looking for,” Mr. Numbers explained. “And we know with certainty that that is . . .”

     “Impossible,” Dean Blaine finished, comprehension dawning at last. “Because, at that time, he was already involved in a kidnapping.”

     “Correct,” Mr. Numbers confirmed.

     “And we were using Mrs. Tracking at the time, so if he were using a teleporter to hop back and forth between locations, we’d have known about it,” Mr. Transport added.

     “Which can only mean someone else was using his credentials. Someone he would have had to give them to, because our security is top-notch. Someone who was here, using a terminal in the school while our entire staff was in an uproar over a pair of suddenly-missing students,” Dean Blaine deduced.

     “The whole thing was a shell game,” Mr. Transport said simply. “While we were chasing George and Persephone, someone was here doing the real job.”

     “Hence why I feel I can stop looking for a hole in the security system,” Mr. Numbers said. “What we have here is not a hole, it’s a mole.”

     20.

     Camille was very thankful this was a family-friendly restaurant. Hero work, while officially sanctioned by a government salary like policemen or firefighters, was also supplemented by the large demand for merchandise relating to the more popular ones. Though a large percentage of the profits were—by tradition and expectation, if not law—set aside by the Heroes for various charitable enterprises, the Supers wearing the mask were able to increase their standard of living if they became popular enough. This had the desirable effect of making most Heroes maintain a wholesome image in order to keep their popularity high; however, in some instances, it led to the female Heroes opting for skimpy costumes in an effort to be seen as sex symbols. A few male Heroes tried that strategy as well, but they were neither as frequent nor as successful in the endeavor.

     All of this had gone through Camille’s mind when she was told her new job required employees to wear costumes. But evidently (and thankfully), Supper with Supers didn’t go in for that kind of appeal, as none of the clothing choices had been particularly sexualized. Now that she was standing in the employee dressing room, eyeing her white and pink outfit critically, she felt relief from a worry she hadn’t even known she was holding on to. The costume wasn’t spandex; rather, it was sturdy pants and boots on the bottom, with a long-sleeved shirt on top. They were both a bit more form-fitting than Camille might normally prefer, but the thickness of the material kept her from feeling as though her body was overtly on display. She carefully put on the gloves and faux utility belt, then did a quick spin to watch her pink cape swirl behind her. When it settled, the cape hung down a few inches below her buttocks, which she suspected was by design rather than coincidence.

     “You look adorable,” said a voice from behind her. Camille spun around to find Mary stepping out from behind one of the dressing curtains. The small room had four stalls, each with a curtain in front, and the large platform-and-mirrored area where Camille was currently standing. Privacy on top of privacy, an aspect which had made her feel much more comfortable about the idea of changing her clothes here daily.

     Mary’s own outfit was composed of medium browns and hunter greens. The basic structure of the costume was much the same as Camille’s, except Mary wore a long, flowing coat rather than a cape, and her gloves stopped at the wrist, while Camille’s extended practically to her elbows.

     “You look very nice too,” Camille eventually replied. “The earth tones really suit you.”

     “Thanks,” Mary said, stepping up onto the platform to admire herself. “When I saw they had this outfit, I knew it was what I wanted.”

     Camille noticed Mary’s coat had a hood hanging from the back, and that it was inside out. Without thinking, she adjusted the minor problem, giving her friend a smile in the process.

     “I have to admit, I was really skeptical at first, but I kind of like these outfits,” she confessed.

     “Ditto,” Mary said. “Sort of makes me excited for when we get to design our own one day.”

     “I thought they had people to do that for us?”

     “I’m sure we get input,” Mary said. “Our Hero identity is a part of us. What we wear is just as important as the name we use; it’s part of the image we project. I’m sure you wouldn’t want some enthusiastic designer putting you in a skimpy leotard without your permission.”

     Camille’s face reddened all the way to the tips of her ears, and Mary let out a small tinkle of laughter.

     “Sorry, I guess that was a bit much. You get the point, though.”

     “Yes, yes, I very much do.”

     They might have talked more, but they were interrupted as Brenda gave a small knock and walked in.

     “Oh my goodness, you two are so cute!” Brenda declared, immediately walking over to them to check the costumes. “We’ll need to do a little hemming here and there, and probably have to have the chest let out a bit for you, Camille. No, don’t worry about it. All of our costumes are designed specifically so that they’re easily tailored in practically every aspect. I’ll take measurements on all of you in a little bit, so that everything will be perfect for your first day. How do you feel in them, though? Anything you specifically need changed?”

     Finally given the opportunity to speak, neither girl really had much to say.

     “I’m pretty happy with mine,” Mary told her new boss.

     “Same here,” Camille concurred.

     “Good, glad to hear it. If I could make one suggestion though, Camille, we have a pink wig no one is using that matches the color scheme of your costume perfectly. Mary and Vince have natural features that mark them as Supers; you might want to consider adding it on, just to complete your look.”

     Camille looked in the mirror once more. Now that she looked at it, her own pale blonde hair was washed out by the bright white of her costume. She squinted and tried to imagine a pink mop of hair atop her head. She wasn’t sure she got it right, however, she did know it looked good in her mind’s eye.

     “I think I’d like to give that a try,” Camille said.

     “Wonderful!” Brenda clapped her hands in excitement. “I’ll go rummage that up while I get the sewing tools and measuring tape. Any objection if I let Vince in so we can do the whole thing in one go?”

     Both girls shook their head, and Brenda bounded out of the room. A few minutes later, there was a tentative knock on the door.

     “Hello?” Vince’s voice called through the wooden barrier. “Brenda told me to come in here for the rest of the fitting. Is everyone decent?”

     “You can come in,” Mary called, raising her voice so it could be heard through the door. It must have worked, because Vince stepped into the dressing room.

     Camille bit her lip to stifle a gasp; there was no hope that her face wasn’t flushing again, though, and even worse than it had over the embarrassing mental image Mary had given her earlier. She and Mary had looked cute in their costumes, but it didn’t change the fact that they still looked like costumes to her. They were employees wearing an odd uniform, nothing more, and that was how they appeared. Not Vince.

     To Camille, Vince looked like a Hero. This was always at least somewhat true, but on this occasion, it was not only her feelings and memories that created such an impression.

     His costume was styled similarly to hers, however, instead of white and pink, he wore light blues similar to his irises and a hue of silver that matched his hair. The shirt also seemed to be thinner in some places than the girls’, showing off the lean, muscular body that two years at Lander had crafted. Standing with his back straight, Vince seemed taller than normal, which was especially curious since he didn’t usually slouch. The boyish good looks she knew by heart were framed differently by the absence of a t-shirt. Today, he looked downright handsome. His own cape hung lower than hers, wafting behind him as he walked purposely through the room. It all coalesced to just look . . . right. Even his shy half-grin gave the impression of a powerful man still capable of small humilities.

     “You guys look great,” he said, reaching the platform and stepping atop it.

     Camille wondered if she had gone and lost her mind. Even his voice seemed stronger and deeper, which was logically impossible.

     “I have to say, you cut a nice figure yourself,” Mary replied. “Better be careful, or all the old ladies will be slipping you their number with the check.”

     “Real funny,” Vince said. “I don’t look silly though, right? I was thinking about trying something less flashy.”

     “No,” Camille said, with far more control than she would have ever expected to be capable of mustering right then. “I think that costume suits you nicely.”

     Vince gave her a warm smile. “Okay then. If you say it's good, then this is what I’ll wear.”

     This time, she only nodded. At the idea of seeing him like this on a daily basis, she no longer trusted her mouth not to betray her.

     21.

     Roy’s interview had gone very different than Chad's. Not having a perfect memory or anywhere near the level of dexterity his blond competitor possessed, Roy had been forced to lean on what he considered his two largest selling points: his looks and his charm. Oh, it helped that he had a working knowledge of cocktails and shots, and not the kind acquired from a book, but rather learned through honed experience. He knew that adding a twist of lime here, or two drops of sweet and sour there could bring out the flavors in regular drinks. Roy also had the experience to make recommendations based on what a person liked, something textbook knowledge could never effectively replicate. All of this made him a decent candidate to bartend; however, he knew it would have to be his capacity to pitch woo and make sales that made him a standout.

     Fortunately for Roy, Roger Brown was an experienced bar owner, and he understood that one needed different types to maximize a bar’s appeal. Some of his female clientele would doubtlessly respond to Chad’s straightforward manner, his professional demeanor, and his slightly aloof nature. Others would much rather be served by a cocky cowboy with an easy smile and a ready compliment.

     This understanding was why Roy currently stood behind the bar at Six-Shooter, with Chad to his left and Roger on a stool in front of them. Both of the Lander students wore tight black t-shirts and jeans—Roger liked a certain amount of uniformity in his bartenders. Roy was glad he’d at least been allowed to keep his cowboy hat, since it was country bar and Roger felt it added some flavor to the strapping young man.

     “Domestic cooler?” Roger asked.

     Roy and Chad both pointed to a large silver tub on their left.

     “At what point do you call for a barback?”

     “When we have three of any type remaining in the cooler,” Chad snapped off automatically.

     “Unless it’s a hot item that night,” Roy added. “Like, if a group is ordering rounds of it. Then we should probably keep it at least five, or enough to serve the next round of that particular group.”

     Roger nodded his head and smiled inwardly. He felt this had worked out nicely. Chad’s memory meant it was possible for them to create any standard cocktail without having to look it up first, and his organizational skills had already shown themselves to be top notch. Roy’s affable nature would draw in customers, and his veteran drinking knowledge would help when situations didn’t go by the book. Together, these two could make an excellent bartending combination. At least, in theory. The real test would come later in the night, when they opened for customers. Roger had done this job long enough to know that even promising prospects could go down in flames once they had a crowd screaming for drinks. That was why he was starting them on one of the smaller bars in the club; if something went to hell, then at least it wouldn’t make a significant impact on business. Still, Roger let himself feel a touch of optimism. These HCP kids were usually made of tough stuff; he gave them better odds than most at surviving the night.

     “I think you’ve both got the bar’s layout and procedures down. I’m going to go talk with the other bartenders and make sure they’re set for tonight. You two do pouring drills until I get back,” Roger instructed.

     He’d barely made it off the stool before Chad had reached under a nearby shelf and produced six plastic bottles with different colored liquids. Each bore a simple label, such as “Whiskey” or “Vodka.” In truth, they were nothing more than water with food coloring added to make distinction easier. Chad lined them up on the bar while Roy set down a large cluster of shot glasses.

     “Would you like to start?” Chad offered.

     “Sure,” Roy said. “Call it out.”

     “Kamikaze.”

     Roy snatched up three bottles and flipped them outside down simultaneously, letting the trio of liquid come together inside the confines of a single shot glass. An instant later, he made a quick motion and righted them, ceasing the colorful flow just as the water threatened to run over the shot glass’s limited area.

     “You were a half-second too long,” Chad informed him.

     From anyone else, Roy would have thought this needless criticism; however, he’d learned long ago that Chad was precise by nature. He didn’t understand that some people didn’t mind spilling a little for showmanship, so to him, these criticisms were perfectly valid. After all, he would genuinely appreciate someone telling him he was making an error, so he could correct it.

     “Thanks, I’ll watch that. Your turn,” Roy said, setting the bottles back in line.

     “Ready.”

     “Vegas Bomb.”

     They were working on Blue Waves when Alice and Angela meandered over. Angela hopped onto a stool with a curiously practiced motion that came off rather graceful. Alice, on the other hand, just stood there and tried to look more confident than she felt with as much cleavage and stomach as she was showing.

     Though Alice had been worried, her interview had been a fairly simple process. Roger made sure she had good memory and people skills, then told her she was pretty much good to go. His requirements for wait staff and shot girls were far less stringent that the ones for bartending or cooking. Alice was good-looking and smart; she could handle running tables at a club. It was a surprise to both of them when she asked if she could try being a shot girl first, but one Roger was happy to accommodate.

     Standing around in her uniform, Alice still wasn’t sure what had prompted to make that rash request. All she knew was that she wanted very much to try something new and daring. She wanted to get out of her head and have some excitement, rather than spend her days worrying and wondering about all the mysterious secrets in her life.

     “Hey good-looking, how about a shot?” Angela said, greeting the new bartenders.

     “Sure thing, what can I make for you?” Roy replied.

     “Sorry there, big fella. I was talking to Chad.”

     “I’m sure I can create anything you’d like,” Chad said, stepping up to the bar in a move he had been secretly practicing. He hoped it came off as knowledgeable, yet accessible.

     “Oooh, a man with confidence. Let me have a shot of whiskey then.”

     “That requires very little skill,” Chad said. “But the customer is always right.” He grabbed a plastic bottle with red water and poured a perfectly measured amount into a shot glass, then slid it over to Angela.

     “What is this?”

     “Whiskey,” Chad replied, a small hint of pride in his voice at the grace and precision of his pour.

     “You know what, this is really my fault,” Angela said, shaking her head and sending her golden-blonde hair flowing in all directions. “I knew who I was talking to. Never mind, I’m better off starting out sober anyway, since I have to show the new girl the ropes.” With that, she left her stool and gestured to Alice.

     “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the other bartenders. They’ll hit on you relentlessly, but I wouldn’t recommend taking any of them home.”

     “Right, bad idea to date coworkers,” Alice said.

     “Oh. Yeah, sure, that too. But mostly because the only cute one is awful in bed.” Angela turned around and threw the boys a coy grin. “Good luck tonight, you two. Holler if you need anything.”

     “Will do,” Roy called back.

     Chad merely gave a wave instead of a verbal goodbye. His attention was occupied, trying to process the strange feeling in his stomach that Angela’s words had suddenly given him. There was nothing wrong with the stomach itself, he could have righted that easily, yet the heavy sense persisted all the same. He’d have to tinker with his brain chemistry when he had more time. For now, there was prep work to do.

     22.

     With their first day’s training done, and back in their regular clothes, Mary, Vince, and Camille were all piled into Camille’s car and pulling onto the road when Mary spoke up.

     “Oh, sorry Camille, would you mind taking a left here instead of a right?”

     “I’m pretty sure the campus is to the right,” Camille said.

     “It is, but Vince and I aren’t going to the campus,” Mary informed her.

     “We aren’t?” Vince asked from the back seat.

     “No, we aren’t. We’re going to Six-Shooter, which is only about five minutes from here. Camille, you are certainly welcome to join us if you want. Alice and Roy both have their first shifts at their new jobs tonight, and we’re going to go support them.”

     “They do? Neither of them mentioned anything to me.”

     Mary knew quite well that neither had told Vince, nor almost anyone else for that matter. Alice had confided in her verbally, but Mary had gotten the information about Roy’s start date from reading his mind. Both of them were nervous; they wanted to do well, since this was now part of the program’s requirements. Neither had encouraged visitors out of fear that they’d find they were awful at the job and be fired sometime in the night. Mary understood that fear, just as she understood it was her duty as a friend to ignore it and go offer them support anyway.

     “Trust me on this, they start tonight. That’s why I had you wear something nice today.”

     Vince glanced down. He was wearing a polo and jeans, along with dark shoes. Mary had, in fact, stopped him from leaving in shorts and a t-shirt, telling him that it was inappropriate to show up for training looking so unprofessional. He’d taken her at her word, though now, he was beginning to see she’d been setting him up for the after-work plans.

     “Should I ask why we’re going even though they didn’t mention anything?”

     “You just did, and the answer is because it’s what friends do. Take it from someone who listens to thoughts day in and day out: they will be very glad we came to see and reassure them on how good a job they’re doing.”

     “Okay, Mary. I do trust you. Let’s go see our friends. Sorry to impose on you like this, Camille.”

     “It’s only a few minutes away,” Camille replied. “Besides, you say that like I’m not going there anyway.”

     “You are?”

     “Now that I know Roy and Alice are starting tonight, of course I am.”

     “You hate clubs,” Vince pointed out.

     “You aren’t a big fan of them either,” Camille shot back. “But Mary is right: this is something friends do for one another.” Though her voice was confident, inwardly, she was wilting. Camille truly did hate such overtly social gathering places, however, that hate was nothing compared to the feeling of disappointment she’d experience if she let her own awkwardness get in the way of helping someone she cared for.

     With a firm twist of the wheel, her small car took a turn to the left, and they were off.

     *              *              *

     Roy hadn’t realized how much he had lost touch with his wild partying side until he saw the steadily growing line outside the club as people filtered past the bouncer and paid their cover. He’d thought it would be slow, since this was a Wednesday, after all. Almost immediately on the heels of that thought was the realization that this was a college town, and no one cared if they had a hangover in class the next day. Roy briefly contemplated why that had taken so long to dawn on him, and when he reached the answer, he didn’t know how he felt about it. Roy had thought no one would come out tonight because he wouldn’t have come out tonight. He had training, he needed to be sharp for class, and he just had better things to do with his time. Roy, to put a point on it, cared more about the program than about drinking and getting laid. He couldn’t figure out when that had happened, but there was no denying that it had.

     He didn’t dwell on it for long, though, both because Roy could really only dwell on grudges and challenges and because business picked up too much for him to sit around contemplating his own priority changes. He slung beers easily; cocktails and shots took a little longer, though. Roy found himself thankful for the practice pouring; his own skills had gotten a bit rusty, and it was turning out that they needed to be in peak performance to keep up with the growing crowd’s thirst.

     Though initially skeptical at how a guy like Chad would handle serving drinks, Roy found himself incredibly grateful for the partner he’d gotten at this bar. Chad’s speed, precision, and efficiency helped minimize the wait for their customers, allowing Roy a little time to chat with some of the more interested women and talk them into pairing some shots with their drinks. Despite being in the club’s smallest bar, they quickly acquired a large amount of customers, Chad’s speed and Roy’s charm creating a quick, happy turnover.

     They quickly realized that the barbacks were almost useless to them; the smallest bar was low priority compared to the larger ones drawing in hordes of drinkers. Roy and Chad immediately worked out a rotation system, where one of them would make runs to the back during lulls. Roy took this job more frequently than Chad, if for no other reason than the fact that the blond young man’s speed and coordination meant he could more easily handle an unexpected swell of orders without letting a crowd build up.

     The only real challenge Roy had faced so far was limiting himself. He easily could have grabbed three times as much beer per trip as he was lugging, however, doing so would raise too many questions and suspicions. Though he had a bit more wiggle room than the others regarding the issues of his identity, he’d also made it obvious that he had existing friendships with Chad, Angela, and Alice already. Anyone curious about the guy lifting far more than he should with such ease could connect those dots without a whole lot of trouble. Which, strangely enough, Roy also found he now cared about.

     As he lifted his last stack of beer boxes for his current restocking run, he decided that maybe he should make a point to go to the bars a little more frequently. All this hanging around the same people every day was making him soft.

     23.

     Chad wasn’t much of one for mulling. He meditated, anticipated, planned, and exercised logic frequently, but the act of allowing a single thought to putter around his brain endlessly was one he very rarely engaged in. On this night, however, he found himself mulling frequently. Twice, he nearly forgot to garnish a drink properly. The annoying thought buzzing around his head was growing more adamant to be heard and considered, so much so that eventually Chad caved and asked the advice of the nearest person at hand.

     “Roy, you are well-experienced in the art of male and female relations, correct?”

     Their bar had slowed to near empty, the cooler was stocked with beer, and the counter had been freshly cleaned. If there was ever a chance to talk, this was going to be it.

     “Yes indeed, and the way I do it, it is definitely art,” Roy replied, giving a flirtatious wink to the redhead on the other side of the dance floor. She blushed slightly, then turned her back on him. Roy was unbothered; he didn’t mind the shy types. Truthfully, there were exceptionally few types of women Roy minded at all.

     “Noted. I have a question for you, but the nature of it is slightly uncomfortable.”

     Roy glanced at his fellow bartender with a critical eye. Chad never really showed outward signs of discomfort, but if one knew him long enough, there were small things to look for. He stood up straighter, he kept his eyes right on the person he was talking to, and he kept his feet planted even when it was inconvenient. Basically, he overcompensated and did the opposite of all the things uncomfortable people normally did.

     “No need to worry,” Roy replied. “Bartender’s code. Whatever is said behind this bar, stays behind this bar.”

     Chad gave a nod and inscribed this rule into his brain. He’d need to see if there were any other caveats to this code at some point. As a fellow bartender, he was now obligated to hold to it just as much as Roy.

     “Earlier, when Angela mentioned sleeping with one of the other bartenders, I felt a strange sensation in my stomach. I’ve checked every digestive function, and there is nothing to account for it, but still it persists. This leads me to believe it might be psychological in nature. The part I’m having trouble puzzling out is why my mind would conjure phantom pain at those words.”

     Roy stared at Chad for a full minute, long enough that Chad had to pause the conversation and hand a customer a beer. He thought long and hard about his next words, because he had a feeling they were going to be very important.

     “I’ve got a theory,” Roy said at last. “But I want to be sure before I tell you anything. You mind if I ask a few follow-up questions?”

     “By all means, please be thorough.”

     “All right. Just for clarification, your . . . talent, how does it affect your emotions?”

     “Most emotions are caused by chemical shifts in the brain,” Chad replied. “A balance of various amounts of dopamine, serotonin, epinephrine, and several others all work together to create what we perceive as feelings. I keep mine regulated to maintain an optimum attitude. You could say that I’m still experiencing the emotions themselves, just not the overpowering effects of them.”

     “But sometimes, things get through, right? Like at Camille’s party.”

     “I can maintain the balance of what I feel, but that doesn’t dissipate the cause,” Chad explained. “And since it is my brain we are talking about, this is an area where losing control for a moment means it is very hard to regain it. I have to use the organ that is out of control in order to reestablish control.”

     “Gotcha. And what is your relationship with Angela?”

     “She is the sister of my best friend, something of a student mentor to me, and someone I regard as a good friend as well.”

     “That’s it?”

     “I think I covered everything,” Chad reiterated. They paused again to set up an array of shots for a group of girls that had been working their way around the bar all night. Once that was attended to, the conversation resumed.

     “Last question. That emotional chemical-balance stuff, you’re doing it right now, aren’t you?”

     “Of course. I always keep myself in check.”

     “Stop,” Roy ordered.

     “Stop what?”

     “Stop holding yourself together,” Roy explained. “I don’t mean go on a psycho killing spree or anything, just stop mandating what you’re feeling. Let whatever happens, happen.”

     “I fail to see what good that will do,” Chad protested.

     “Give me a little credit here.”

     “Very well,” Chad said begrudgingly. He closed his eyes for half of a second; anyone watching would have thought it was just a long blink. “It’s done. For now, my brain will react to stimulus in the same way as anyone else’s.”

     “Glad to hear it,” Roy said. “Now, I want you to look over at Angela. She’s leaning on the far wall by the speaker booth.”

     Chad obliged, turning his head to take in the girl he’d seen countless times and could have easily mentally reconstructed using his enhanced memory. This seemed like a pointless exercise, and Chad held on to the sentiment for exactly as long as it took for Angela to enter his field of vision.

     The twisting feeling in his stomach vanished, replaced by a sense of it dropping away. He dimly remembered going on roller coasters in his youth, before his power blossomed, and that they had given him a similar sensation. His skin felt a touch warmer, but when he assessed it, he found no change in actual temperature. Oddly, he could feel his heartbeat, as though it was striking against his chest more vigorously.

     This was not a normal reaction to looking at a person. Chad was sure of it. He began looking back through his memories of Angela, checking for other instances of this happening. As he replayed each though, the strange feelings only grew stronger. He nearly flushed at one memory of sitting atop her after winning a rough grappling session. The emotional piece of Chad, long accustomed to being silenced, seized the opportunity to be heard and roared with all it had. More memories, more strange sensations, a compounding seizure of emotion that had been bubbling under the surface but unable to crest the shore until now.

     “Hey, Chad, you okay, man?” Roy asked.

     Chad finally yanked his eyes away from Angela and turned them back to his fellow bartender. This helped quell the influx of strange sentiment, but not by as much as he’d hoped it would.

     “I . . . I suspect I have feelings for Angela. A very large amount of them.”

     “Yeah, that’s what I figured too. What you were feeling earlier was jealousy at the idea of another dude tapping the girl you like.”

     “Oh,” Chad said, turning back to look at her once more, against his better judgment. She noticed him looking and gave him a wave and a flirty wink. She did that sort of thing all the time, but now Chad found himself almost paralyzed by the innocuous gesture. He mustered up the will to wave back only because of his special ability.

     There was no skirting it now; Roy was right. He cared far more for her than he’d realized, than he’d wanted to realize. He admired her, respected her, and desired her. His friend. His mentor.

     His best friend’s sister.

     “Oh,” Chad repeated, not for the final time that evening.

     24.

     Vince, Mary, and Camille found the wait to get into Six-Shooter long, but quick-moving. Despite his misgivings about college bars, at least the bouncers understood that every moment the customers spent standing in line was time not spent hurling alcoholic beverages down their throats. Once they reached the front, a large man in a dark t-shirt examined their IDs (some real, some leftover forgeries from Nick and the beach trip), then directed Vince to the closest register to pay the cover fee. This led to a slight bit of confusion, where Mary had to explain to her friend why girls weren’t charged for entry at places like this. Once Vince got the concept, he forked over his five dollars, and all three received wrist bands.

     Camille’s first thought upon entering the club was that the insulation in the front area must be fantastic, because the waves of sound hadn’t been this powerful before they crossed through. Then she realized she was standing next to the speaker, and found that, with a little distance, the music dimmed to where conversation was possible. Unlike the club they went to freshman year, this was a place where talking while dancing was an option, though what implications that carried she couldn’t really guess. Instead, she focused on staying close to Vince and Mary while they navigated the sea of bodies in desperate search of a place to sit and set up shop. Despite their roving eyes, the trio was found by someone else before they could spot their friends.

     “Hey there!” Angela greeted, clapping a hand on Mary and Camille’s shoulders. “I didn’t expect to see you three tonight.”

     “Roy and Alice are working, aren’t they?” Mary asked politely.

     “They sure are. Come on, let me get you to a table, and then I’ll let them know you’re here.” Angela’s ability to part crowds wasn’t dulled by even this hectic environment, the forms of fellow college students moving away instinctively at her approach. Camille would have given quite a bit to be able to pull off such a trick; however, she suspected it required something she knew deep down that she didn’t possess. Angela exuded confidence, just as she always had, and the rest of the world seemed to pick up on that.

     After a brief walk, Angela deposited them at a high-top table with four stools, then made her way back into the crowd, assuring them she’d fetch their friends for them.

     “I didn’t know she worked here,” Vince said, once their escort had departed.

     “Alice mentioned it,” Mary replied. “Evidently, she’s a shot girl, and very good at it.”

     “What’s a shot girl?” Vince asked.

     Mary weighed how much to tell him. Sometimes, explaining things to Vince could lead down a rabbit’s hole of questions, revealing how little he knew of the outside world. She decided to keep it simple and hope he just accepted what he was told.

     “A shot girl is someone whose specific job is to walk around giving people shots of liquor,” Mary explained. “Since shots are in high demand, it lets the waitresses and bartenders focus on cocktails, while still giving the customers what they want.”

     “Like how ranged combat and close combat specialists can work in tandem to maximize the effectiveness of their attacks,” Camille chimed in.

     “Oh, well that makes sense.”

     Mary said a prayer of thanks that Camille had tagged along, then turned her attention to the club that surrounded them. Normally, she kept her telepathy suppressed in places like this; the swell of voices wasn’t so bad, but the loud music made it nearly impossible to hear anything useful. Professor Stone had been on her about pushing her limits though, so while there was downtime, she decided to do a little mental eavesdropping.

     At first, it was just what she was used to: the cacophony of voices, mixed together with the blasting bass, scrambling everything into a garbled mess. Mary took some deep breaths and sharpened her focus. She sifted through thoughts like a prospector scanning for gold. It was slow going; however, bit by bit, she began finding patterns and putting together cohesive thoughts.

     The young man two tables over was trying to work up the courage to ask a redhead at the bar to dance.

     Two girls in the corner were wondering if their friend was drunk and needed to be hauled off the dance floor.

     A bartender near the front was wondering what the odds were of being able to bang that new blonde shot girl.

     Mary pulled away from that last thought; she’d gotten a bit of his sentiment along with the words in his head, and it wasn’t a feeling she much cared for. Sexual attraction was nothing new to Mary, she’d overheard that sort of thing many times a day. But there was a feeling to this that disturbed her. Something unpleasant in the way the intentions were strung together. Given that Alice was blonde, new, and looked the way she did, it seemed a fair bet that she was the shot girl in question. Mary made a note to give her friend fair warning not to accept dinner invitations from that guy.

     She’d almost gotten her telepathy completely turned off again when a nearby thought grabbed her attention. It was an impulse of attraction, but this one lacked the creepy taint of the bartender eyeing Alice. This thought was admiring how cute the short girl with the pale hair sitting at the nearby table was. It wondered whether the muscly guy with the silver hair was her boyfriend, or maybe he was with the girl with the mousy brown hair who was making weird faces.

     The last part of that made Mary very conscious of her own expression; she’d probably let more show than she should have. As nonchalantly as possible, she turned around and looked off toward one of the bars, like she was searching for someone. Instead, she allowed her peripheral vision to find the mind she’d been listening to. He was cute, she had to give him that. Dark hair, nice blue plaid shirt, lean frame that would have passed as fit outside of HCP standards. The other men around him were similarly attired, and they all seemed to be talking and laughing and having a good time.

     An idea formed instantly.

     “Hey, Camille,” Mary said, turning back around. “Looks like someone has an admirer.”

     “I do?”

     “Yup. That guy over my left shoulder thinks you’re cute. He can barely take his eyes off you.”

     25.

     Before Camille (or anyone else at the table who might possibly have had a reaction to Mary’s declaration) could say a word, Alice materialized out of the crowd next to their table.

     “Well, isn’t this a surprise?” Alice said, though the girls at the table noticed a distinct lack of descriptors, such as “good,” or “pleasant.” Still, she greeted them with a round of hugs that were made awkward by the height of the stools, paired with the relative shortness of Camille and Mary. “What brings you all out?”

     “We wanted to come show support for you and Roy on your first day of work,” Mary quickly explained. “Angela was a pleasant addition.”

     “Get ready for another then. Guess who Roy is bartending with?” Alice prompted. “And Mary, no cheating.”

     “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

     “Um, I’ll say Violet,” Vince ventured. “She seems like she would enjoy bartending.”

     “A well-reasoned attempt,” Alice complimented. “But wrong.”

     “Alex? No, he would have mentioned something to us,” Camille said, talking herself out of her own attempt.

     “How about you just tell us,” Mary encouraged.

     Alice stuck her tongue out at her dormmate in presumed retribution for killing her fun, then complied. “It’s Chad. He and Roy are both new bartenders here.”

     “Darn, I should have guessed that. I did see him go talk to Mr. Mears on the first day,” Vince chided himself.

     “A lot of people talked to Mr. Mears,” Camille reminded him. “I never would have guessed Chad either.”

     “It is surprising,” Mary concurred. “So, how is the first day, or should I say night, going?”

     “It’s still a little early, but if the last hour is any indication of what to expect, then I definitely don’t think it’s going to be boring,” Alice told her. “I’ve sold like forty shots without doing much besides walking around.”

     “That’s really impressive,” Vince said.

     Alice gave him a light shrug. “I think Angela has tripled that. Then again, she’s more proactive than I am.”

     Almost perfectly on cue, Angela appeared across the bar, visible because she had leapt on top of a table. She held up one of the test-tube shots from her tray—one glowing a bright, toxic-looking color— and began to speak. Though the distance was far from what would stay audible in a club (read: greater than five feet away), it was still clear from contextual clues that she was making some sort of toast. When she concluded, there was a loud holler of agreement, and the large cluster of males congregated around her lifted their shots up toward the ceiling, then downed them all as a group. Angela let out a yelp of enjoyment, took steps toward the edge of the table, and leapt into the arms of one of the more muscular young men around her. In many bars, this would have been an unacceptable spectacle, however, given the rowdy nature of Six-Shooter and the number of shots she’d just sold, no manager was going to come running to chastise her actions.

     “Yeah, so, it looks like I’ve still got a lot to learn,” Alice said, once The Angela Show had concluded.

     “I am so incredibly glad Mr. Mears didn’t send me to interview here,” Mary mumbled, more to herself than the others.

     “Well, we don’t want you to fall behind from talking to us. How about a round for the table?”

     This suggestion was met with staggering silence, because it had come from the mouth of Vince Reynolds. All three women stared at him, eyes wide as each contemplated various scenarios involving doppelgangers and mind control.

     “What? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in these situations? I’ve been trying to learn a little more about blending in, since we’re now working with the public. Did I screw up?” Vince’s own face was earnest and concerned.

     “No, Vince, that’s what most people would do. Then again, none of us at the table are big drinkers, so I think it’s okay if you skip that social expectation on this go around,” Mary said at last.

     “I’ll take one,” Camille piped up. Between the noise, the people, and the giant embarrassment of Mary telling her another man was staring at her, Camille would likely have tried elephant tranquilizer if it could help her mellow out.

     “Me too,” Vince said. His own enthusiasm came more from a desire to support Alice than a need to suppress anxiety.

     “In that case, I’ll volunteer to drive Camille’s car home and abstain,” Mary said. “Assuming that’s okay with you, Camille?”

     Camille nodded her agreement so enthusiastically, it nearly knocked the scrunchie holding her ponytail together out of her hair.

     “Then three it is,” Alice declared, passing one each to Vince and Camille while keeping one for herself. “I carpooled with Roy. Plus, there is no way I’m missing the chance to do a shot with these two. What are the odds I’ll get that chance again?”

     The trio downed their drinks, and Vince handed Alice a wad of bills. They chatted for a bit longer, then Vince had to beg off after asking directions to the restroom. As soon as he was gone, Mary motioned emphatically for Alice to hop into his chair, then leaned in and whispered conspiratorially.

     “Your turn to play a guessing game. Want to know who is getting some male attention?”

     “Ugh, if it’s me, please don’t tell me. The looks some of these guys give me make me want to shower for days,” Alice replied.

     “No, but there is a bartender you should stay clear of. We’ll talk about that later. Anyway, the answer is Camille,” Mary replied.

     “Oooooh. Did Vince finally realize that he has one of the cutest girls in class right under his nose?”

     Camille’s response was to blush, shake her head, set down cash, and take another of the shots from Alice’s holder. The first had taken a bit of the edge off, so she was hoping another would finish the job of settling her nerves.

     “Nope, a different boy,” Mary replied. “And a pretty cute one, in my humble opinion. I think with a little eye contact, he might get up the nerve to come ask her to dance.”

     “Then I will do my absolute best to keep my eyes rooted on this table,” Camille decided.

     “That is your prerogative,” Alice agreed. “But, just let this mull around a bit. Men, or at least men our age, are kind of stupid. I won’t say they only want what they can’t have, but reminding them of the fact that other people want something they’re dragging their feet on can definitely give them a good kick in the ass toward action.”

     “Dancing with another guy was what finally gave Hershel the guts to make a move on me,” Mary added. “It wasn’t intentional, but I certainly didn’t mind the results.”

     “Anyway, I need to go sell more of these things, and Mary, don’t push her too much. If she doesn’t want to flirt, that’s okay,” Alice said. “As for you, Camille, just think about what we said. I’ll swing back by when I get free.” With that, she was gone, the only proof she’d ever been there a few empty-colored test tubes and a small girl with pale blonde hair and a growing alcoholic buzz.

     26.

     On the other side of the bar, things were going a bit less genially. Roy had kept an eye on Chad after his little revelation, however, it seemed his blond co-bartender had re-implemented his usual levels of control. This conclusion was based on the fact that after staring at Angela for nearly three solid minutes, Chad had blinked a few times, and then gone right back to work. If anything, he was looking over at her less, making drinks instead and attending to customers with relentless speed and efficiency. After nearly twenty minutes, Roy allowed his worry to subside a bit. It had likely been a silly concern in the first place. After all, who was more in control of his actions than Chad?

     Roy was able to hold on to that delusion until he heard the glass shatter.

     It came right after Angela completed her toast from atop the table and leapt into the arms of a waiting man. What the others didn’t see was that upon being caught, Angela had kissed her landing pad on the cheek and grabbed his ass before hopping out of his arms and going about her business. It was standard flirtation for someone trying to move product, nothing Roy hadn’t seen hundreds of times. For someone coping with newfound feelings, however, it was enough to make them squeeze the bottle in their hand ever so slightly.

     As soon as he heard the sound, Roy glanced at Chad. The blond bartender had his right hand still half open, beer dripping through his fingers and running down his wrist. The bottle of domestic had fallen onto the mat below them, brown glass twinkling intermittently as the club lights reflected off it. The two things to be thankful for were that it hadn’t broken anywhere near the well of ice, and that Angela’s shot show had created a lull at their bar. Chad was restocking when it happened, which meant there was no need to explain why he’d accidentally broken a bottle and had nothing more than a wet hand to show for it.

     With the reaction time of a man who is accustomed to covering a lot of mistakes, Roy leapt into action. First, he threw a bar towel over Chad’s hand, squeezing it once to grab most of the moisture. Next, he grabbed the broom and dustpan from a nearby closet and swept up the glass with as much delicacy as he could muster. They’d still need to do a thorough job of cleaning it later tonight, but it wasn’t as though either man behind the bar was in danger of accidentally cutting himself. Once the glass was disposed of, he made a quick round at the bar, making sure everyone who was floating around it was either served or didn’t want a drink. Only when all that was accomplished did he turn his attention back to Chad.

     “Are you going to be able to hold it together tonight?”

     The words seemed to snap Chad out of whatever stupor he’d been lost in after shattering the beer bottle. “What?”

     “I asked if you’re going to be able to hold it together tonight,” Roy repeated. “Because, if not, then you need to open up some skin, fake an injury, and go home.”

     “Of course I can ‘hold it together.’ Look at who you’re speaking to.”

     “Right now, I’m speaking to the guy who seems to be dealing with things like jealousy for the first time in a long while, if ever. A guy who just destroyed a beer bottle while watching the girl he likes smack someone else on the ass. A guy who is going to see a lot worse than that as the night wears on. Angela is a shot girl. She is going to flirt like her rent depends on it. Men are going to leer at her, though I, at least, doubt anyone will get handsy with that girl. Well, they won’t do it twice, anyway. Now, I need you to be straight with me: are you okay to keep going tonight?”

     This time, Chad stopped to consider his answer. Roy had raised many valid points, and between the two of them, he was doubtlessly more experienced in matters of unintentional emotional reactions. While thinking, Chad finished drying his hand, though a mildly sticky sensation remained even when the beer had been toweled away.

     “In my opinion, I should be able to suppress any overt outbursts,” Chad said. “I’ve set all the usual controls in my brain back to their standard levels. While this does help me keep a more even keel, it, unfortunately, does not undo what occurred when I let them lapse.”

     “In other words, you can’t take away the knowledge that you have feelings for her?”

     “Deeper than that, I’m afraid,” Chad clarified. “I cannot untemper my thoughts or memories of her. All of them now exist through a lens of romance. My ability will allow me to stop the chemical reactions, however, the memory of them and the knowledge of what I should be feeling is another matter.”

     “So even you can’t turn off love. You know, Chad, some days, I almost think there’s a real guy under there,” Roy informed him.

     “Your sentiment is noted and appreciated,” Chad replied, throwing the towel he’d finished using into the trash, just in case minute glass particles had gotten on it from his hand.

     “I just mean it’s kind of funny that it turns out, despite all our differences, that you and I both have the same weakness,” Roy said, allowing a small chuckle to escape.

     Chad’s interest immediately perked up, and the scowl vanished. Nothing held his interest like training, and learning about his own weaknesses was one of the best ways to grow past them. “What weakness do we share? If you are thinking it is mind intrusion, as is often the case with physically-based fighters, I must inform you that I’ve already made myself immune to such tactics.”

     This time, Roy’s chuckle came out as a genuine guffaw. He grabbed his fellow bartender in a side-arm hug and gave him a squeeze, then pointed across the bar to where Angela was talking to a large group of clearly intoxicated men.

     “Women, Chad. That’s our shared weakness. Both of us are weak to beautiful women.”

     “Ah.” Chad would have debated him or lectured him on the silliness of such an idea, but the fact that he was unable to tear his gaze away from the booze-peddling blonde seemed to prove Roy’s point.

     27.

     Vince was on his way back from the bathroom when his lack of clubbing experience took him off course. Most people his age had maneuvered enough dens of liquor and noise to learn the tricks of finding one’s way about—using large decorations as points of reference, making sure to always know where the entrance is for orientation purposes, and checking the ceiling for identifying features that can be used as additional position markers. Vince, knowing exactly none of these techniques, promptly took a wrong turn and got lost. Since Six-Shooter was set up in a giant circle of bars and tables woven around the dance floor, he would have eventually found his table if he’d kept going. Before he could reach it, though, he was distracted by the sight of two familiar faces.

     “Hey guys!” Vince called, sidling up to an open spot at Roy and Chad’s bar. There were less of those than there had been moments before, but thankfully, the surge had come at the end of their discussion on Chad’s current level of control. Still, with their combined skill, they were able to keep everyone sated and still have time for occasional conversation.

     “Well, this is a surprise,” Roy said, sliding a beer into Vince’s hand without prompting. “I’d have thought it would take an act of God to get you into a club, and by yourself no less.”

     “Mary and Camille are here too,” Vince corrected him. “We came to support you guys. All three of us were going to walk over together, but I got lost on my way back from the bathroom.”

     “This place can be disorienting, sometimes to the point where I wonder if it is intentional,” Chad commented. “Nice to see you, Vince.”

     “You too,” Vince replied. Although one might have expected animosity between them after last semester’s final match, two years of constant fighting had numbed them to the idea of holding a grudge over punches thrown. No, their relationship was the same as it had been since Camille’s birthday: respectful, if uncertain. The only new development was that Chad no longer felt he had an accurate assessment of Vince’s potential, a fact which he intended to remedy by observing him in the first group test.

     “So, how’s Alice holding up?” Roy asked. “I haven’t seen much of her since the shift started.”

     “Good so far,” Vince told him. “Angela seems to be helping her get used to the job. How are you two doing on your first night?”

     “Rocking along,” Roy said, mostly to curtail the conversation from probing too close to the topic of Angela. Chad could make assurances all night, but Roy wouldn’t really feel at ease until the shift was over and his blond friend had had a chance to figure out how he wanted to handle his new feelings. “You know, maybe you should get back over to the girls. Leave two pretty women alone in a club like this, and you might find out that some other guy has charmed them away.”

     Vince laughed. “Seeing as Mary is dating Hershel, I don’t think there’s too much to worry about.”

     “What about Camille?”

     “Maybe someone should ask her to dance,” Vince said. His smile didn’t waver, but something in his eyes shifted slightly. “She’s a wonderful girl, and she deserves to have some fun and be happy.”

     Roy stared at his dormmate for a moment, then poured himself a stiff shot and tossed it back wordlessly. One emotional idiot he could have handled sober; two was going to require eighty proof fortification.

     *              *              *

     Camille had been drunk before. Despite her delicate image and tentative nature, she’d had a small rebellious streak in high school and gotten snockered with friends on a fifth of peppermint schnapps. The hangover from that had cooled her desire to rebel with booze; however, since being at Lander, she’d allowed herself the occasional indulgence. So Camille knew enough to recognize the stages of escalating intoxication. She could tell the difference between buzzed, tipsy, and drunk with relative accuracy.

     So, when she surmised that she was already tipsy and might be on the downhill slide toward drunk, it was not an uninformed opinion. Since Vince left, Alice had returned periodically, checking on her friends and making chit-chat. Each time she had, Camille bought a few more of Alice’s shots, quietly exchanging money for test tubes of tasty hooch while the other two girls made conversation. After a few minutes, she wondered where Vince had gone and swung her head about, searching the club for him. The sudden rotation had caused a strange effect in her vision, making it seem like the entire world was moving on a two-second delay. That was her first clue that she might have underestimated the potency of what was in those tubes.

     “Uh-oh,” Camille muttered, setting her eyes back on the table.

     “You okay?” Alice asked, breaking off her conversation with Mary.

     “I’m good,” Camille said immediately, her innate desire not to cause trouble overtaking her actual concern.

     “No, she’s not. She thinks she might have had too much too fast,” Mary informed Alice. “Could you go get her some water?”

     “Not a problem,” Alice replied, immediately darting through the crowd toward the bar.

     Mary patted Camille carefully on the hand and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m glad you noticed it on your own. I was about to say something if you took another shot.”

     “They didn’t seem very strong,” Camille said, illustrating her own lack of bar knowledge.

     “It’s my understanding that they never do,” Mary told her. “I’m sorry, this is my fault. I know how much you dislike giant crowds, and I still let you come along.”

     “It’s not your fault,” Camille replied, shaking her head once before realizing that action only reminded her of the growing drunk sensation. “I made the choice to come here.”

     “I know, but if we hadn’t pressured you—”

     “Mary, I know you mean well, but please stop. I don’t need another person in my life doing this,” Camille interrupted. Mary, for her part, blinked in surprise. She couldn’t have imagined Camille interrupting someone before actually seeing it happen. “I know I’m anxious in social settings, I know I’m not the bravest person in our class, and I know I seem like I need people to look after me. And because I know all that, I purposely do things like come to bars, enroll in the program, and make myself uncomfortable. I push myself because I want to be stronger. We’re all doing it; this is just the area I’m battling in. So don’t ever feel like you’ve made me do anything. I’m the one shoving myself into these awkward situations, and there’s no one else to blame.”

     “I . . . that honestly hadn’t occurred to me,” Mary replied, after a moment of consideration. “My apologies.”

     “It’s okay. Most people don’t think being around lots of other people is something that requires effort and training. I am getting better, though. I mean, look at Vince. Freshman year, I was barely able to talk to him. Now, I can actually spend time with him as a friend without constantly blushing.”

     “You have made some impressive strides in that regard.”

     “I have, haven’t I?” Camille slowly moved herself down from the stool, happy to see that her sense of movement had somewhat stabilized. “Hey, Mary, I want you to know that this is my decision too, and it’s not the alcohol making me do it.”

     “What are you doing?”

     “Taking your advice,” Camille replied, turning toward the table where a young man who’d been staring at her suddenly glanced away in embarrassment, “and pushing myself.”

     28.

     “Yo, Chad, let me get a glass of water and an empty beer bottle, mine is full,” Angela said as she walked up, sliding a brown bottle sloshing with a myriad of spit-back shots across the smooth countertop. Chad plucked it from the bar as it danced near the edge, dropping it in the trashcan while pulling up one of the empties he’d set aside. Angela had let him in on the shot girl’s trick and requested he have a few empty bottles saved for change-outs when needed. With his other hand, Chad grabbed a glass, then filled it with ice and water, sliding it back across the bar.

     “Thanks, hot stuff,” she said, grabbing a seat at a stool adjacent to Vince. “I’m sweating like a whore in church out there. Thank the heavens I’m sexy enough to pull it off.” To illustrate this fact, she grabbed a napkin and dabbed her cleavage pointedly, the coy grin on her face making it clear that she was purposely drawing attention to this part of her body.

     Vince made a point of looking away, which is when he noticed Camille stepping onto the dance floor with another man. Roy checked out Angela’s breasts, because he was Roy and they were quite nice breasts. Chad, on the other hand, coughed in surprise, nearly dropped the bottle opener he was holding, and suddenly found something in the ice bin that demanded his full attention.

     It was the last reaction that Angela took note of. In the year or so that she’d befriended and been shamelessly flirting around Chad, she’d come to know his reactions well. To a simple stunt like this, she would have expected disinterest, or, at best, academic appreciation of her physiology. What he’d done was way out of character. That was the behavior of a man who was smitten, or maybe at least interested. It didn’t fit, and Angela wasn’t the top of her class because she wasn’t perceptive enough to pick up on changes like that. She decided to push it and see what happened.

     “I swear, lugging bottles and shots around in these boots is hell on my back,” Angela declared, stretching her chest out and pulling her back in so significantly that the crackling of vertebrae could be heard, provided one could discern the sound over the music. This had the additional effect of making her chest all the more visible, and redoubling Chad’s intent focus on the ice bin. “Chad, when we get off, maybe you can give me a back rub? You’ve got all that strength in your hands, so I bet you can really go in deep and work the tissue.”

     “I do not believe I will have time for that this evening,” Chad replied stiffly, refusing to turn his gaze up toward her. He wasn’t blushing, and his tone and breathing were still the same, but that didn’t really mean shit for a guy with his powers. He could hide the physical tells well, but not the behavioral ones. Normally, Chad would have at least talked over the idea with her, seen about finding a time. He’d have taken a request for a massage as just that, a proven method of physical therapy to provide relief and increased performance. The sexual implications would have gone right by him, or at least he’d have pretended they did. Something was definitely off. Angela was certain of it now.

     Without any showmanship, she dropped the napkin and straightened her back. Messing with Chad was fun because he never gave her any response. Now that he was reacting, it somehow felt mean-spirited. She’d need to get a handle on this new situation, and then determine the appropriate plan of attack. Besides, she was a professional first and foremost, and the shots weren’t going to sell themselves.

     “Thanks again for the water,” Angela said. This time, Chad dared to glance at her. She turned her own gaze away from her prey, and realized the stool next to her was now empty.

     “Hey, where’d Vince go?”

     *              *              *

     “I’m impressed. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m impressed,” Vince said, taking his former seat next to Mary. Though he spoke to his friend, his eyes never left the dance floor, save for necessary navigational tasks.

     “I don’t really think I had much to do with it,” Mary replied. “Camille doesn’t need us to push her along. She’s pretty much got that task well in hand.”

     “So I’ve noticed,” Vince said, still looking at the awkwardly shuffling figures trying to keep time and two-step. “It’s actually kind of amazing how brave she is, the way she’s always throwing herself out of her comfort zone. I don’t think I could do it, honestly.”

     Mary glanced at her friend and opened up her ability a bit. It was hard to hear over the constant thud of the music and the flurry of hormone-amplified thoughts, but all her training hadn’t been for nothing. She was able to locate Vince’s mind through the chaos and hone in on it. What she found surprised her: Vince was genuinely happy Camille was dancing with the other man. It shocked her so much, in fact, that she let slip an audible reaction.

     “What the hell?”

     Vince glanced away from floor and toward her. “What the hell what?”

     A quick parade of potential lies darted through Mary’s head, but then she decided that since she was already on the precipice of the subject, she might as well just dive on in.

     “What the hell is with you and Camille? I know you like her, Vince. Even if I wasn’t a mind reader, it’s obvious you look at her differently than you do other women. And not even you can be so dense as to not realize that she’s got some feelings for you too. So why are you happy seeing her dance with another man?”

     “Because I want her to be happy,” Vince said, finally turning fully away from the dance floor. “Yes, I did begin to suspect that she had a small crush on me, and that’s why I’m glad she’s looking at other guys. They can give her what I can’t.”

     “That’s idiotic,” Mary snapped. Her words might have been more forceful, but she’d spent most of her verbal energy trying not to snort audibly when Vince had said the words “small crush” to her. “If you know you both like each other, what’s stopping you?”

     “The same reason I turned down Sasha when she wanted to get together at the beach house last year,” Vince said. “I’ve got some issues relating to a girl I met when I was sixteen. The thoughts and memories of her haunted my relationship with Sasha. Until I let go or move past it, it’s not fair for me to give half of myself to someone else. Especially not someone as important to me as Camille.”

     Mary pressed her fingers to her temples in a vain attempt to fight back a momentary headache. “Your heart and intentions are in the right place, Vince, I’ll give you that. But you’re also a moron. Whether Camille wants to be with someone in your situation should be her choice, not yours to make for her.”

     “Maybe so,” Vince agreed. “But all I’m doing is not making a move. If Camille wanted something, couldn’t she have brought it up just as easily? To me, for right now, I’d say she’s making the choice.”

     To that point, Mary didn’t have a ready response.

     29.

     Asking someone to dance had been surprisingly easy. Whether it was the alcohol or the adrenaline Camille was uncertain, but the whole event had flown by in a series of pointed looks and a single question which yielded an immediate response. Initiating the dance had been easy; it was actually completing the act that was proving difficult.

     The first hurdle was the height difference, which had her reasonably tall partner slouching as gracefully as he could to somewhat close the gap between them. The second was the dance style itself. Camille did have rhythm and grace; her mother had forced her to take ballet as one of many ultimately failed attempts at getting her to open up socially. What she didn’t have was any practice two-stepping. Even that hurdle might have been surmountable, though, if not for the fact that her partner had no experience either, and unlike her, he lacked both inborn talent and training. The combined result of these issues was a duet of blundering across the dance floor and trying in vain to avoid running into other dancers.

     None of this helped Camille’s growing sense of embarrassment, nor did the sight of Vince watching from their table. She loathed every minute of this, however, she refused to yield. If she ran away from this moment, who knew when she might gather up the courage to try again.

     “Do you go to Lander?”

     The voice took her so much by surprise that she nearly tripped on her next step, recovering only because of reflexes honed by years of training. After a moment, she realized the question had come from her dance partner, who was looking down at her quizzically, clearly awaiting a response. Inwardly, she cursed the fact that this place kept the music low enough to allow conversation, dearly wishing she could feign not hearing and continue their bumbling silence.

     “Yes,” she said eventually, more to get him to focus on dancing and stop staring than anything else.

     “Me too! I’m a Communications major. My name is Ross.”

     “Camille,” Camille replied softly. Despite her love of not talking, etiquette compelled her to respond.

     “What’s your major, Camille?”

     For the barest of moments, she almost blurted out that she was in the HCP, but at the last second, she remembered the major written on her transcript and kept her secret preserved.

     “Biology.”

     “Nice. You want to be a doctor or something?”

     “Or something. I haven’t really picked a field yet.”

     “Not me, I’m going to be a television reporter and work my way up to anchor,” Ross informed her, flashing a cheesy grin that likely would have looked in place on a man with tightly gelled hair sitting behind a news desk.”

     At that moment, several other couples danced by, forcing them to maneuver away and cutting the conversation short. Camille breathed a momentary sigh of relief with the fleeting hope that the interruption of verbal momentum would finish off their talk. That hope was quickly extinguished, however, once the last of the dancers went by.

     “So, Camille, what year are you?”

     “Junior,” she said, slightly louder than usual, because the only thing worse than talking was having to repeat herself.

     “Get out of town. I’m a senior myself, though I’d have pegged you as a sophomore.”

     “Thank you?”

     “Sorry, didn’t mean that in an unkind way. Heck, most women I know are always fretting about looking older than they are, so I guess I meant it as a compliment.”

     “I appreciate it,” Camille said. As she spoke, the song finally came to an end and a slower one began to play. Ross showed no signs of letting go, but she took a few steps back and broke their embrace. Three regular songs had pushed her limits; a slow one was well beyond what she could currently handle.

     “Thank you for the dance,” she said hurriedly, then rushed off the dance floor and back to her table. Only after arriving did she remember that he would be sitting only a few feet away, but there was nothing she could do about it without making everyone move—an act which would be unnecessarily hurtful.

     “Hey there,” Vince said as she sat down. “How was your dance?”

     “Lovely,” Camille lied. It wasn’t completely untrue—the music had been nice and her company had been cordial. It had only been terrible because of her own shyness. That, and the fact that Ross, while sweet, wasn’t Vince.

     “Are you feeling okay?” Mary asked.

     It took Camille a minute to remember that she’d been moving toward drunkenness before she left. The indications she’d been seeing were suppressed by the tremendous amount of fear-induced adrenaline that surged through her veins while on the dance floor. As she sat still and her heart rate slowed, she did notice a light sensation of relaxation beginning to fill her head.

     “I think I’m okay,” Camille said. “Probably best that I stopped when I did.”

     “No kidding,” Vince said. “The last thing you want to do is pull a me at Thomas’s party and get sick. Thank goodness I had you there to help.” At those words, he patted her shoulder, and the mellow calm in Camille’s head took a noticeable turn toward her usual embarrassment. Somewhere along the way it got lost, though, and no creeping blush ran across her cheeks. That was strange. She wondered if perhaps she was underestimating the impact of Alice’s shots, but then dismissed the worry. It was hard to stay worried about anything at the moment.

     *              *              *

     “Those two are strange, don’t you think?” Roy said, busting several now empty boxes and jamming them to the back of the bar until they could be disposed of.

     “What two?” Chad asked.

     “Camille and Vince. That girl couldn’t be any more into him without literally burrowing into his chest, and he seems to be giving her some glances too.”

     “Attraction is not strange among two people of similar personalities and comeliness,” Chad said.

     “No, I mean it’s strange that they like each other, yet neither seems to be making a move. It seems like, if you want something, you should go after it, don’t you agree?” Roy knew he was sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong, and that his advice was unlikely to yield results, but all the same, he couldn’t help himself. He liked Chad, and obviously Angela did too, albeit in a much different way. There probably weren’t many women who would look past his weird, detached mental state, and it seemed a shame for him to miss his shot with a hottie that clearly fit that criteria.

     “Sometimes, things are more complicated than mere desire,” Chad replied.

     “People say that, but in my experience, all those complications are usually just people making excuses because they’re afraid. They might be scared of different things: commitment, rejection, betrayal, but in the end, it just means they’re always too afraid to swing at a ball they want to hit.”

     “She’s my best friend’s sister,” Chad pointed out.

     “Seems like it would be really easy to bring it up with him, then,” Roy countered. “All I’m saying is this: at the end of their lives, I don’t imagine many people lay in their deathbeds and say ‘Damn, I wish I had gone for less things I genuinely wanted.’ Just think about it.”

     Chad gave a non-committal nod, which Roy chose to interpret as agreement, and then went back to work.

     30.

     Vince hefted Camille up the steps to Violet’s room, a task made easier by his frequent training and her relatively light weight. They’d gotten through the rest of the night without incident, even made it over to Roy and Chad’s bar for Camille and Mary to greet them; however, the late hour and undeniable effects of alcohol had begun to take a toll on all of them, though Camille got it the worst. She’d managed to avoid full-blown intoxication, however, halfway home, the soothing song of inebriation had lulled her into resting her head against the window and falling asleep. Neither being heavy drinkers, they called Violet to see if there was anything Camille might need, and the fellow Super had demanded they bring her over immediately.

     “You sure she’s okay?” Violet asked, her rare motherly impulses actively engaged. She’d worried since their call, and was none too pleased to see her friend sleeping in Vince’s arms.

     “She should be fine,” Mary assured her. “As soon as we left, she healed her liver; now, it’s just a matter of sleeping it all off.”

     “I’m not that surprised she went down. The girl usually goes to bed long before now,” Violet said.

     “Hopefully she’ll feel better in the morning,” Vince said, bumping the door open with his hip as he carried her inside. Once Camille was deposited on Violet’s bed, he took a trashcan from the restroom and set it on the floor beside her. While he did that, Violet produced an extra-large bottle of water and set it on the nightstand.

     “I doubt she’ll need this stuff—her healing always takes away my hangovers—but I’ll still sleep better knowing she has it,” Violet said as she pulled back the covers and yanked off Camille’s shoes. The small girl awoke at her feet being exposed, blinking sleepily as she adjusted to the surroundings.

     “Where’m I?” Camille mumbled groggily.

     “Vince and Mary brought you over after you fell asleep,” Violet explained, sweeping the covers over her friend.

     “I went to sleep?” Her confusion was broken up by a loud yawn that escaped her mouth before it could be stifled. Only after it concluded did she speak again. “I’m sorry about that.”

     “Don’t be, Mary and I are pretty tired too,” Vince reassured her. “You did what we all wanted to do. You just got there first. Sleep well.”

     Somewhere in the mental fugue that was sleepiness and alcohol, Camille realized that Vince was in a bedroom with her, standing over her, close enough to touch. She wondered what he’d say if she asked him to crawl in with her and spend the night spooning. Luckily, cutting herself off when she did meant she was intoxicated enough to have such thoughts, but not so wasted as to act on them.

     “Come on guys, I’ll give you a lift home,” Violet offered.

     “It’s only a few blocks, we don’t mind walking,” Mary said.

     “Forget it, I’m up, and it’s like a three minute drive. No big deal.”

     The two women continued talking as Camille set her head back down on the pillow and was immediately retaken by the sandman’s minions. Vince lingered, only for a moment, to double-check she had everything she needed and turn off the light. As he eased the door shut, he whispered to her softly.

     “Sleep well,” Vince said, pulling the door closed. Only after it had firmly latched did he complete his sentence, so low it would have strained the abilities of a Super with augmented hearing to make it out.

     “. . . Cami.”

     *              *              *

     Angela was not a stupid person. She recognized that though she likely ranked in the top five percent as far as dangerous people in the world went, the fact that she was blonde, pretty, and young would always make her seem like a target to some people. Angela also recognized that immeasurable power was only useful if you used it before you were rendered unconscious. As a result of all this, she was keenly aware of the presence of another person following her when she left Six-Shooter and headed for her car that night. Instead of reaching for her mace or keys, however, she reached down deep for her power, readying herself to deal a world of hurt to the poor son of a bitch who’d dare thought to accost her. With no warning at all, she whirled around, ready to level someone.

     Chad leapt back in surprise, immediately landing with his fists up and his weight evenly distributed, prepared to fight.

     “Shit, Chad! You had me worried for a minute. I thought you and Roy left like an hour ago. Why the hell are you creeping after me in the parking lot?”

     “I wanted to talk,” Chad said simply, letting his hands fall to his sides and taking a less offensive stance.

     “Your version of talking starts the same way as a lot of other people’s version of assault,” Angela told him, taking a deep breath to calm her heart and let the adrenaline run its course. It was hard to shift from fighting mode to just chatting, but a lifetime of discipline and training did have a few positive side effects.

     “I’m sorry,” Chad replied. “I wasn’t sure how to bring this up, and I wanted to talk to you alone.”

     “We both have cell phones, you know?” Though her words were still harsh, Angela’s tone had lost its bite. Seeing Chad be awkward was disarming. Sure, normally, he was socially awkward as hell, but he never seemed to realize it. Now, it was evident he felt out of his depth, which just made everything ten times more confusing.

     Chad shook his head. “No, I needed to say this in person.”

     “Well, we’re both here—alone, and in person. Go ahead.”

     “I want to fight you in a match,” Chad announced.

     “Of course you do.” Angela felt some of the worry she’d felt vanish, replaced with a strange sense of disappointment. She couldn’t imagine why she’d thought this would be something different. Training and fighting were all Chad thought about. It was why he made great eye-candy and was fun to flirt with, but ultimately was an unlikely prospect for anything serious. She knew that—it wasn’t like it was hard to figure out—so what made her think these new developments were anything different?

     “I guess it has been a while. I think I’ve got some free time on Tuesday, so I could squeeze you in.”

     “That’s too soon,” Chad replied. “It would need to be Friday.”

     “Any special reason why?”

     “Because I have to speak with Shane first,” Chad said.

     Angela actually laughed at this, her strong voice carrying through the near-empty lot and bouncing off the buildings. “My brother doesn’t care who I fight, not in the slightest.”

     “I am aware. However, he is likely to be more selective of who you date.”

     “Come again?” For once, Chad had accomplished what so few people at Lander ever had. He’d taken Angela DeSoto by surprise.

     “I like you, a great deal as it turns out, and unless my analysis is incorrect, you are similarly interested in me. I wish to take you out on a date. However, my friendship with Shane means that it wouldn’t be right for me to ask you out until I have first obtained his permission.”

     “That’s pretty decent of you. Don’t you think you should ask me first, though? What if I say no?”

     “Then you say no. Still, even asking would be wrong if I hadn’t first spoken to Shane,” Chad reiterated.

     “I’m with you on that part, and I get it. One thing that confuses me, though. If all you want to do is ask me out after you square things with Shane, why the match?”

     This time, it was Chad who looked confused. “Angela, you are a fierce, relentless, powerful warrior. I would never presume to court you without first proving I was strong enough to fight on your level.”

     “Well . . . I guess I’ll see you Friday, then.” Angela turned away to conceal a smile that refused to stay suppressed. You could say a lot of things about Chad Taylor—he was strange, he was socially ignorant, he could be so blind to what was in front of him that it bordered on a mental disorder—but there was also something she considered wonderful about him. Chad was a warrior, and he respected her as one too. That meant he got her in a way so very few people did.

     Instead of heading home, Angela angled her car toward the Lander campus. Friday was only a week away, and she had training to do.

     31.

     The candles gave off a subtle, soothing smell, one that said sandalwood on the label, but that Mary had no way of verifying. What was a sandalwood? How would she even know what one smelled like in the first place? Maybe they just chopped up a bunch of pine cones and ground them into candle wax, calling it whatever they wanted. That would be a pretty good racket. Heck, the candles had been four dollars apiece. Pine cones couldn’t cost that much.

     “Focus,” Mary muttered, chastising herself and her wandering mind.

     From her stereo came the soothing sounds of monks, vocalizing an ancient hymn meant to bring one closer to enlightenment. Credit where it was due, they were pretty good. Mary couldn’t remember ever hearing a bad singing monk, though. Was it just a byproduct of monkhood that one gained a great singing voice? Or maybe they had auditions before one got in. “Great, great, you want enlightenment, but I’ll need to hear you belt out some show tunes before we let you in.” Were there scouts out there scouring the vocal talents of a new generation and recruiting them to top-notch monasteries?

     “Stop wandering,” she said, gritting her teeth in frustration.

     When Professor Stone had told her meditation was a good way to sharpen her focus and improve her mental state, Mary had thought it would be easy. Unfortunately, it turned out clearing one’s mind was far more difficult than she’d expected. Perhaps she just had too much going on up there. Those people who meditated easily . . . Mary would bet they didn’t have entire teams of former Powereds to look after, or HCP trials to prepare for. Who could meditate with so much on their plate? Just getting to sleep should count as accomplishment enough. Maybe she could apply for a medal or somethi—

     “Damn it!” Mary yelled, hopping up from the pillow she’d been sitting on at the realization that her mind had wandered yet again. A few seconds later, there was a knock on her door.

     “Everything okay in there?” Alice asked through the wood barrier.

     “Not really,” Mary grumbled. She opened the door telekinetically, allowing her fellow dormmate entry. Alice walked in with a Physics book under her arm, which struck Mary as curious. To her knowledge, Alice had finished out her science credits last year. Before she could ask about the choice of recreational reading, Alice said something first.

     “Your room smells nice. Is that sandalwood?”

     “Depends on who you ask,” Mary said, sitting down on her bed in exasperation. “Sorry, I’m frustrated. Professor Stone has me trying meditation, and it turns out I’m awful at it.”

     “Why do you need to meditate? Oh, let me guess, telepath thing?” Alice helped herself to a seat in Mary’s computer chair, dropping her book on the desk and turning her full attention to the smaller girl.

     “In a way, I guess,” Mary replied. “I’ve been working on my ability to go into people’s minds when they’re in a trance state, like I did with Vince. Since I needed to be put under too for it to work, Professor Stone thought learning to get myself to a similar mental state would let me go in under my own power.”

     “Makes sense,” Alice concurred. “I never really gave much thought to your ability to do that. I guess I just assumed all telepaths could do it.”

     Mary shook her head. “Very few of us, actually. Turns out I got a rare talent. From what Professor Stone said, it’s even rarer than her memory ability.”

     “What memory ability?”

     Mary faltered for a moment. Though everyone knew Nick’s memories had been wiped, only she was aware that it was one of their professors who had done the deed. In theory, knowing who had done it shouldn’t make a difference, however, that emotional wound was still quite raw for many of them, and she saw no benefit in giving them a place to direct their pain. It seemed safer to stick with the story Professor Stone didn’t mind letting people know.

     “She has this skill where she can pull up a willing person’s memories and see them. I think the other person re-experiences them too, so it’s got to be useful for helping people recall important details and that sort of thing. Even if I’m wrong, I guess she can just relay the information they need.”

     Alice’s eyes widened noticeably. “She can show people their own memories? Even things they struggle recalling?”

     “Pretty sure that’s how it works,” Mary confirmed. “I’ve never really gone in depth with her on it, though maybe doing so would shed some more light on my ability.”

     “You should do that,” Alice said, eyes still larger than normal.

     Mary was certain something was going on in her blonde friend’s head. She was tempted to peek inside and see what it was, but she decided against it. Alice was her friend, and she trusted Mary. Overhearing things when generally listening was unavoidable, but digging through her mind just to satisfy curiosity was a step further than Mary was willing to go. Whatever Alice was thinking, she would share it with Mary in her own time.

     “Have you tried moving into someone’s dream yet?” Alice asked, interrupting Mary’s thoughts.

     “Not yet. I haven’t gotten my own mental state under control, so there wouldn’t be much point in bringing in someone else.”

     “It sort of seems like you’re overlooking another option,” Alice pointed out.

     “Do tell, because I am desperate for ideas.”

     “Well, Rich put us into what could be considered very intense, pre-determined dreams. You know what else induces a dream-like state? Sleep.”

     “I see. So you think I should try to enter a person’s mind while we’re both sleeping normally? I’m not sure how I’d make my sleeping-self do that.”

     “You didn’t do it intentionally the first time, did you? Why not give it a shot and see if your natural impulses take over? I’m sure Hershel wouldn’t object to sharing his bed with you. For training, of course.” Alice flashed Mary a savage grin punctuated by a theatrical wink.

     Mary suddenly felt a large sense of empathy for Camille, as the blush brightening her face reached all the way to her ears.

     “We haven’t . . . I’m not . . . that would—”

     “Relax, I’m just teasing you,” Alice said. “How about me instead? I can sleep in your room this weekend, and we’ll tie our hands together or something so we’re in constant contact.”

     “That would actually be a big help,” Mary said. “Are you sure you want to do that, though? I don’t know how much I will or won’t see of your subconscious once I’m in there.”

     Alice gave a shrug and picked up her book. “You’re already bouncing around my head freely anyway. Besides, if it helps you, then it’s worth it. Given what we know Globe pulled during Vince’s dream, having someone else who can enter heads might just end up making a big difference somewhere down the line.”

     “Friday it is, then,” Mary said.

     “I’ll pack my makeup kit and sleeping bag,” Alice replied.

     32.

     “Do you have a moment to talk?”

     Shane stopped walking and turned to his friend, who was standing off to the side, out of the way of the students exiting class. This was unusual. Normally, Chad went right to the gym after Close Combat was concluded, getting in some extra training time before his afternoon class. Today, however, he remained unmoving as the other gray-uniformed students made their way out the door.

     “Sure,” Shane said, walking over to his friend. “What’s going on?”

     The upside to the diminishing size of their class meant it didn’t take long for the room to empty out, but Chad did wait until the last person had crossed the door’s threshold and could be heard walking down the hall before speaking again.

     “I must confess, I am somewhat unsure about how to proceed with this conversation.”

     “Knowing you, I’d say just blurt it out. That’s what you’ll probably do anyway,” Shane advised.

     Chad had to admit, that made good sense. “I was recently made to realize that I have romantic feelings for your sister, Angela.”

     Shane resisted the urge to point out that he only had one sister, and therefore didn’t need the extra bit of clarification. But getting annoyed with Chad for being overly precise was akin to getting mad at a dog for chasing a ball. Some things were just bred into one’s nature. Instead, Shane motioned for him to continue.

     “I would like to ask her on a date, pending the results of our upcoming match, of course. Though I do realize this is not a socially ideal situation, I also realize that I’m unlikely to meet many other women who compare to her, and this seems like a worthwhile effort,” Chad said.

     “So, what do you want from me? Advice on what flowers to get her? Because the answer is none, that’s not her thing,” Shane replied.

     Chad did not shuffle or look away, but he managed to convey a look of discomfort all the same. Maybe it was the eyes. Shane suspected that, after two years of friendship with a person whose facial expressions were totally controlled, he’d become an expert at reading the minor emotions discernible from Chad’s eyes.

     “I’m sorry; I think I failed to make my point clear. I did say I wasn’t sure how to do this,” Chad reminded him. “What I’m asking for is your permission to ask her out.”

     “Angela’s a grown woman, Chad, you don’t need my permission to date her,” Shane said.

     “Maybe I’m still asking it wrong.” Chad sighed, a bare flutter of frustration flickering over his face. “Years of ignoring all this stuff have left me woefully underprepared for it. I want your assurance, I think, that this doesn’t bother you, and that it won’t damage our friendship.”

     “What if I said it would?”

     “Then I wouldn’t ask her out, obviously,” Chad replied. “I like Angela very much, but you’re my friend. Honestly, you’re the first real friend I’ve ever had. I know I’m not easy to deal with sometimes, and I get that my relentless dedication to training leaves other parts of my personality lacking. But for two years, we’ve managed to maintain a good friendship in an environment constantly pitting us against one another. I will not be the one who decides to end that.”

     Shane, unlike Chad, was still a slave to his unconscious reactions, so the surprise he felt was evident on his face. That had been quite a statement, especially from someone like Chad. He’d been clumsy about getting to the point of all this, but now that they’d arrived, Shane found it hard to find much reason for objection. Hell, if anything, Shane should probably take this as inspiration to put some effort into his own social life. It would be somewhat embarrassing to be the guy dating less than Chad Taylor.

     “I’m fine with it,” Shane said, after a moment’s consideration. “I’d say don’t hurt her, but truthfully, I think it’s way more likely that she’ll be the one to damage you. Be careful, at least. And don’t give me any damn details. That would be creepy.”

     “Those are things I can do.”

     “Good.” A rogue, unbidden thought popped into Shane’s head, one that he seized on immediately. “You said you have a match coming up, didn’t you?”

     “Yes, I planned to fight her before asking her out.”

     “I figured as much, which weirds me out because it means I actually understand your way of thinking,” Shane said, resisting the urge to laugh at this somewhat serious moment. “Have you requested the room yet?”

     “Not yet. Speaking with you was my first concern.”

     “Sentiment appreciated,” Shane said. “This is my last condition: I want you to request a cell that allows for outsiders to watch the fight.”

     “Ah, I understand, you wish to observe our match out of concern,” Chad surmised. “Perfectly reasonable, and I have no objection.”

     “Good, but you’re wrong on the reason. I’m telling you to do that because I want the rest of our class to watch the fight,” Shane corrected.

     Chad’s head tilted slightly to the side. “I must confess, I don’t understand the reasoning for that.”

     “Didn’t expect you would. I know you don’t pay attention to rumor and gossip, but ever since last year’s final match, there’s been a bit of an undercurrent of curiosity in our class. They watched Vince send you flying across the arena, not knowing that you landed perfectly intact. Some folks are wondering if it’s possible that his growing powers mean he could now be stronger than you. I don’t begrudge him a little glory from that punch; however, I feel it’s gotten a bit out of hand.”

     “I admit, I was tempted to test Vince’s new limits myself. Unfortunately, I felt it would look bad if the son of Intra tried to fight the son of Globe,” Chad said. “But I’m confident I would win, if we did. Still, that doesn’t explain how people watching me fight Angela will tell them how I would do against Vince.”

     “Because my sister is currently the strongest Super in Lander’s HCP,” Shane pointed out. “You and I both know you’ll have to go all-out against her. You’ve never done that against someone in our class, and I think it’s time the rest of the junior year got to see what their number one rank can do.”

     “I see. If that is your condition, then I’ll honor it,” Chad replied. “Shouldn’t I make sure Angela is all right with it, as well?”

     “Angela is always up for putting on a show,” Shane assured him. “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt for them to see what someone from the DeSoto family can do as well. We’ve got a reputation to uphold, after all.”

     33.

     Angela was expecting the knock on her door, so she pulled it open without bothering to ask who was there. Shane strode in wordlessly, marching to the center of the room just as their father did when he was about to scold them, then turning around and glaring as he crossed his arms.

     “I don’t know how you did it, and I’m not sure if I should be angry or impressed. You managed to make Chad, Chad fucking Taylor, get his mind off training and onto goofing off with you.”

     “Guess he really asked you for permission, huh?” She dropped gracefully onto her bed in a sitting position, her back to the wall. Carefree as she might seem, some bits of training were harder to shake than others. “What a sweetheart. Did you consent?”

     “Of course I consented,” Shane snapped. “He’s my friend, and heaven knows when he’ll meet another girl willing to throw herself at him like you have.”

     “It’s called playing the long game, little brother. You should learn it. And I’m sure a man who looks like Chad and has the career of a Hero will have ample women trying to break through that defense of his.”

     “It isn’t just a game, long or otherwise,” Shane said. “I think he really likes you. God knows why, but it seems like he does. Don’t treat this like you do everything else and just play with him until you get bored.”

     “You always think so little of me,” Angela said, widening her eyes to create a mock-hurt expression.

     “I think so little of what you are, compared to what you could be. You’re so damned strong, it boggles the mind to think how powerful you’d be if you ever took things seriously.”

     “Did it ever occur to you that maybe the reason I’m so strong is because I don’t take things too seriously?” Angela asked.

     “No, because that’s idiotic,” Shane countered. “Honestly, I’ll never understand how the two of us got the same training, and yet came out so amazingly different.”

     “Must be because I’m older,” she said, though this time, there was a touch less laughter in her voice.

     *              *              *

     The younger of the siblings, a pale-skinned boy with dark hair, was sniffling as he tried to hold back the tears. Next to him, a girl scarcely a year older with golden-blonde locks, stood stone-faced as she watched the casket lower into the grave. Beside those two were a pair of adults, clearly their parents from the facial similarities, and next to them towered an aged man with thick arms and shoulders. He refused to use a cane, even though the years and adventures had taken their toll on his back. Someday, it was a fight he would lose, but that day was not today. Around them were a myriad of others, all wearing black, and most in unnaturally good shape.

     Shane sniffled again, cursing his own weakness as a few tears slid down his narrow cheek. He was supposed to be stronger. Why couldn’t he be stronger? Why wasn’t he like Grandfather, or Angela? They had something he didn’t, and it wasn’t an ability. Shane definitely had one of those, and a good one too. No, this was something different. Something that made them strong in a way that didn’t involve Super status. Deep down, further than he would plunge through his mind for years to come, Shane feared it was simply the fact that they were real warriors, and he was not.

     “Never fear, little Shane. There is strength in you that you’ll never know until you call on it. I think, one day, you’ll be the most fearless of us all.”

     The priest was talking, not that anyone paid him much heed. He was a man of the cloth, and Sharon had wanted to be buried by one when her day came. The prayers were there out of respect for their dead friend, not to provide comfort to the living. Sharon had been unique in many ways, this was merely one of them. Few Heroes held fast to their faith after long enough on the job. They saw too much; their burdens were too heavy. There were those who buried themselves in their religion, adamant that a divine plan was the only comfort they could find, however, after a time, those would either break or become fanatical. Sharon had held a quiet faith, pliable yet unbreakable. It was so quiet, in fact, that the world at large never even knew Diamond Glance held such leanings.

     “I like to think of myself as a practicing Hopeful. I do my best, and I Hope there’s something out there that will make it all make sense.”

     An official ceremony would be held later that day. The mayor of the city where she was stationed would make a speech. A plaque with her Hero name would be raised alongside others in a place of honor. Too many plaques. Too many names that the sniffling boy and the stoic girl knew by heart. People would mill about and listen; many of them would be people she’d saved, or their friends and loved ones. Not everyone she saved would attend, though. There was no space in any city that could house that kind of number. Besides, so many didn’t even know they owed their lives to her, and that was how she’d liked it.

     “Who keeps count of that sort of thing? I mean, who could, even if they wanted? I don’t know how many people I saved by stopping a bomb from landing on that stadium, and it doesn’t matter. If I saved one, then it was worth every bit of effort.”

     The people at this ceremony would not be at the other one. Though nearly all of them had a costume they could don, to show up to her ceremony would be both tacky and pointless. They didn’t want to say goodbye to Diamond Glance. They wanted to say goodbye to the woman who constantly hung ridiculous pictures on the wall of their headquarters. The woman who was known to throw a habanero pepper into one of every dozen cupcakes she baked, just to keep things exciting. The woman who would take more time than any of them to talk with Graham’s grandchildren when they would visit, and to tell them grand, adventurous stories to stoke their love of Heroes. She glossed over the scarier bits, of course. One day, the grandchildren of Graham DeSoto would see terrors of their own. They didn’t need to hear about hers as well.

     “It’s like a giant game, one that never really ends, and where the rules are always changing. It’s challenging, sure, but that’s why people like us play it. A regular game would just be too boring.”

     Angela had never really believed the lies. Maybe she would have, had they come years earlier. She’d already worn this dark dress, or one like it, too many times to believe Sharon’s stories of how fun and safe the Hero world was. Of course, there is a difference between not believing something and not liking it. Angela had loved those tales, nearly as much as she had loved Sharon herself. Once, when the two of them were up late because Grandpa was coaching others and Sharon was on monitor duty, Angela had gotten up the gumption to ask how Sharon stayed so chipper and so happy. Everyone else seemed ground down, the weight of their duty and actions tugging on them harder with each passing day. Only Sharon had stayed cheerful while being on the job for so long. The woman had taken some time before answering the girl, looking deep into her eyes and then making a difficult choice. When next Sharon’s voice came, it was different than the happy tones Angela expected. It was completely serious, the one and only time she ever heard the Hero speak that way.

     “I’ve accepted my death. The path I’ve chosen is one that goes beyond dangerous. It is closer to suicidal. I am going to die doing this work. It will happen to me as it has happened to others. We are warriors born, and we have chosen not to stray from that path. So I accept Death as my inevitable bedfellow, and by doing so, I am free to live until he claims me. I never know when he’ll call my name, and therefore, I live every minute I have left to the fullest. One day, Angela, if you join me on this road, you’ll have to make a choice too. Ignore the truth like most and find a modicum of peace in the illusion, or accept your own death and revel in the freedom that provides. No matter what you pick, though, know that I’ll be proud of you just for following the rest of us down this crazy path.”

     They began to shovel dirt on the casket, and Angela resisted the urge to comfort Shane, who was now crying readily despite all his efforts. He’d only jerk away, angry that she’d noticed and ashamed about feeling weaker than her. Silly boy. Shane wasn’t weaker than her, he just hadn’t made his choice yet. Angela had. She’d chosen as soon as Grandfather delivered the news of Sharon’s death. Now, knowing her own path, and the fate at the end of it, she did indeed feel free. Maybe there was a Valhalla for Heroes, and one day, she would see Sharon again. Angela doubted it, but she wasn’t the type to dismiss anything out of hand.

     Anything was possible. This was a wild, crazy, utterly bizarre world, and she intended to see and experience as much of it as she could; before it was her turn in the ground.

     34.

     The thoughts reached Professor Stone before the girl did. Though she didn’t quite have Mary’s range, she did make it a point to listen to things that were around her when it seemed no one else was. It was one of her more paranoid habits—something she would freely admit—however, it had saved her life no less than seven times, two of which were after her retirement. This meant that, before Alice knocked lightly on the outside of her office doorframe, Professor Stone already knew the young woman was coming to see her and was nervous about doing so. She didn’t yet know the reason for the visit, since Alice’s aforementioned nervousness made her mind flighty and unwilling to focus on the purpose.

     “Hello, Alice,” Professor Stone greeted, after the knock had actually come and Alice Adair stood in the open doorway. “How can I help you this morning?”

     “I wanted to ask a favor,” she said, strong voice and firm body language betraying none of the uncertainty Professor Stone could plainly hear zipping about in her head.

     “Straight to the point with it. I like that.” Professor Stone motioned for Alice to take a seat. The blonde student complied, settling down into one of the chairs set before the desk.

     “Living with a telepath for two years has taught me there’s not much point in beating around the bush,” Alice said. “Mary told me about what you can do with memories.”

     A prickle of discomfort danced down Professor Stone’s spine. She didn’t regret what she had done to Nick Campbell, or countless others before him when they were removed from the program, but she did wish Mary hadn’t told this girl about it. These were not enjoyable conversations to have. It was only after pausing to listen to Alice’s thoughts once more that the educator realized that was not what Alice was referring to.

     “Ah yes, my ability to view the memories of willing people. It’s a useful little talent from time to time. I assume you need me to help you recover a detail from a memory?”

     Alice nodded. “Last year, during Halloween, Rich put Nick, Mary, and me in a trance. He said he didn’t give it structure, he just dumped us into our own minds. That was apparently when Mary found out she could brain hop or whatever, so I’m sure she told you about this already.”

     “I was made aware,” Professor Stone confirmed.

     “What I’m guessing she didn’t tell you was that during my trance, someone came into my mind too. Or, at least, he claimed he was from outside my mind. At the time, I thought it was something Rich had put in there, so I didn’t pay it much heed. Now, though, after knowing Mary can do it, and others, and what happened with Vince, I just don’t feel right assuming it wasn’t real anymore.”

     “I can’t fault you for wondering, after what you’ve seen,” Professor Stone said. “And our world does carry a broader definition of the word ‘possible’ than that of regular humans. What I’m not sure of is why you need a memory recovered.”

     “Because I can only recall snippets of that encounter,” Alice admitted. “I know his name, and I know he told me he’d come to see me in my dreams before, but that I never remembered the next day. I know he told me some things about my mother, but the rest is just a word here or a facial expression there. No matter how I try, and I have been trying, I can’t get any more than that.”

     “The things you remember him saying must be very important, if you care that much to find out.”

     “Incredibly so,” Alice admitted.

     “And since you’re dancing around them rather than telling me, not to mention making a point of not thinking about them, I take it they are at least equally as private.”

     “Yes, ma’am.”

     “I don’t begrudge you some secrets, but I’m afraid that effort is moot,” Professor Stone informed her. “If I do bring up your memories, I’ll see them too. I’ll experience them right along with you. Everything from that encounter will be just as much stored in my mind as it will be in yours.”

     “I had sort of assumed that much,” Alice said. “But I figured there was no sense in telling you anything until you actually agreed to do it.”

     “Shrewd,” Professor Stone replied, giving the younger woman a brief smile. “I see Professor Pendleton’s Subtlety lessons have not been in vain. I will help you with this, Alice, because it is important to you, and this does not seem like something flippant. However, you must be totally willing, or it’s possible there are things we won’t see. Remember, you are opening your mind up to me at your own request. If you keep that thought during the process, the whole thing will be much smoother.”

     “I can do that,” Alice said firmly. “When do we start?”

     “How about the middle of next week?” Professor Stone offered. “It’s hard to know how long these sessions will take, and I want to be sure I have enough time. Since it’s already Wednesday, I’m booked up through the remainder of this week, and I don’t do consultations on the weekends. I do have free office hours next Tuesday, though.”

     “That works fine for me,” Alice said.

     “Good.” Professor Stone took a small slip of paper from her desk and jotted down a time and a room number on it. “Meet me here, at this time. Be sure to eat a good lunch, and try and get some rest the night before. You shouldn’t have any HCP classes then, but if one of your regular ones conflicts, let me know, and I’ll see what I can do.”

     “Thank you so much,” Alice said, accepting the slip of paper and rising from her seat. “I really appreciate your help.”

     “Helping students is literally what I’m here for,” Professor Stone reminded her. “If you don’t mind me asking, though, now that you know I’ll be memory diving alongside you, what did this dream-encroacher say that was so important?”

     “He . . . he told me my mother was alive,” Alice said, her stoic facade momentarily wavering as the words left her mouth.

     “I see. That certainly explains why you’d feel so compelled to hear the rest of his words. I should caution you, just because this phantom could be real doesn’t necessarily mean he is. I want you to keep your expectations in check,” Professor Stone advised.

     In that moment, thinking about her mother, Alice allowed an unguarded thought to dash through her mind. She glanced at Professor Stone, but the older woman still wore an unchanged expression of concern.

     “Of course, I’ll keep that in mind,” Alice said, hustling quickly out of the room before her thoughts could get away from her again.

     The instant she was gone, Professor Stone pulled out her phone. It was still twenty minutes until Dean Blaine would finish teaching the seniors today, so she had to wait until then to contact him. He’d be annoyed with the delay, but honestly, after this long, twenty minutes wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Alice’s rogue thought told them something. Professor Stone just didn’t know what yet. Hopefully seeing the full memory would provide more clues.

     Grabbing another slip of paper on her desk, Professor Stone quickly began writing. It was a brief flurry of words; her task had been a simple one. She wanted to transcribe the thought exactly as she had heard it, before her own memory could fail her and alter a word or two. Staring at the pen marks on the paper made the words seem bolder, more real. Heavier. Dangerous. Without meaning to, she mouthed them silently to herself.

     “I know the dream-walker was real, because he’s the one who let Globe into Vince’s head.”

     35.

     On Thursday, one day before the scheduled match between Chad and Angela, the junior year HCP class walked into the gym to find Dean Blaine and a woman in full Hero costume standing in the center of the room.

     “Good day, students,” Dean Blaine greeted them. “Please form a half-circle around myself and our guest. I’ll explain everything once you’ve all made it in.”

     The students complied, arranging themselves in a wide semi-circle around the dean and the strange woman. It didn’t take long; by now, they were all experts in rolling with unexpected situations.

     Once they were finished, Dean Blaine continued. “As you saw with Mr. Mears, this is the year where we begin introducing you to the concept of working in the real world. For half of you, at best, this will mean doing the job of a Hero. The rest of you will be exploring other options. To give you some idea of the possibilities that lie out there, we’ll be using your gym time to bring in a guest speaker every so often, who will talk to you about what they do and allow you to ask questions.”

     Dean Blaine halted unintentionally for a moment. He’d been waiting for Stella Hawkins’s voice to ring out, asking a question despite the fact that he had yet to call on her. It only took a heartbeat of silence for him to remember that she was no longer in the program. His next words came quickly, hoping to cover the gap of speech before anyone realized what had happened.

     “Today’s guest speaker is a working Hero named Shutterbug. She is a graduate from the Hero Certification Program at Korman University in New York, and has been active in the field for over eight years. I expect you to keep your questions on topic and show our guest the respect she is due. Shutterbug, please take it away.” Dean Blaine took a step back, and the Hero at his side came forward.

     Her outfit was done in a color scheme of bright greens and shiny blacks, the patterning clearly meant to evoke the idea of designs on an insect’s shell, if not stolen directly from one. She had mousy brown hair that was cut short and flared out, along with a pair of green eyes that nearly matched her costume. Her mask obscured most of her features, though, if one were attentive, they would notice her small, sharp chin and button nose.

     “Hey there, future Heroes,” Shutterbug greeted, her voice more forceful than one might have presumed from her adorable appearance. “As the dean said, my name is Shutterbug, and I’m an active Hero. Some of you might have seen me before, but I’ll give you some basic information just in case. I currently work on a team called The Arc Alliance in Atlanta, and my ability is that I can freeze time in certain areas.”

     Without warning, she raised her right hand and a flash of light burst from it, engulfing half of the half-circle. Those not hit felt normal, but when they glanced over, it was clear their fellow students were suspended in time: unmoving, unbreathing, and unblinking.

     Shutterbug snapped her fingers, and suddenly everything was back to normal. Before anyone could say a word, she raised her left hand and repeated the process on the other half of the students. Once she’d unfrozen them, she continued speaking.

     “Though I’m limited to a certain area and range, it’s still a darn useful ability, especially since I can freeze a part of something if the whole of it is too big to get with my field. Watching a giant robot try and free its hand from a suspended time field is damn funny, let me tell you.” She actually giggled a bit, then realized no one else was doing so, and composed herself. “Anyway, that’s a little background about me, now, on to the actual work of being a Hero. I’ll keep this short and sweet, because, unlike the other careers you’ll be introduced to, this is the one I’m sure you already know a lot about. If your time in the HCP is anything like mine was, then you’ve already been informed about the hard choices and constant dangers inherent to this line of work. I’ll tell you a few things I wish I’d known going in, though.”

     Shutterbug paused, mentally recalling the list she’d been compiling since Dean Blaine had asked her to speak. At one time, it had numbered well over a dozen points; however, she’d gradually been weeding it down to the elements that seemed both important and unlikely to get covered during their education.

     “First off, most of you will be on teams. That’s part of the Hero world, and even if you are strong enough to be solo, you’re still better off getting your feet wet with people watching your back. It’s going to be natural for you to want to be with other people from your class, but try to keep an open mind. I know that you’re familiar with and trust these people; however, the Hero world is a bigger one than many people realize. Put your team together based on powers and personalities that work well together, not just ones that you’re familiar with. In the long run, you’ll be happier and get injured less.

     “Secondly, don’t underestimate the Subtlety majors. I know it’s always tempting to think that having more firepower means a better team, but that is generally not true. I’ve been on teams with and without a Subtlety Hero, and the difference is tremendous. The ones without nearly always ended in slug outs, often in populated areas, where people got hurt. The team where I had a Subtlety Hero, the team I’m still on, has allowed us to neutralize a great deal of threats without a single punch thrown. Not saying the brawls don’t still happen, but it’s far less common. Remember, no matter how dangerous an enemy is, they still have to sleep, and a good Subtlety Hero can find out where and when. Something to keep in mind.”

     A few eyes darted in the direction of Will Murray, eyes he politely pretended not to notice.

     “Lastly, get an agent,” Shutter said. “Officially speaking, the HCP doesn’t promote them much, which is why you’ll only meet one or two during your time here. They’ll come up to you after graduation, and many of you will dismiss them as charlatans. Some of them are, some are not. Ask other Heroes. They’ll steer you in the right direction. As much as it might seem like a useless job, agents are important because of how much they take off your plate. When you have one, you know someone is always minding your image, making sure things are running smoothly, and handling any issues that might arise. An agent allows you to focus on what you should be doing, which is stopping criminals.”

     Shutterbug let out a small sigh of relief as her speech concluded. Though unflinching in the face of danger, she wasn’t big on public speaking. Now that the hard part was over, she allowed herself to relax slightly.

     “Okay, I think that takes care of all the stuff I felt you should know; now, it’s your turn. Any questions?”

     Immediately, a flurry of hands rose, as though she’d just asked who wanted free shots at a kegger. The mild wave of relaxation instantly turned into anxiety as Shutterbug realized the hard part was just beginning.

     36.

     “Okay, um, you,” Shutterbug said, pointing to the nearest hand she saw.

     “I was wondering what you can tell us about the process after graduation,” Thomas asked, lowering his hand as he spoke. “Some of the older students have mentioned interning, but that process has yet to be fully explained to us.”

     Shutterbug looked over at Dean Blaine and raised an eyebrow.

     “We’d planned to cover that later in the year, closer to when an initial meet and greet could be arranged,” Dean Blaine replied to her unasked query.

     Shutterbug gave a small nod. “I won’t go too in-depth then. But, to lay out some basics, over the course of the tail end of this year and most of next, the staff will bring in Heroes qualified to have interns. You’ll meet, shake hands, do small talk, and generally kiss ass. If the Hero is interested in you, they’ll review your tapes and maybe watch your final trial. If they still think you’ve got talent, then they offer to mentor you for two years after graduation. This is where you get on-the-job training that no amount of school can replicate. Think of it as your Hero learner’s permit.”

     More hands were immediately raised, but Shutterbug didn’t call on anyone. Instead, she kept talking.

     “And I already know what your next question is, because I asked the same thing: what happens if no Hero offers to mentor you? Don’t worry, the HCP isn’t going to leave you hanging like that. There are Heroes who don’t do the selection process because they feel it’s elitist. Those Heroes are always willing to take any interns that don’t get offers, up to the maximum three they are permitted to have. I’m sure some of you assume these are the less-than-stellar Heroes, the second-rate ones you’re forced to fall back on, but understand this—not every Hero can mentor. It takes ten years on the job, and a slew of other qualifications. There is no such thing as a second-rate Hero mentor.”

     This time, Shutterbug looked around a little more carefully, choosing a smaller girl whose hand was almost obscured by the taller people around her.

     “Yes, you, the small one.” Only after she’d said it did it occur to Shutterbug that her word choice might have been a bit offensive. If it was, the girl didn’t show any signs of being upset.

     “I was wondering how teams are formed,” Camille asked. “Do you apply for existing ones, form your own, or is there some sort of procedure?”

     “Sure is,” Shutterbug told her. “Honestly, both options are perfectly viable. Teams are fluid things—people move on or change cities, which mean constant openings. Technically, there’s no limit on size, but anything over eight gets cumbersome to manage. Some handle this by having sub-teams with different purposes, but that’s off-topic. Lots of Heroes form their own teams after their internships, and plenty try to get on with existing teams. Part of your intern years is getting plugged into the Hero community and expanding your social circles, so that, when you’re done, you have options lined up.”

     With a quick sweep of the room, she selected a new question asker. “You, whatcha got?”

     “I wanted to know how Heroes make money,” Allen said. “Clearly they do, I’ve just never totally gotten how.”

     “Ah yes, this one is a bit of a sticky area,” Shutterbug said. “Officially speaking, we’re a branch of emergency response and law enforcement, so we’re paid a modest salary just like any other government worker. Good health plan, too. However, each Hero owns the rights to his or her image, meaning, if they want to license it for merchandising, that’s within their rights. By tradition and public expectation, a sizable cut of that money is given to charity, but being a popular Hero can still be a pretty big supplement to your income. That’s part of why an agent is useful.”

     “As a note,” Dean Blaine interjected, “even after retiring from the Hero field, a well-managed image can continue to make money, and there are always a plethora of jobs for Heroes who have solid skills and experience.”

     “That’s right,” Shutterbug agreed. “Some of us teach, others become agents themselves, and of course, you can always do a stint in the SAA to make some serious cash.”

     “Yes, but we have another speaker who will go over that topic,” Dean Blaine cautioned.

     “Oh, sorry,” Shutterbug apologized. “Let’s see, next question then. You.”

     “I wanted to know what it’s like fighting criminal Supers,” Violet asked. “Is it like training, or what?”

     “Yes and no,” Shutterbug told her. “Your training is preparing you for death at every turn. Not all criminals are out for blood, though. A good portion are just people who made bad choices and got caught up in stupid circumstances. In those cases, it’s better, because if you’re really lucky, then you can stop them without throwing a punch, and maybe even get them on a better path. The rest of the time, well, some Supers become convinced that their power means they can do what they want and no one can stop them. In those cases, it’s definitely worse, especially when they’ve got a power set that prohibits peaceful capture.”

     “What does that mean?” Violet inquired, though deep down, she was already suspicious she knew the answer.

     Shutterbug’s eyes flicked to Dean Blaine, who gave a subtle nod. He didn’t call Heroes here to fill his students’ heads with lies and fluff. They deserved to know what they were walking into.

     “It’s the unhappy truth that there are Supers who are dangerous and have to be stopped, or innocent people will die. If you can’t take them to jail, then you stop them the other way, by permanently neutralizing them. Most of us don’t like it, but make no mistake, it is part of the job.”

     “On that note,” Dean Blaine interjected, “I think we have time for one more question.”

     “My, how the time flies,” Shutterbug said. “The last question will come from the girl with the pink streaks in her hair.”

     “Thank you,” Sasha replied. “I was wondering how long the average Hero stays in the game, so to speak. I mean, how many years of that work do most people do?”

     “Well, that falls into four categories. First, there are the people who die on the job, which, for purposes of this discussion, we won’t really count, since I think you’re asking about the ones who retire. There are three types of those. You have people whose bodies decay at a normal rate, which inhibits them. Examples would be people with abilities that let them excel at physical combat, but don’t directly make them less resilient to the ravages of time. Your dean, actually, is a prime example of this. These people can usually make it into their forties, but Hero work is incredibly physically demanding. Even with healers and the like on staff, a body just can’t hold up to that much wear and tear after a certain point, especially when you’re fighting people who are looking to capitalize on any weakness.”

     Dean Blaine politely pretended not to notice all the glances the students were trying to covertly give him.

     “The next set of folks would be the ones who still age normally, but whose usefulness isn’t affected. People like advanced minds, healers, and me fall into this area. Our body weakening doesn’t mean much, because we weren’t really relying on it to start. Most of this category can go into their sixties and hit a proper retirement age, though some just get weary of the work and stop before then. The last group are people with physical abilities that are unaffected by getting older. You see a few strongmen in this category, as well as some energy shifters. Basically, these people could fight until old age took them and never slow down. They tend to vary on career length, since it really is just a matter of them doing it until they decide they’re done.”

     “Very well said,” Dean Blaine agreed. “Now, please thank Shutterbug for her time and sharing her knowledge.” The class complied, giving applause that was more enthusiastic than mere obligatory clapping.

     “It was my pleasure,” she said, giving the class a smile and a theatrical bow.

     37.

     Though fliers for Friday’s match would have been a bit excessive, one had to wonder if such circulars had indeed been disseminated to the junior class of the HCP. Nearly every student was in attendance to watch the battle between the top combatant of their class and the senior queen of the hill. Word had actually spread, not through advertisement, but rather by simple word of mouth. Shane DeSoto had been particularly talkative, making sure every acquaintance he had, regardless how casual, was there to see the spectacle. Chad had taken the whole ordeal with his usual level of detachment, giving nods of understanding to those wishing him luck, but otherwise ignoring the fact that other people seemed so interested in his match.

     Angela, on the other hand, had taken to it with relish, high-fiving everyone and practicing her victory poses. No one who knew her was particularly surprised, either by the confidence or the antics. As the moment drew near, and the juniors stared down at her from the viewing area, she hardly seemed like she was about to go into a fight at all. While Chad was stretching and limbering up, she was blowing kisses to the crowd. The few seniors who were scattered among the juniors in the viewing area understood what their younger classmates did not: Angela was not someone whose demeanor was an indicator of how seriously she took something. She hadn’t risen to the top of their class through charm or trickery. She’d done it by being undeniably strong.

     “This will be a good one,” Violet said, nose all but pressed against the glass. She, Thomas, Vince, Alex, and Will were all bunched together in a space near the south side of the window. This was a room designed to accommodate large groups, so the viewing pane ran the entire length of the ceiling, each wall topped off by a sheet of reinforced, clear material that allowed people to peer in. These five had arrived together due to fortuitous scheduling and had grabbed a spacious section in which to camp before the crush of people arrived. Normally, Camille would have been with them; however, she’d been tasked as the on-site healer, and so was looking on from some unseen location below, in case she was needed in a hurry.

     “I’m inclined to agree,” Thomas said. “Though I know of Angela’s reputation, I’ve never actually seen her ability in use. Or, at all, come to think of it.”

     “It’s not like we have classes with her or anything,” Vince pointed out.

     “Maybe there’s still time to find Shane and ask what it is?” Alex suggested.

     “Screw that,” Violet said. “I’d rather just wait and see it in action. Must be something really awesome to have made her number one for all four years. Maybe she grows really tall.”

     “I think that would just give Chad the advantage of speed and maneuverability,” Vince said. “I’d wager it’s closer to something like yours, something that allows for an extremely powerful defense, but also has a versatile offense.”

     “Mine doesn’t stack up well against Chad; making myself ultra-dense slows me too much to hit him. Thomas’s power would have a better shot,” Violet said.

     “I confess, I have wanted to test myself against him, now that my own skills have matured,” Thomas admitted. “But I think this will be illuminating to see both of them in action. Chad’s fights usually resolve very quickly. Watching him in a protracted battle will be interesting.”

     This same conversation, or at least reasonable facsimiles of it, echoed throughout the room as each clustered group discussed the merits of what they knew about each fighter, and how they believed they’d stack up in pitted combat. Such interest was not due to overactive self-involvement, rather, it was an unnoticed side effect of years in the HCP. These students were beginning to see everything in terms of a trial, and how they would overcome it. That very mindset was part of why these students still wore the HCP uniform, while others had returned to normal clothes.

     Amidst the chatter and speculation, few noticed when Angela switched over to waving and Chad finished his stretches. The two took ready stances on opposite sides of the room, waiting for the signal to begin tearing one another apart.

     *              *              *

     “I hope you wore your big girl panties, because, when I’m done with you, you’ll have shit all over them.”

     Chad was surprised, though not truly taken aback, by the sudden words.

     “Pardon?”

     Angela let out a long, protracted sigh. “It’s trash-talk. You know, running your mouth, talking shit, getting in the other guy’s head.”

     “Ah, you mean a pre-emptive psychological attack meant to undermine my confidence and hinder my performance,” Chad said. “Cunning. In that case, I intend to defeat you in less time than it takes me to mix a drink.”

     “Not great, but at least you’re trying,” Angela complimented. “I’m going to make you cry like a five-year-old girl who got knocked off her bike on the day her mother left the family.”

     “Extensive,” Chad said. “Why the specification of girl, though? Wouldn’t a male cry just as hard in that situation?”

     “Just how these things work,” Angela explained. “Calling a dude a girl is emasculating, meant to make him feel weak and inferior.”

     “I know far too many strong women for that to be an effective tactic,” Chad replied.

     “Well, aren’t you a good one,” Angela said. “Fine, I’m going to beat you like a toddler in a wolverine fight.”

     “You will feel more distress than if you were trapped on an airplane during its landing approach and suddenly suffered an unstoppable bowel movement.”

     “Explain,” Angela demanded.

     “During a landing approach, one is not allowed to leave their seat for any reason. Not even sudden bowel movements that won’t be stopped.”

     Angela had to admit, that scenario probably would fill her with a noticeable amount of distress. “Going for the poop joke, huh? I’m not surprised. After all, you do suck assholes. Competitively.”

     Before Chad could grope around for a reply, the hidden speakers crackled to life.

     “Students, prepare yourselves. The match will begin in ten seconds.”

     “Did I succeed in undermining your confidence?” Chad asked, lowering his stance slightly and shifting his foot back.

     “Not even a little bit,” Angela replied, sliding her own body counterclockwise, so that only her side was facing him. She knew Chad was fast; giving him as little target area as possible was going to be key.

     “I am glad to hear that,” Chad said. “Fighting anything less than your best effort is a loathsome idea to me.”

     “Then boy howdy, are you in for a treat,” Angela shot back, accompanying her statement with a wink. Her eye had barely reopened before the crackle of the speaker filled the room once more.

     “Students, begin your match!”

     38.

     Chad was fast, to the surprise of exactly zero people in or around that room. As soon as the signal was given, he leapt forward, pushing off on the toes of his right foot and surging toward his opponent with fluid grace. Only Sasha could have matched his reaction speed, and she would have fallen woefully short of copying his technique. He didn’t go for anything fancy, no showy maneuvers meant to dazzle the eye. Chad knew he had the barest of windows to end this fight quickly, so he put his efforts into the quickest punch there was: a simple jab. Angela was powerful, but her physical body was as frail as a human’s. If he could land the blow, if he could just be quick enough, then he could win this fight. It was all a matter of speed, and Chad was fast.

     Just not quite fast enough.

     Less than two feet away from her, he suddenly lost sight of Angela as a golden shield materialized inches in front of him. A lesser Super would have careened into it head first; however, Chad kept running, dashing up the golden surface and executing a backflip with his built-up momentum. He was back on his feet and able to reorient only seconds after the shield had appeared, but seconds was too much time to give someone like Angela.

     The shield floated to the side, revealing that, where Angela once stood, there was now a figure covered head to toe in golden armor, positioned in the same stance Angela had been moments before. Golden weapons began manifesting around the figure, each floating in the air well within reach, and each giving off a soft glow from the entire surface. Swords, flails, maces, polearms, daggers, all popping into the air, and then appearing to wait.

     “You almost got me before I armored up,” Angela said, her voice echoing from the armor’s helm.

     “Still too slow, unfortunately,” Chad replied, his eyes steady as he surveyed the entire field.

     “Don’t worry, I know just the exercise to sharpen your speed.”

     At those words, a short sword sliced into the ground where Chad’s foot had been an instant before, a golden trail following its nearly imperceptible movement. Only Chad’s exceptional reactions and speed had allowed him to dodge the attack, and even then, he had no time to revel in the victory. Next was a mace coming for his head, then another sword going after his arm. Internally, he knocked up his perception speed another notch. The remainder of the weapons were already flying at him as Angela began her full attack in earnest.

     *              *              *

     “What the hell is that?” Violet wondered, face now actually pressed to the glass, instead of just hovering near it as she watched Chad move with mercury’s grace around the barrage of golden weaponry doing its damndest to tear him apart. “Does she produce internal energy like you, Thomas?”

     “It seems similar,” Thomas agreed. “But my energy must remain connected to me. Hers seems to function independently.”

     “That’s because it isn’t just energy,” said a new voice, stepping into their little group. Shane DeSoto looked down at his sister and best friend’s battle with a somewhat unsettling smile. “My sister can create what she refers to as Sunlight Steel, though the name is a misnomer. She can condense any light into physical objects, ones of incredible strength and durability. And, as if that weren’t enough, she can also control their movements. Her limit used to be moving three at a time, but as you can see, her time at Lander has definitely improved her skills.”

     “That’s incredible,” whispered Alex, eyes transfixed by the glowing spectacle of a battle before him. “Although, I think I’ve seen something like it before.”

     “Almost seems unfair,” Will noted. “An ability with such tremendous versatility, presenting a powerful defense and offense, leaves very few openings. I don’t see any way for Chad to overcome these obstacles.”

     Shane opened his mouth to correct Will’s observation, but someone else beat him to it.

     “Don’t underestimate Chad,” Vince said. “He’s a lot stronger than you think. We never see his full power, because he doesn’t try to flaunt it or intimidate us with it. I think, pretty soon, this fight will be a lot less one-sided.”

     *              *              *

     It had taken a few moments longer than it probably needed to, but Chad was a man of precision. This was not, as some might conjecture, a byproduct of his ability. His precision was, in fact, a necessary trait he’d needed to develop in order to use his ability. Other people could make errors here and there, be inexact when using their powers, and the consequences were minimal. His power was his body, and that meant anything he did wrong would physically impact him immediately. It could be fixed, of course; however, battle didn’t always provide time for such readjustments. Better to do it once and right, which was why he’d kept jumping through Angela’s attack even after he’d figured out her general pattern.

     She was skilled enough to vary her attacks in general, but no one could mentally keep track of so many objects without falling into some semblance of a pattern. Chad knew that he would have a span of about three seconds in which to act after the next polearm spun toward his torso. When the blade affixed to a long shaft sank into the wall where he’d been standing seconds ago, Chad seized the opportunity. He’d practiced this technique in secret many times since his first bout with Angela, focusing on speed as well as precision. Even with his skill and practice, he still barely completed the augmentation in time to dodge the next dagger coming for him. But he didn’t dodge, even though he had the time.

     Instead, he blocked, and the attack halted as Angela took in his new form.

     “How’d you pull that off?” Angela asked from across the room.

     “I eat a tremendous amount of minerals and supplements daily, so much so that it would be toxic if I let them interact with my organs. It is a pain, but the upside is that it means I have enough raw materials to do remodeling, when called for,” Chad replied. His speech was slightly garbled, due to the protrusions of bone wrapped around his cheek.

     All along his body, an armor of his own had sprouted. Unlike Angela’s, it did not cover him fully; however, it did run along each limb, and it covered much of his head, neck, and torso. It was white as bone, because that was exactly what it was: an armor of bones that had grown out from his skin in seconds, sprouting from countless holes so that it was sectioned enough to allow for his usual graceful movement. On his left forearm, a golden dagger was wedged less than half an inch deep into the boneguard he’d blocked it with.

     “Tough as my skin and muscles are, your weaponry can still pierce them. Bones allow for much greater concentrations of carbon, though. They won’t cut so easily.”

     “You’ve gotten better,” Angela complimented.

     “Just wait.” Chad drew back his foot, the concrete scraping away as the armor on his sole tore across it, and prepared for his counterattack.

     39.

     Flecks of concrete showered the nearby wall as Chad vaulted forward, the force of his push-off and the sharpness of his new armor combining to tear deep grooves in the floor. He’d gotten no more than a few steps before Angela’s assault renewed, golden weapons arcing toward him from every conceivable angle. They slowed his charge, but they were nowhere near strong enough to halt it. When it had just been a game of evasion, Chad had been forced to follow the flow of the battle. Now, things were different. Now, he didn’t just have to leap out of the way, he also had the option to block. That made a world of difference.

     Weapons were sent careening as he continued his charge, casualties of the powerful blows he delivered from his armored appendages. True, the weaponry was still powerful enough to nick even his ultra-resilient bones; however, he was able to patch those minor scratches as he moved. He reached his opponent in a matter of seconds, taking just long enough for her to direct the seven-foot tall shield into his path.

     This time, there was no fancy jumping maneuver to redirect his momentum. Instead, he used it as extra force behind a bone-covered punch, meeting the shield with an audible crunch and sending it flying into a nearby wall. Before he could move closer to his opponent, another shield appeared in front of him. Chad readied another blow; however, the shield surprised him by surging forward and striking his chest. It wouldn’t have been enough to topple him, except some unseen object struck him in the back of his knees. The combined forces overcame even his exceptional balance and sent him to the floor with an audible thud. Chad rolled as soon as he struck, the sharp edges of his armor leaving long gouges in the concrete. Within moments, he was back on his feet and surveying the scene.

     The object that had taken him in the knees was another shield, this one sized small enough that a person might actually be able to wield it. The two tower-sized ones were flanking Angela on either side, while the smaller one hovered directly in front of her. He needed to break through them before he’d have a shot at taking her on.

     An unsettling crunching sound filled the air as the bones of Chad’s armor shifted. The edges grew sharper; protrusions jutted out from his knees, knuckles, feet, and shoulders. Each one was conical, shrinking into points so sharp it was hard to tell where they actually ended. From his forearms came long, curved bone blades, each roughly the length and shape of a wakizashi. Their edges looked as though they could cut through the very light of the sun. Which was, in an odd way, not too far off from what Chad was planning on trying.

     He met the first shield with a raised knee, sinking its sharp protrusion into the golden surface and using it for leverage to steady himself. In an instant, he twisted his torso and arm, bringing the bone blade around and slicing through the light construct with an audible grunt of effort. Strong as Angela’s creations were, Chad was stronger. The two shield halves made a tinkling noise as they clattered to the ground, then vanished in a soft white glow. He immediately jumped left as his feet touched the ground, dodging the blow from the second shield. This left the item tilted downward and directly in front of him. Chad cleaved the second tower shield in two with far less effort than the first. He had readied himself to finally engage his target when a large object crashed into his side, sending him sprawling to the ground.

     It was a tower shield. As Chad pulled himself from the floor, he watched another replacement form next to Angela. The ricocheted weapons had finally been recovered as well, circling her head like golden vultures, waiting to tear him apart when next he was vulnerable.

     “As monstrously powerful as you are, there are two flaws in your fighting tactics,” said Angela’s voice from the glowing armor. “And right now, one of them is all too clear. You lack the ability to fight at a range.”

     Chad smiled, a wicked expression due to the segments of bones jutting out from his face. He’d been wondering if it would come to this, and not only had it, but she’d been so kind as to offer him a perfect lead-in. He’d have to be careful: this technique still gave him some trouble, and it was incredibly dangerous. For the first time in years, Chad felt the rush of true battle surge through him, a feeling he in no way allowed his emotional control to dampen. This was what it meant to fight, to grow, to learn, to push oneself, and to risk it all. This was what no classroom would ever be able to duplicate.

     A segment of skin opened on each of his forearms, areas the bone armor had purposely left uncovered. Beneath the open skin, blood flowed over muscle, clear as day to anyone looking through the holes. Then, the blood began to deviate, flowing upward and then down again, as if an invisible hill had manifested in the muscle. This magical hill grew upward, thinning out as the blood was pushed outward, and then pulled back in until it appeared that a long, red tendril was stretching out of each of Chad’s arms.

     “I only saw a video of my father doing this once,” Chad said, his voice haggard as his concentration focused on maintaining the flow. “He didn’t develop the technique until a year before his death, so it took me a long time to put it together.”

     “Really creepy blood flow?” Though her words were flippant, the tone of Angela’s voice made it clear that she was definitely not feeling certain in what to expect.

     “Not at all. Did you know that with my power, I don’t actually need my heart to beat? I can just will the blood along, moving it at whatever speed suits me best. That means the speed is entirely at my discretion, and lucky me, I have enough spare resources to rapidly create extra blood on the fly. One last thing: are you familiar with the concept of a water saw?”

     It was all about visualizing points, Chad had realized. When the blood hit the air, it immediately accelerated, firing across its course in a fraction of the time it should take. Equally important, however, was the rerouting point on the other end of the arm, turning the blood back around in a loop vein he’d just constructed so it wouldn’t interfere with his normal circulation. A joint vein just before the opening ensured he could add more blood as needed, lengthening the tendril on command. Of course, it was still ridiculously dangerous for anyone, even him, to attempt. That was why he’d decided only to use it on a worthwhile opponent.

     40.

     The first tendril arced forward, a curiously soothing hum emanating from the impossibly fast speed of the blood. It was met by several weapons, all of which were sliced in half as soon as they made contact. The cleanly-cut pieces fell to the ground, some dissipating before they even made landfall.

     The second tendril was slightly slower in its approach and was met by one of the tower shields. Unlike the weapons, this golden defense didn’t cleave instantly; however, it only took a few seconds of contact before the blood-saw shredded through it, and a pair of uneven shield halves fell to the ground.

     A surprise attack like that might have overcome a lesser opponent, but Angela was not at the top of her class because she was easily rattled. The armored figure backed away quickly, placing the second shield between herself and the nearest tendril, then directing the entirety of her armory at Chad. For a moment, Chad pressed his attack, striking at the shield clutched in her armored hands. A surge of effort tore a deep groove in the golden surface and knocked both the shield and its bearer to the ground. Always a warrior, Angela fell with the shield on top of her to provide one last bulwark of defense. At that point, however, her own offense was able to turn Chad’s focus onto keeping himself safe. With his blood-saws out, he was unable to move, so he was forced to use them as defense, chopping up the weapons before they could land blows on him. True, his bone armor offered him some defense, but the need to move freely had forced him to leave much of his body uncovered.

     By the time he’d destroyed enough of the attacking weapons to refocus, the golden-armored warrior had emerged. Rather than picking up the battered shield, Angela summoned ten more, each tower sized, then grabbed the smaller one with her left gauntlet. A golden sword appeared and deposited itself in her right hand. There was no more witty banter; it was clear that now was the moment these fighters would finally clash. Both knew there was likely to be only one such confrontation.

     Angela charged, the ten tower shields circling her in various directions as she ran. Chad responded quickly, lengthening the blood-tendrils so he could strike several shields at once. The blows rang out, and the song of blood slicing through constructed light filled the room. He was fast, he was focused, and he was good, but as Angela neared striking distance, she still had two tower shields remaining. His options were limited: he could try to take out the shields, but Angela would definitely close the gap, and he was far more vulnerable when using this skill. He could drop the tendrils, but then the encounter would play out like his first try, only this time, Angela would be waiting with her blade when he went down.

     That was when a desperate idea, the sort that can only come when one has no logical options left, was born. Chad let the tendril on his right arm drop, merely ceasing the flow and sealing the hole rather than trying to undo all the reconstruction. The exposed blood splattered to the ground like fat red raindrops, the sickening scent of copper permeating the air. It was nauseating, but it had the effect he’d hoped for. Only having to sustain one tendril freed up his concentration enough to become mobile.

     The remaining tendril lengthened and darted, curving around until it was striking both of the remaining tower shields. It stopped them as it sliced, but Angela was able to slide underneath. She kept moving forward, last shield raised in defense and blade at the ready. Chad waited patiently, a look of feigned concentration still etched onto his face. Just as she arrived and swung, he leapt back a half-step, sending the attack wide and knocking her off balance. The blood of the last tendril splashed to the ground as Chad let its movements cease.

     He stepped forward, knocking the sword to the ground with one blow while sending the shield flying with another. Strong as Angela was, he was better in up-close combat. Whirling quickly, Chad knocked her feet out from under her, grabbed her shoulder plate with his left hand and brought his right forearm around so that the bone-blade rested against the glowing chainmail on her neck.

     “Deathblow,” Chad said, his breathing heavy. “I win.”

     That’s when the armor came apart, snapping away on hidden seams, and throwing its various parts and pieces around him. The hollow armor quickly became a golden trap, grabbing Chad’s various appendages and yanking them back before he had a chance to understand what was happening. He began to struggle, but then he noticed a dozen pinpricks of pain along his neck and spine. The trap armor had blades within, ones now pressing with observable force on the skin between the gaps in his armor.

     “Actual deathblow,” came a voice from across the room. The scarred shield, the one Angela had fallen under moments ago, lifted up to reveal his blonde opponent, no longer clad in any armor save for her unassailable confidence. “I win.”

     In that moment, it crystallized in Chad’s mind. He’d seen her go under the shield, then he’d seen the set of golden armor getting up from next to it, but in the fracas of battle, he’d never actually witnessed her emerge.

     “I yield,” Chad said. “You could have killed me. This victory is yours.”

     “Angela DeSoto wins the match,” announced the voice from the speaker. As it did, Chad’s bindings, along with the rest of the glowing objects in the room, vanished in a shower of light. Chad found himself falling to the floor now that he was free, and found no real inclination to stop himself.

     Angela crossed over to him and knelt beside him. “I guess you’re down to one weakness now. You don’t know how to think sneakily.”

     “It seems I do not,” Chad agreed.

     “Well, you lost, so I think you know what this means,” Angela said.

     “Of course. I will keep my distance from you as much as possible from now on.”

     “No, dipshit. It means you have to pay for dinner tonight.”

     Chad looked up and found himself entranced by the wild smile of the woman who had just defeated him.

     “But I lost.”

     “Which is why you have to pay. I’m not looking for someone stronger than me, Chad. Shit, who knows when or if that would even happen? I’m just looking for someone I like, who gets me, and who isn’t bothered by the fact that I’m never going to be a delicate flower or a damsel in distress. And yeah, the fact that you just gave me a real run for my money doesn’t hurt either. Different as we are, we’re pretty similar deep down.”

     “Do you care for Italian, or contemporary American?” Chad asked, pulling himself to his feet.

     “No way, buddy boy, you’re not getting off that easy. Seafood, and someplace classy.” Angela leaned over and gave him a kiss on the bone armor that still covered the cheek of his face. “Oh, and go back to your regular look before I pick you up. All that getting each other stuff is well and good, but I don’t go for uggos.”

     “I will be downright presentable,” Chad said, smiling without intending to. Any other time, he’d have wondered how an unintentional expression slipped through his defenses. For the moment, he was smiling too much on the inside to give a damn.

     41.

     “Don’t you just look positively suburban,” said the voice from behind Nicholas. Inwardly he winced, but his face showed no semblance of concern. It had been a couple of weeks, so he’d started wondering if any move was actually coming. Which, it was now clear in retrospect, was what Nathaniel had been hoping for. Thankfully, his training didn’t permit doubt to lower his guard, so as Nicholas turned around to face his adversary, it was with the knowledge that he had several concealed weapons stowed away on his body, and in his bag.

     Nathaniel Evers sat on a nearby bench, one that faced the sidewalk along the exit of the Business and Education building. He looked about the same as he had the last time they met: same slanted grin, same raven’s black hair that he left shaggy, same style of slightly behind-the-times suit, and of course, the same eyes. Nathaniel was a Super whose condition had left him with an aberrant physical trait, like Mary and Vince. His, however, couldn’t be played off as dye or contacts. Nathaniel’s was too advanced for such subterfuge. His eyes glowed a dull orange, the color subtly shifting as one stared into them. It was as though there were a candle behind each iris, dancing in the wind of his thoughts.

     “At least my look is only due to the clothing,” Nicholas countered. “I could give you the name of my tailor and stylist, and you’d still look like a sweaty fifteen-year-old on his first date, wearing a hand-me-down suit from your father.”

     “Nice to see that college has made you so kind,” Nathaniel replied. Nicholas noticed that a small backpack rested at the foot of the bench. It either contained weaponry, actual books, or, most likely, both.

     “The academic world changes a man. What classes do you have today?”

     Nathaniel gave him a smile that was especially creepy. It might have been impressive and threatening to someone else, but Nicholas had been seeing that smile since they were children. Nathaniel worked on it constantly, even hiring acting coaches to find new ways to make his expressions scarier. Given his power, Nathaniel’s decision to seem unsettling made sense; however, Nicholas always felt like he was trying too hard to be terrifying. True horror didn’t come from creepy smiles; it came from faces that remained impassive even as they were splattered with flecks of blood.

     “We both know you’ve memorized my schedule, just as I have yours,” Nathaniel said. “Today is Introduction to Chemistry and a sophomore Spanish class. I actually went to them too, though I must say the professors were less than welcoming.”

     “That will happen when you skip the first couple weeks of class,” Nicholas informed him.

     “Be that as it may, I think I’ll keep checking them out, at least until I get bored with them.” Nathaniel rose from his seat and took a long stretch, his lanky, scarecrow-esque form crackling as his bones popped. “I believe I see what’s attached you to this place, old friend. Our world is so advanced, so calculated; dealing with these people requires little more than the minutest of efforts to get what one wants.”

     “No, Nathaniel, you’re the only one of us who is lured in by games he finds easy. I like greater challenges, not smaller ones.”

     “Oh really? I don’t suppose you’d like to inform me as to why you’re here, then. You vanish for the larger part of two years—and I do mean vanish; not even we could find you—then, all of a sudden, you pop up as registered to a college in California.”

     “I’m getting an education,” Nicholas replied tartly. He was aware that the flow of students exiting the building had lessened, so he made sure to pay attention to Nathaniel’s movements. If an attack was coming, it would be when there were fewer witnesses.

     “Of course you are. Nicholas Campbell and his grand ambitions,” Nathaniel said, his eyes’ glow brightening momentarily as his voice grew harsh. A second later, both features were back to normal. “Funny thing, though, I’ve been watching you these last few weeks, and you seem especially at home here. Never getting lost, never asking for directions, never seeming out of place. It’s almost as if you’d already spent a large amount of time here. One might even wager two school years.”

     “Or, alternatively, maybe I just showed up when classes actually started and learned the campus,” Nicholas countered.

     “Certainly possible,” Nathaniel admitted. “But I doubt it. I know you’re here for a reason, and I’m keen on finding out what it is.”

     “On the subject of reasons, why don’t we talk about what brought you out here?” Nicholas asked.

     “Unlike you, old friend, I have no need to lie. I followed you here. If you’ve left the safety of Vegas, then it is for something big. As future head of the Evers Family, I consider it my familial duty to explore whether your goal could be useful to our own ends.”

     Nicholas debated telling him that this had nothing to do with their Vegas affiliations, however, that would still be giving him information. Though Nathaniel was a lesser opponent, Nicholas hadn’t managed to always beat him by giving him handicaps. Better to turn the talk toward something that would give him nothing, while still ending the conversation.

     “Future head of the Evers Family? My goodness, you seem to have lost touch with reality since I’ve been gone. Everyone knows your cousin is the one who is marked to sit in the big chair. Even if she wasn’t, you really think they’d give it to a pumpkin-eyed freak like you?”

     The glow in Nathaniel’s eyes intensified once more. Poor fellow, years of training, and yet his eyes were still a precise tell of his emotions.

     “Better a pumpkin-eyed freak than a fucking Powered,” Nathaniel spat, advancing slightly and closing the small distance between them. Nathaniel couldn’t be blamed for believing Nicholas was still a Powered; in all of Vegas, only Gerry and Ms. Pips knew the truth. “You act like you’re the fucking crown prince of your Family just because Ms. Pips favors you. But she’s not the king, and when the day of her retirement comes, do you really think the rest of the Family will back putting a man with your defect on top of the casino? At least I can control my ability.”

     “And it’s done you so much good, hasn’t it?” Nicholas shot back. “Face it, Nathaniel, I’ve done more with a minus in my column than you’ve ever accomplished with a plus. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we both know I have another class to get to.”

     Nathaniel’s hand snaked out and grabbed Nicholas’s arm. For a moment, the sandy-haired young man held his breath, wondering if things were going to come to a head right here and now. He’d have preferred to have backup, but he had enough hidden cards that he was confident he’d survive.

     “Your sense of superiority has always been the most insufferable thing about you,” Nathaniel said, his words scarcely louder than a whisper. The glow from his eyes was so bright it was reflecting off his cheeks. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m going to find out. And then, once I know what you want, I’m going to take it away from you.”

     “Then it seems the game is on,” Nicholas replied, pulling his arm free with little effort. He calmly turned away and began walking down the sidewalk. It was dangerous to show an enemy like Nathaniel his back after riling him, but it would have been more detrimental to turn around.

     When dealing with Nathaniel Evers, it was imperative that one never show fear.

     42.

     “I need to train more,” Roy said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I need to train a shitload more.”

     “That echoes my sentiment nicely,” Thomas agreed.

     The class was filtering out now that the show was over, a progression of people going down the concrete steps in a state of excitement and wonder. A fight like that, seeing two incredible competitors go at each other full-force, was something rare and beautiful. For some, it highlighted the gap between themselves and the top of the mountain. For others, it merely inspired them to climb all the higher.

     Roy, Alice, and Mary had joined Vince, Thomas, Violet, and Alex after enough of the crowd had left to allow them to meet up. Will had gone over to talk with Jill, and Shane had headed downstairs to presumably congratulate his sister. The tone in the remaining group was one of subdued enthrallment, as each person replayed the battle over and over in their head.

     “I still can’t believe how versatile her power is,” Alice commented.

     “No kidding. I thought Shane’s shadow manipulation was impressive, but Angela’s ability is even stronger,” Vince said.

     “Hang on,” Roy requested, a strange tickle moving through his brain. “That seems familiar.” He delved into the recesses of his memory, trying to place why such a combination would stand out to him; however, he wasn’t able to place it. Accepting the loss, he made a note for Hershel to try when he took over. Hershel was always better with that sort of stuff anyway. “Never mind, I can’t think of what it reminds me of.”

     “It reminds me of a kick-ass fight,” Violet said, still standing on the balls of her toes in unabashed excitement. “I mean, shit, that was awesome. Fuck, now I want to fight. Someone new. Mary, care to have a go? Vince? Shit, I also wouldn’t mind a rematch with you, Alice.”

     “Maybe another time,” Alice said. “I’ve got some homework to do.”

     “What about later tonight?” Violet pressed.

     “Mary and I are actually trying a different sort of training already,” Alice said cautiously. She didn’t want to give away too much about her friend’s ability. It wouldn’t be in good taste to spill someone else’s secret.

     “Oh, I definitely want in,” Violet declared.

     “It’s not that sort of training,” Mary clarified. “I’m trying to replicate my dream-walking ability without being put under by Rich, so Alice and I are going to tie our hands together, then sleep in the same area. Hopefully, I’ll enter her dreams.”

     “Seriously? A two-person slumber party? You gals really suck at this,” Violet commented.

     “We aren’t having a party,” Mary replied.

     “Not with two people you aren’t. Don’t worry; I’ll get Camille and Jill on board at the very least. Good idea, though, even if the execution sucks. We can do it at our place, since we have an entire house and all. Plus, and I mean this nicely, I don’t trust you two to stock beer and liquor, and I’m not hauling all that shit across campus.” With that, Violet bounded over to where Will and Jill were speaking in hurried whispers and proceeded to take over their conversation.

     “Sorry about that,” Thomas said. “She can be a bit overly determined at times.”

     “I feel like she could have at least waited for us to say yes.” Mary sighed.

     “Honestly, I think, even if we’d tried to decline, we wouldn’t have had any more luck,” Alice said. “Oh well, I guess a little bonding might be fun. Besides, as long as we sleep in the same room, the experiment shouldn’t really be altered.”

     Mary mumbled something indiscernible to the rest of the group, though the sentiment of the words came through quite nicely.

     Vince turned to Thomas, Alex, and Roy. “So, should we go do something?”

     “I’m in,” Alex replied immediately.

     “It does seem like my home is about to be uninhabitable,” Thomas agreed. “I’m equally certain Will would like to get away from the ensuing antics.”

     “Seems to me that Hershel would do well to have a little fun,” Roy said. “Y’all mind waiting till I turn back?”

     “Sure, we’ve got to grab dinner anyway,” Vince said.

     “Good, that will give me time to help you put together a game plan,” Roy said, his smile turning somehow more mischievous than usual, if that were possible.

     “Let’s keep it somewhat tame,” Thomas requested.

     “No can do,” Roy assured him, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder.

     *              *              *

     Angela wasn’t surprised to find Shane waiting outside the women’s changing room, leaning against a wall and doing his best to look nonchalant.

     “Get what you wanted out of that?” Angela asked, running her hands through her hair, still damp from the post-fight shower.

     “Very much so. Did you?”

     “Even more so,” she said, flashing him a smile. “Not going to lie, I haven’t been cornered like that in ages. The blood-whip thing came out of nowhere.”

     “I had no idea Chad was working on such a technique,” Shane said, a small trace of sadness in his tone. “And with it goes the only advantage I ever had over him—a greater reach.”

     “Don’t look so glum, chum. You’ve got almost two years of growing up left to do. Hell, you think I could have pulled off all that shit a year ago?”

     “The flaw in your logic is that, while I’ll be getting stronger, Chad will undoubtedly be doing the same,” Shane pointed out.

     “You’re right,” Angela agreed. “You’re trying to catch an opponent who advances faster than you and already has a head start. It’s pretty much an impossible task.” She paused to walk over and lean on the wall next to him. “But you’ve already been trying to do that since you were five.”

     “That’s different,” Shane said. “We weren’t that far apart at times.”

     “No, we weren’t. Closer than you think, to be truthful. Still, you’ve never quite made it. You never manage to catch up to my skill, let alone surpass it. But you keep trying. Since we were old enough to start, you’ve always been trying. I sort of admire that about you. If the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I’d have had your determination not to give up.”

     “Your admiration means the world to me,” Shane said, his tone flat and even.

     “Play sarcastic all you want, I know deep down you look up to me,” she shot back. Angela lifted herself off the wall and began heading down the hallway. “Love to chat more, but I’ve got a date to get ready for.”

     “So it seems,” Shane said. “Just be careful. Please.”

     “Why Shane, I’m surprised at you. When am I ever anything but fore-thinking and methodical?” Even though he couldn’t see the grin on her face, Shane could picture it perfectly, and somehow, that just annoyed him all the more.

     43.

     Though there were many similarities between Chad and Vince, their social obliviousness was slightly different. Vince understood that things like dressing up and fashion existed, but he was never too certain on what the rules were, or how to do it appropriately. Chad, on the other hand, was able to catalogue the data he observed on how people dressed themselves for various occasions and construct a rudimentary understanding of what was appropriate to wear for different social situations. The reason he rarely used this knowledge was that he usually didn’t care enough to bother. The night of his first date with Angela was a notable exception.

     Reconstructing his body back to its usual appearance had been a relatively easy task. Rather than dissolve the bone armor back into various minerals and merge them with his body, Chad had found it more efficient to simply molt off the excess growths. He could always ingest more minerals and supplements, but molting had been a five minute process, compared to around a five hour one for reintegration. Generally, the time wouldn’t have mattered. But this night was, once again, an exception.

     Chad stood in his dorm room, looking into the mirror he rarely used for more than a few minutes at a time. Most mornings, he merely glanced in it, willed his hair into the same arrangement and style he had it in every day, and then proceeded to brush his teeth. Currently, he was wondering if he should change something. Was it appropriate to go into a situation like this with normal hair? He knew changing clothes was expected, and he’d heard people often got haircuts before large events, but he wasn’t certain if such large-scale alterations were expected of him.

     It was uncertainty that plagued him, a feeling he was unaccustomed to and very uncomfortable with. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to dating and acclimating to the normal world back in high school, when ignorance was the expectation of all involved. He wished he had someone to guide him on this issue. There might be time to call Shane; however, Chad suspected that his friend would not have much more experience with this than him. That was, after all, part of why they were friends in the first place. Chad wondered if Roy was still the dominant personality in his body; the fellow bartender was undeniably an expert on social expectations.

     Before Chad could reach for his cell phone, it began to chirp a ringtone. He picked up the diminutive device and accepted the call.

     “Hey, hot stuff,” came Angela’s voice. “I’m in the parking lot; come on down. And don’t keep a lady waiting.”

     “I’ll be right there.”

     Chad cast one last glance in the mirror and willed a few stray hairs to change position. He didn’t know if it was good enough, but it seemed this would have to do.

     *              *              *

     “What?” Violet yelled, the fierce whir of the blender choking out nearly every other sound that tried to break into her area.

     “I asked where we should put the sleeping bags!” Alice hollered, repeating herself for the third time. She and Mary had just arrived at the house, finding Jill and Camille on the couch, while Violet focused on getting some lime green concoction in the blender to the exact perfect degree of icy consistency. The sound from the struggling motor echoed off the tiled kitchen walls and bounded into the living room, making any conversation at all nearly impossible.

     Finally, the furious blending came to a stop as Violet pulled off the lid and stuck in a straw to test consistency as well as flavor.

     “We put ours on the floor,” Camille said, once the sound ceased. She’d been able to make out the question; however, she hadn’t been willing to produce the level of noise it would take to be heard over such a racket. Alice glanced over and realized there were already three sleeping bags laid out in the area between the couch and the television.

     “Why are there three? Violet and Jill have beds,” Alice pointed out.

     “We do, but it sort of takes all the fun out of it if you go up to sleep alone,” Jill pointed out. “Besides, we figured the more of us that are here, the better a chance that Mary will slip into someone’s dream.”

     “I appreciate the gesture,” Mary said, walking over to the living room area and setting down her own sleeping bag. “But I need to be touching someone to walk into their dreams. That’s why Alice and I are going to tie our hands together before we go to bed.”

     “You’ve only dream-walked into people you’re touching so far,” Jill said. “No sense in not seeing what happens.”

     “I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Mary acquiesced. She laid her bag down next to a gray one with green stripes.

     Alice promptly came over and set hers down next to Mary, also setting out the long piece of cloth they’d procured to bind their hands together with later on. On top of that, she set down a case of soda and a bag of chips. Despite the fact that they’d more or less been told they were coming here, Alice couldn’t allow herself to attend a social gathering without bringing something along. Etiquette drilled deeply into her body simply would not permit such slights.

     “Hey, Jill, you live here now, is there a place I should stick the drinks?” Alice asked.

     “In your belly!” Violet announced, walking into the room clutching an assortment of glasses, all filled with the icy lime-green concoction from the blender. “Oh, you meant the soda. That can go by the fridge, we’ll make room in a minute. First, margaritas!”

     Alice had drunk margaritas before—expertly crafted cocktails meant to tickle the taste buds while not overpowering one’s palette. None of them had been this shade of almost fluorescent green. Still, she accepted the glass without any objections. She’d learned during the beach week that when Violet was set on having fun, fun would be had whether anyone else liked it or not.

     The others took theirs too, though Alice suspected Mary and Camille’s glasses would be covertly emptied when no one was looking. Then again, Camille had put away an impressive few shots at Six-Shooter, so who was to say.

     “A toast,” Violet said, raising her own glass high into the air. “To training, to friends, and to those of us who are still here. May we be able to toast together again in a year’s time.”

     All four women clinked their glasses, took tentative sips, and tried very hard not to cough and choke at the overpowering taste of tequila.

     “Perfect,” Violet managed to stammer out between barely suppressed gags.

     44.

     So far, Chad was feeling relatively confident that things were going well. He based this on the fact that the night was, for the most part, largely the same as how things usually went with Angela. They talked, she made crude comments, and he interjected actual logic here and there. It was their standard dynamic, the one he’d been enjoying for years without even realizing. The only genuine alteration he documented was his own attempt to allow his emotions slightly more free rein. That was why, upon completion of ordering their dishes as they sat in the well-lit seafood restaurant, Chad felt a stab of nervousness when Angela’s face grew a bit serious and she asked him a question.

     “Not that I’m complaining, but I’ve been dying to ask, what made you decide to ask me out all of a sudden? Kind of came out of nowhere.”

     “I suppose it did,” Chad agreed. He wondered how much he should tell her, then immediately dismissed all attempts at obfuscation as idiotic. Part of why he liked Angela was that she understood his strange way of thinking; what point would there be in hiding a story that centered on that very idiosyncrasy?

     He told her everything that had occurred on their first night working together. How his stomach had hurt, Roy’s advice, his realization of how he felt, and his own uncertainty of what to do next. By the time he concluded the thorough report, the salads had arrived and been consumed. Angela was an attentive listener, never interrupting, always paying attention. It was only when Chad finished that she spoke up.

     “So, I actually won you over a long time ago, and you just didn’t realize it?”

     “That would be a fair assessment,” Chad agreed. He allowed himself a small smile, hoping it came off as playful.

     “Son of a bitch, I’m even better than I thought I was,” Angela said, her own expression a far less innocent type of playful than Chad’s. “And to think I owe a meathead like Roy for finally bringing you around. Ain’t that a kick in the teeth.”

     “Roy is surprisingly adept at helping me equalize my emotions,” Chad replied. “After the birthday party incident last year, he provided alcohol and commiseration.”

     “Ah yes, your little snafu with Vince,” Angela recalled. She paused to take a sip of her wine. Chad, not surprisingly, was drinking water. “It seems like those guys cause you more trouble than anyone else in your class.”

     “They aren’t bad people,” Chad defended.

     “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Angela explained. “Trouble can be a good thing. Trouble is messy, conflicted, unexpected, and chaotic. Let’s be honest here: I’m trouble. You’re the opposite. Ordered, organized, and thoroughly predictable. I’m glad they cause you some trouble from time to time. It’s good for you. And if Roy hadn’t, then you wouldn’t be sitting across from me tonight, now would you?”

     “I suppose there is a certain amount of truth to that theory,” Chad admitted.

     “I’m like a two-glass savant—after a pair of wine glasses, I can wax eloquent all night. I kind of lose the mojo after the third though; that’s when I start thinking dirty jokes are hilarious.”

     “You already love telling dirty jokes,” Chad reminded her.

     “Yeah, but I mean three-glasses-in Angela loves the absolute shit out of them.”

     “Any other transformations I should be aware of?”

     “Not too many,” Angela said, pausing to polish off her second glass. “After I hit the fourth glass, they all pretty much have the same effect.”

     “Which is?” Chad reached over and took a sip from his own glass.

     “I get really horny.”

     Chad choked on his water, flinging a hand to his mouth in an unexpected reaction to try and stop the clear liquid from exiting through his nose. Angela laughed so uproariously that no less than three other tables made a point of glaring at her.

     *              *              *

     The actual party portion of the group sleepover was rather subdued. Margaritas were downed, a movie or two enjoyed, and a single board game attempted. Most college students would have deemed it a waste of a perfectly good Friday night, but most students were not in a program with constant stress and regular physical battles, with the possible exception of architecture majors. While bars and outings were enjoyable, on occasion, a simple night of friends and conversation was good for recharging everyone’s batteries. No wild revelations, no crazy surprises, merely a night of regularity. For a few hours, the young women were able to make believe that this was their life, not a world of Supers and Powereds and Heroes and battle.

     Of course, that delusion was somewhat shredded when the time to sleep came and Mary tied her hand against Alice’s. It reminded them all of what they were really doing there, and that, even on the most normal of nights, none of them were like the rest of the world. None of them said this as they lay down, though, Mary and Alice carefully arranged, the rest merely crawling into their sleeping bags and lying however felt most comfortable.

     Sleepiness and Violet’s margaritas soon won the day, and each person began drifting off to sleep. Mary was the last to go; something she knew by the fact that everyone’s thoughts ceased being coherent and became the muddled mumblings she had long ago learned was the sign of a slumbering mind. She lay awake for some time, staring at the ceiling, a knot of fear in her stomach refusing to let her leave consciousness. What if this didn’t work? What if she never learned to control this aspect of her power? Mary liked to present a strong, put-together image around the others, because she knew they needed that, but in her heart, she still had the same worries as the others. She wondered if she would ever get to sleep.

     Eventually, even worry proved no match for biology, and the small woman fell into blissful slumber. She lay like that, within her own dream, for the majority of the night, until somewhere in the hour of four in the morning.

     That was when Jill, turning over in her sleep, stuck out a hand that landed on Mary’s forearm.

     45.

     The mental worlds Mary had seen thus far were organized, detailed settings so realistic that it was easy to mistake them for the reality. However, those had all been ones constructed or accessed through Rich’s ability. A mind not under the influence of such a power was messier, more chaotic, and far less bound by any convention of making sense.

     Unlike her first time, Mary immediately understood that she was no longer in her own mind. Moments ago, she’d been having a dream about a daffodil that was also a hunting lodge in the Alps, and then, without warning, she was standing in a carnival. Along with the scenery change, her level of lucidity rose sharply. It seemed the act of leaving her mind gave her self-awareness not present during the usual REM cycle. She looked around, noticing the way the colors in the sky were shifting between blacks and greens, and the way the edges of the rides and tents were muddled, like painted images someone had smeared along the lines.

     “I want to make a ‘not in Kansas’ joke, but even by myself that feels cliché,” Mary muttered. “At least now I know I can dream-walk without Rich.” Carefully, she began walking along the cobblestone-and-dirt path under her feet. That isn’t to say the two elements were both present, merely that sometimes, it was one, and sometimes, it was the other. Looking down and seeing the transition made her stomach queasy, so Mary instead kept her eyes level to take in the various sights.

     She had to admit, this wasn’t what she’d expected from Alice’s dreams. There were various people milling about—some as patrons of the events, and others working as carnies. The rides were bright and colorful, the scent of fried food hung thick in the air. After all the horror movies Nick had made them watch, Mary kept expecting something sinister to leap out, but it seemed this dream presented the happy side of a carnival. Maybe Alice had good memories of one?

     “What the what-fuck?”

     Mary recognized the voice, but immediately knew it wasn’t her dormmate. Pivoting on her heel, she spun around to come face to face with Jill. The Super with dirty blonde hair was wearing a green dress that looked like it had come from the eighteen hundreds, all lace and poofs and fancy trim.

     “Jill?”

     “Yeah, it’s me. Real me, too. Like not a dream version. It’s weird; a few minutes ago, it was like I suddenly became aware of how weird this all was. I woke up without waking up.”

     Mary nodded. “That happened when I entered someone’s mind unexpectedly before. I think the only reason it didn’t happen with Vince is that he was already partially aware of the real world in his dream.”

     “Neat, so you’re a cheat code for lucid dreaming. You could make money doing that,” Jill commented. “Let’s see how well this works.” She closed her eyes, and her brow furrowed. Moments later, she was wearing a tank-top and shorts, topped off by a pair of flip-flops. “Thank the gods; that dress was chafing like a mofo.”

     “Interesting,” Mary said, making note of this ability. It hadn’t been there in her previous journeys. Nick had been able to call upon the defenses in his mind, but he had never shown the power to simply alter the world at will. Perhaps that was because the other times were all playing in one of Rich’s worlds, and here, Jill was the creator.

     “Still doesn’t explain why you’re in my head,” Jill said, shifting her attention now that comfort was established. “Did you finish with Alice and decide to lay on me?”

     “No. As far as I know, I’m still bound to her,” Mary replied. “I guess we have to assume that, somehow or another, you and I made physical contact during the night.”

     “It’s possible, I do tend to toss and turn when I sleep,” Jill admitted. “Oh well, this still counts as a win, doesn’t it? I mean, you can use your power without Rich.”

     “It seems that way,” Mary agreed. “The next step is to see how far it can take me. Or, us.”

     “What does that mean?”

     “In the state Rich induced, I was able to move through the person’s mind, and I freed them up to do the same. Memories could be revisited, portions of their personality spoken with; effectively, it allowed me access to the deeper recesses of their consciousness.”

     “I’m not sure how comfortable with that I am,” Jill said, her eyes narrowing slightly.

     “There’s a chance it’s not even possible like this,” Mary said. “But I’d like to at least see. Why don’t you come with me? If we encounter a place or memory you don’t want me to see, you can just lead me away. No questions asked.”

     A tall man pushing a cotton candy cart rolled up alongside them. Jill snagged a bag of the stuff, but when she opened it up, it was instead a bag of popcorn. Mary took a bag too, though she held her own down at her side.

     “I guess I can work with that,” Jill said. “The whole point of this was to help you, after all. I just didn’t realize how in depth your ability went.”

     “You have my word, I’ll respect your boundaries,” Mary promised. “I just want to see if it’s possible.”

     “Okay, but only on one other condition,” Jill stipulated.

     “Name it.”

     “We wait a couple of minutes to start. Since this is a lucid dream and all, there’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

     “Fine by me,” Mary agreed.

     Jill nodded, but didn’t say anything more. Instead, she closed her eyes and focused once again. A golden necklace appeared around her neck, one Mary dimly recognized as the prop from an old sci-fi television show. As soon as it had formed, Jill began rising into the air. Her eyes popped open, and a small squeal of joy escaped her lips.

     “Just a few trips around the Ferris-wheel,” she called, then she was off, soaring through the air with the kind of speed and control that even Alice would have complimented.

     As the dreamer rocketed through the air, Mary turned her own attention to the bag of cotton candy still clutched in her hand. She loathed the stuff, it was all fluff and no substance, but she hadn’t grabbed it because she was hungry. Mary closed her eyes the way she’d seen Jill do, pushing a mental image out into the world around her. When they reopened, she was still clutching a see-through cellophane bag.

     Only now, it was filled with caramel corn.

     46.

     Getting out of the carnival proved to be simpler than Mary had expected. During her flights, Jill noticed that the edges all faded away into darkness once one got beyond the fairground, but the road leading out of the entrance appeared to go somewhere. Though Mary was curious about what would be waiting if she wandered out beyond the fairground and into the dark abyss, prudence, and respect for her guide, kept her in tow as Jill walked out the front gate. For a while, it seemed like nothing would happen; they merely kept trudging along the dirt path, lit by some unseen source, walking forward with no real goal. Then, suddenly, there was no more path, and they’d arrived.

     If not for her experience in Rich’s induced hallucinations, Mary might not have recognized where they were. Seeing her own mental home-base made real, as well as Nick’s, gave her enough knowledge to immediately figure out they’d arrived in the core of Jill’s subconscious.

     It was a gigantic area, all steel and chrome, computer screens adorning every wall and a myriad of robots darting about to complete various tasks. Some were cleaning, some were taking other robots apart, and some were building new robots. The area was so large, Mary couldn’t see the end of it, but she did notice many different doors, placed at irregular intervals, scattered along the walls.

     “Carnival dream simulation: Ended.” The voice was Jill’s, but it sounded as though someone had recorded her voice and run it through a synthesizer. Both girls turned around, coming face to face with a gigantic monitor that had a green, pixelated version of Jill’s head staring back at them.

     “Sweet fucking shit,” Jill muttered, eyes unwavering from Mecha-Jill.

     “I, uh, wow,” Mary added. “That’s a new one.”

     “New simulation?” Mecha-Jill queried.

     “No, not right now,” Jill replied, finally turning her attention back to Mary. “What the hell is this? Another dream?”

     “I’d guess it’s the hub of your subconscious,” Mary said. “The ones I’ve seen are constructed to be places where a person feels safe and at home.”

     “One flaw with that: I’ve never seen this place in my life,” Jill pointed out.

     “I’ve only seen two besides this one,” Mary admitted. “But this does still sort of fit. Your power is controlling technology. Why wouldn’t your safe place be a world with nothing else?”

     “Logical theory,” Jill admitted. “And, to be honest, as weird as this place is, I do feel strangely at home here.” She turned her face back to the computer screen and raised her voice. “Computer, where am I currently?”

     “Location: In the living room of your new residence. Status: Asleep,” Mecha-Jill responded immediately. As she spoke, her face flickered away, and an image appeared on the screen, one of the living room ceiling. Voices could be heard speaking softly, ones that were familiar to both women in the room. “Last recorded file during consciousness.”

     “Neat,” Jill said, clearly intrigued by the computer’s functionality. “Not helpful, but neat.”

     “Maybe try asking what this place is?” Mary suggested.

     Before Jill could repeat the question, Mecha-Jill began to answer.

     “The mind does not have physical locations. It is an ever-shifting miasma of thought. What you currently perceive is a construct put together so that you may experience this existence in terms compatible with the conscious mind.”

     “Oh, God damn it, my subconscious talks like my brother,” Jill complained.

     “No clue why that is?” Mary probed. “Maybe, deep down, you think like him, or wish you did?”

     “Ha, yeah right. Why in the world would I want to be more like Will?” Jill had turned to Mary to ask this question, so she didn’t notice the screen flicker into another video. This one was of a woman who looked strikingly similar to Jill, skulking around a medium-sized living room as she clutched something in her hand. The video would wobble occasionally, which, sometime later, Mary would realize was because Jill had been shaking when this was happening. As soon as sound began coming through the unseen speakers, Jill’s eyes grew wide, and she whipped her head around to the screen.

     “Where are you, you little shit? Get out here now.” The woman’s voice was low, but harsh, a fierce whisper that sent a chill down Mary’s back. “You’re only making it worse for yourself.”

     “What are you doing?” Jill yelled at the computer.

     “Answering your last question,” Mecha-Jill’s voice responded.

     The video on the screen moved around slightly. Mary could make out the wooden sides and outline of a door, as well as small, tucked-in legs. Evidently, Memory-Jill was hiding somewhere, watching the woman’s movements while trying to stay out of sight.

     “Stop it!” Jill yelled.

     “Request is queued. Will be processed after current request is completed,” Mecha-Jill responded.

     “If you don’t get out here soon, I’m going to get the big board,” the woman called from on screen. Memory-Jill let out a soft whimper. It was, unfortunately, not soft enough, as it drew the woman’s attention. Seeing her turn, Mary realized the object in her hand was a wooden board with some sort of cloth wrapped most of the way around it. The woman lurched forward, whipping the door away and revealing Memory-Jill’s hiding spot. The smile that spread across her face made Mary’s stomach churn. No good was coming from that kind of smile.

     “No queue, I want you to do the stopping thing now!” Jill’s voice was moving toward a fierce shriek, more panicked than Mary had ever heard her.

     “Do you wish to move secondary request to the top of the priority system?” Mecha-Jill asked.

     “You’re going to pay for that,” the woman snarled. Before she could utter another word, a silver line of wide material wrapped around her neck, choking her violently and jerking her back.

     “One of you is,” came a young male voice, somewhere out of the video’s sights.

     “Yes, reprioritize. Now!”

     “Request reprioritized. Memory stopped.” At Mecha-Jill’s words, the video vanished and her pixelated head reappeared.

     Jill collapsed against a console of blinking lights. Only now did Mary notice the tears streaming down her friend’s face. She contemplated saying something; however, it seemed silence was the most prudent move until she knew how Jill was feeling. Neither said anything for several minutes, and when Jill spoke again, it was with a husky tone, as though she had screamed herself hoarse.

     “I don’t want to talk about it.”

     “I understand,” Mary said.

     “No, you don’t. See, I don’t want to talk about it, but now I have to. At least, a little bit. I need you to tell me that you’ll never let anyone else know what you just saw.”

     “Honestly, I don’t even know what I saw,” Mary said.

     “Yes, you do. You saw my, our, mother. She wasn’t well. She’d go on these fits . . . it doesn’t matter. You also saw Will save me. What he did that night, it would have disqualified him from the HCP if it had come out. Hell, it probably would have landed him in juvie. Using your powers against humans is a big no-no.”

     “There is leeway for self-defense,” Mary reminded her.

     “If that was all it was, then yes, it wouldn’t have been a big deal,” Jill agreed. “But . . . let me just say this. I never saw my mother again after that night. She relinquished custody to my father. That wasn’t like her. She didn’t scare easy; it was part of her unbalanced mind. Will made her afraid, though. He made her so afraid that she ran from us without ever looking back.”

     “I won’t say anything,” Mary agreed, her tone earnest. “Will is a good guy. He deserves to be here.”

     “Yeah, he does,” Jill agreed. “Sorry about all . . . you know . . . that.”

     “There are risks any time I go into someone’s mind,” Mary said. “It’s why I was so surprised everyone volunteered to help.”

     “I don’t think we quite knew what we were getting into. At least, I didn’t,” Jill admitted. “On that note, can we go hang out in a dream or something until I wake up? I don’t think I want to explore anymore tonight.”

     “Fine by me,” Mary quickly agreed.

     “Computer, what dreams do I have available?” Jill asked.

     “Most popular dream scenarios are: Flying in Clouds, Tropical Paradise, Hunted to Death by Demon Clown, Sex with A—”

     “Tropical paradise!” Jill hollered quickly. “We’ll hang out in the tropical paradise.”

     “Simulation: Started.”

     47.

     “Sounds like you had quite a night,” Mr. Numbers said, carefully moving one of his pawns into a new position. Despite his workload, the Saturday chess game with Mary was now a two-year-old tradition he’d grown to account for in even the most stringent scheduling. She had just relayed most of the details of her journey into Jill’s mind, though the incident of the taboo memory had been delicately cut out entirely. Mr. Numbers knew she was hiding details; however, he trusted her judgment enough not to press the issue.

     “It was exhausting,” Mary agreed, studying the board before making a new move. In the years they’d played, her skills had grown considerably. Though she’d yet to win a game, it took well into the tens of minutes for Mr. Numbers to beat her. “I did learn a lot, at least. I now know I can travel into minds without Rich, which is a huge deal. Plus, I found out that I get a little bit of sway on the world.”

     “Likely because you and the participant are both present in the dream,” Mr. Numbers speculated. “Previously, the entirety of the hallucination was either imposed or directly defined by Rich. In a true unconscious state, those doing the dreaming are in control.”

     “I was guessing something in that direction,” Mary agreed, finally moving her knight. “What still bothers me is why I spent all night tethered to Alice and didn’t get in, but Jill accidentally rolls onto me, and I’m immediately in her head.”

     “Exploration of the mind is still an ill-defined practice,” Mr. Numbers told her. “However, we do know that different people have different levels of resistance to being mentally invaded. Think of it as an immune system, but for the mind. Some people are just naturally tougher than others.”

     “Makes as much sense as anything else,” Mary said. “Although, I’ve never had trouble reading her thoughts.”

     “Only the most astoundingly resistant can stop telepaths with just mental resilience,” Mr. Numbers informed her. “That is roughly akin to picking up radio waves. The thoughts are out there, you just have the capacity to pick them up. Intruding on a mind is a different matter altogether.”

     “Weird that Professor Stone didn’t tell me about this.”

     “I’m certain she would have, once you brought it up to her,” Mr. Numbers said. “Perhaps I spoke out of turn.” He moved a rook to its new position, knowing it would be captured soon.

     “No, I’d rather know these things sooner than later,” Mary said. “I’m not even sure what my next step is, now that I know I can dream-walk on my own.”

     “That seems rather obvious, doesn’t it?” Mr. Numbers asked.

     “Not to me.”

     “It seems like the next logical step would be trying to enter the dream of someone sleeping while you’re awake. As it stands now, your ability is useful, but highly limited. Probing someone without having to go to sleep first would be far more adaptable a talent.”

     “That’s true,” Mary agreed. “Plus, it might let me learn how to get through the minds of people with natural resistance. I mean, if I’m conscious, I should be able to try and break in.”

     “It is possible,” Mr. Numbers said. “First, find out if wakeful entrance is even viable, though.”

     “Looks like I’ll need a new volunteer,” Mary sighed. “Alice’s resistance means I won’t be able to go in until I know what I’m doing, if ever. Any suggestions on what Supers are usually weak to mental intrusion?” She moved her knight once more, this time, taking his rook.

     “Sadly, I don’t possess enough data to give you an accurate answer on that account,” Mr. Numbers admitted. “Professor Stone will undoubtedly be a better source.”

     “Never hurts to ask,” Mary replied.

     “If I may, however, I would offer up one bit of advice to consider when choosing a new test subject. Consider the mind you’ll be going into.”

     “What does that mean?”

     “It means,” Mr. Numbers said, moving his bishop into the strategic hole created by Mary taking his rook, “I would recommend choosing carefully whose mind you go jumping around in. Rich’s scenarios were controlled, but I suspect a wild subconscious is less so. There are people who have histories and issues that I suspect would make their minds . . . inhospitable.”

     “That is pretty solid advice,” Mary said.

     “I strive to help. Also, checkmate.”

     48.

     Dean Blaine was surprised by the knock on his door Sunday afternoon. As a rule, he didn’t advertise that he came into the office on weekends to catch up on paperwork. That would have meant other people knowing he was there, which would lead to interruptions and defeat the entire point of doing it on a Sunday. He wondered if he could pretend not to be here, and hope the person went away. After three more sets of knocks, however, it became apparent that they knew he was here and weren’t giving up easily. With a sigh of frustration, he rose from his expansive desk and opened the door.

     Standing on the other side, looking somewhat out of place since he wasn’t in uniform, was Chad Taylor.

     “This is unexpected,” Dean Blaine commented, ushering him in, and then shutting the door behind him. “Is everything okay? Need additional healing from Friday’s match?”

     “No, the injuries I incurred were well within my capacity to handle,” Chad said. “Though I am here about something as a result of that. Or, maybe a cause. The order is debatable.” He walked over and took a seat without needing to be told.

     Dean Blaine sat back at his desk and slid away some of the paperwork. “Why don’t you start at the top?”

     “It would be redundant, since you already know most of the circumstances I’d be recounting,” Chad explained. “Going right to the point would be more expedient.”

     “By all means, then.”

     “I want to move into Melbrook Hall,” Chad said flatly.

     If Dean Blaine had thought someone knocking on his office door on a Sunday was a surprise, then this was a full-out flabbergaster.

     “I know there is an empty room,” Chad continued. “One that you’ve by now either decided to repurpose or re-occupy. If it is the former, then so be it. However, if it is the latter, then I would like to be the room’s new occupant.”

     Dean Blaine wished he could deny that they’d made a choice on the empty room so soon, but Chad knew him better than that. Besides, he didn’t really want to lie to the young man, and there was technically no reason to do so. The only inclination that told Blaine to fib was the one that wanted to keep Chad safe and away from the chaos that encircled the Melbrook students.

     “It has been tentatively decided that, assuming we can find someone who meets the criteria, we will put another HCP student in Nick Campbell’s old room,” Dean Blaine admitted.

     “Then, as I’ve said, I would like to be that student,” Chad reiterated.

     “I’ll need to ask why,” Dean Blaine said. “Aside from the waiver forms and general security precautions, you know those four are unique to the program. The motive for living with them needs to be evaluated as well.”

     “Of course. The concise answer is that I think it will be mutually beneficial for both myself and for their group,” Chad said.

     “Let me hear the less concise answer,” Dean Blaine requested.

     Chad nodded. “I’ve recently become aware that there are aspects of my training that are lacking. My fight with Angela illustrated that quite well. I don’t think in terms of creativity or innovativeness. I am straightforward in my battles; however, I’m beginning to see that such a tactic will not work against all opponents. I suspect that part of the reason this is an issue for me is that my life is so neat and well-ordered. I do not find myself in situations that require a non-linear approach, because I’m careful and fore-thinking enough to avoid them. Those four seem quite the opposite; they are constantly embroiled in some sort of hoopla or shenanigans. Thus, I would hope that moving in with them will round me out, so to speak, making me a more complete Hero.”

     “Eloquent, well-thought out, and perfectly logical,” Dean Blaine complimented. “I believe it too. But I also know you well enough to think there’s more.”

     “Maybe there is,” Chad admitted. “But it is not something I would feel appropriate divulging to the dean of the HCP.”

     “Then, let’s say this part is just for an old friend of the family,” Blaine said, offering Chad a sly smile.

     “To him, I would say that my recent realization about my feelings for Angela has made me wonder how much else I’ve been missing. Our date Friday was awkward, strange, and frequently embarrassing, yet I loved it. I’m sure there are more things I’ve been avoiding, intentionally or not, but I don’t know enough to know what they are. I want to become more involved in life; however, I require some guidance to do so. Roy Daniels has frequently aided me when emotions have bubbled up so far. I feel like he, and his ilk, would be good to have on hand for future incidents.”

     “I understand. Now, back on the official record, can you tell me why you feel they would benefit from you moving in? Those students have lived together for two years now. They have a defined dynamic that a new tenant would likely upset,” Dean Blaine said.

     “Aside from the obvious, that having a high-ranked Super to work and train with would help them overall, I believe I can offer exceptional value to one of them in particular,” Chad said. “Specifically, Vince Reynolds.”

     “How so?”

     “I’m aware he is under extra scrutiny following the Globe revelation. It seems to me that, if the dean were so inclined, the son of Intra willingly choosing to live next to the son of Globe could be used as an excellent mark of confidence in Vince’s integrity. No one here has more cause to hold a grudge over his paternity than I do, so if I, instead, show him friendship, it should speak great lengths to the quality of his character,” Chad explained.

     “That it would,” Dean Blaine agreed. “But, by the same token, it’s also possible there will be conflict between the two of you over that issue.”

     “No, there won’t be,” Chad assured him. “Vince is himself, and I am myself. Neither of us are our fathers. We made peace with it last year.”

     “You’d better be sure of that,” Dean Blaine said. “Because all the good you moving in might do would be negated, and then some, if you and Vince had any kind of public conflict.”

     “I’m sure,” Chad reiterated.

     “Okay then.” Dean Blaine reached into his desk and pulled out a slim stack of papers. “You’ll need to fill these out, and get your mother to fill out the last two.”

     “I am not a minor. I am legally allowed to sign for myself,” Chad pointed out.

     “Yes, but she’s the one paying the bills, so she still gets some say in how the money is allocated. Don’t worry, though; if anything, I can probably swing having your housing cost lowered if we get you into Melbrook,” Dean Blaine said. “In the meantime, I’ll get the wheels in motion on my end. But no promises.”

     “No need for promises,” Chad said, standing up. “I know you’ll come through.”

     49.

     Nicholas Campbell sat on a bench, a sandwich in one hand and a biology textbook in the other. He’d adjusted to life at Lander quite easily; the classes were simple (at least by his standards), and the environment was surprisingly enjoyable. The fly in his ointment was Nathaniel Evers, who, aside from their recent encounter, had yet to show his creepy-ass eyes anywhere near Nicholas. Jerome and Eliza were scouring for him, but it seemed he’d opted to back off after his initial opening move, waiting for his next chance to strike. Still, that would occur sooner or later, and Nicholas had other things on his mind until then. Though the book in his lap sat open, his eyes surveyed the campus and all the students wandering across it as he dined on his meal. He’d made it a point to eat in the same place every day for a week, watching the comings and goings of all the Lander students with a trained eye. Next week, it would be a different place, then another, and another, until he’d successfully mapped out the daily patterns of as many people as he needed. It would have been impossible to track everyone, even for him, but thankfully, the pool of people Nicholas was looking for was far smaller than the entire population.

     He’d already charted two of them, recognizing their faces from the files even as his brain scrambled at the sight of them. This couldn’t be the way the memory wipes normally worked, and soon, he would need to do something about it. The upside to a world with Supers was that, somewhere out there, there was a person who could likely undo any other person’s ability. Nicholas had no desire to completely unmake the wipe, at least not until he understood why it had been needed; however, he would like to have it touched up in a way that didn’t give him a sense of mental vertigo when encountering old classmates. For now, though, he just had to work around it.

     Idly, he wondered when he would run into one of his fellow former Powereds. It was inevitable that he’d spot one sooner or later; after all, he was exposing himself to the migration habits of the majority of the student body. There was no rush for now. In fact, if it happened too soon, he might not get all his prep work accomplished. Still, if, by the end of the month, he hadn’t run into any of them, he would expel a little luck to solve the issue. Nicholas was patient, but he knew he had an enemy out there somewhere, unseen. It wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of backup for when Nathaniel grew tired of playing coy.

     Nicholas glanced down at the book from time to time, not wanting to give away the extent to which he was ignoring it. It was part of his tradecraft, instilled in him so deeply that the thought of varying from it never crossed his mind. It was, on the whole, a very good practice, but it did come with certain risks. Usually, a ten-second glance at a book will not cause a keen observer to miss important details.

     Usually, but not always.

     *              *              *

     Mary would have noticed him. Hershel and Roy wouldn’t have. Vince . . . that one was up in the air. But Alice knew him as soon as her eyes fell across his familiar sandy hair. She’d gotten used to seeing past disguises, even if Professor Pendleton seemed to think she took nothing from Subtlety. Not that he was wearing one, or at least what most people would see as one. He looked normal. Boring even. So much a part of the scenery that if she hadn’t glanced in his direction, she might have walked by and never noticed. She’d been halfway to her meeting with Professor Stone, mind full of thoughts about what she would uncover, when the whole world had fallen out from under her feet due to a casual sweep of the eyes.

     Alice immediately veered off to the side, further from his line of sight. She stared unabashedly, not caring what the people walking around her thought of her leering. The longer she looked, the surer she was. It was him. He’d changed his movements again, altered the way he held himself, even when sitting, but there was a little piece of him still shining through. Her breath caught in her throat as she kept watch, half of her wanting him to look over, half praying with everything she had that he wouldn’t. What would she say to him?

     Nothing. She would say nothing, because he’d be a stranger. The breath that had been held leaked out of her at that thought; suddenly, her lungs didn’t want it anymore. The mere act of taking a fresh one seemed to make her chest ache. He wouldn’t know her, because he was gone. All the fighting, all the bad movies, all the sniping the two of them had exchanged lived only inside her mind. His had been purged.

     Alice no longer wanted to be there, no longer wanted to look at him. It was too cruel. Having to watch someone who looked like her friend, but wasn’t. It hurt too much. She knew she’d missed him, though that was one of the many things she’d been working hard at keeping mentally sectioned off. She just hadn’t realized the extent of it until she’d seen him sitting there, like he belonged.

     But Nick didn’t belong up here, eating on a bench. Nick belonged in the cafeteria with them, complaining about the food. He belonged in their dorm, constantly derailing everyone’s attempts to study or be productive. He belonged with her, calling her “princess” and trying to bait her into embarrassing situations. Nick never sat in the sunlight, alone, like it was the nicest place in the world. Then again, that wasn’t really Nick anymore.

     All at once, Alice pulled herself up short. That wasn’t Nick anymore. Nick had sacrificed himself to help Vince, had willingly had his mind wiped to protect some unimaginable secret he’d deemed too dangerous to know. Nick had walked away from the HCP and Lander, burning the bridge with napalm as he left.

     So . . . what was Nick doing here?

     50.

     “I don’t understand,” Alice said as the older woman’s hands fell away from her forehead. “What do you mean it’s not working?”

     The two women were in Professor Stone’s office, sitting on a set of chairs facing each other. From the movement of the clock on the wall, it seemed a good thing the professor had advocated ample time for this procedure, as they had yet to make any progress in over an hour.

     “Seeing memories is difficult,” Professor Stone explained to her, pausing the attempts to take a gulp from a glass of water. “Especially with some minds. Without getting too in-depth, some people’s mental defenses are naturally better than others. This can be trained to a certain extent, but much of it comes from how one is born.”

     “I don’t have that,” Alice replied. “Mary never has trouble reading my thoughts, and Rich put me under with no problem last year.”

     Professor Stone finished off her water. “Telepaths can only read surface thoughts. That isn’t so much invading your mind, as it is ours being tuned to the frequency where everyone’s thoughts are broadcasted. It’s receiving, not invading. Mr. Weaver’s ability is its own matter. I suspect part of his power shuts down the mind’s defenses, or turns them against itself. That is merely conjecture, though. I only know how his power works in a functional sense.”

     With a minor grunt of effort, she got up and began walking around the room. “I admit I suspected this might happen when Mary told me about your experiment. Still, I’ve encountered resistant minds before, and they never pushed back against me this hard. I have to ask, are you sure you want to do this?”

     “What? Of course I do. I’ve been trying to remember what happened in that dream for months,” Alice protested.

     “I believe you, however, I feel like part of you is still actively fighting me. Are you sure there isn’t some secret you’re afraid I’ll discover while traipsing about in your head?”

     Alice bit her lip in frustration. Stupid Nick. Stupid damn Nick. He was always doing this, making things more complicated, even when he was gone. She could have gotten her answers, finally, but now she was so scared about Professor Stone finding out he was back on campus that it was screwing with her head.

     “Oh, is that all?” Professor Stone asked. Alice looked up in surprise, to which Professor Stone gave her a look of consternation. “It amazes me how easily you students can forget I’m telepathic.”

     Alice would have blushed in embarrassment, if she hadn’t been so scared about what this accidental reveal meant. “Is he in trouble now?”

     “No. I was already aware Mr. Campbell had chosen to return to Lander,” the professor informed her.

     “How did you know?”

     “Because we’re always made aware of these situations. Students who fail out, but aren’t expelled, frequently continue their academic careers at Lander, though that group is predominantly freshmen.”

     “So, then, how do you make sure none of the other HCP students talk to them?” Alice asked.

     “We don’t,” Professor Stone replied.

     “But . . . the whole mind-wipe thing—”

     “Is done for the protection of the students, especially those who go on to become Heroes,” Professor Stone answered, not waiting for the question to become fully cohesive. “We can’t allow someone to carry around that kind of inside knowledge indiscriminately. That said, your identity is your business. If you choose to rekindle that friendship, to reveal yourself for what you are, then it is your right to do so. And if he outs you, today or in thirty years, those are your consequences to bear.”

     “Gotcha. So, he’s allowed to be here, and I’m allowed to talk to him, and nothing bad will happen,” Alice surmised.

     “I never promised you that,” Professor Stone corrected. “However, there will be no repercussions from the staff, unless that activity leads to rules being broken.”

     “With Nick, that’s more of a ‘when’ than an ‘if’ statement,” Alice sighed. “Okay, I think that at least puts me at ease. Should we try the memory thing again?”

     “At this point, it would be wasted time,” Professor Stone told her. “Your mental defenses are unusually strong, and though you feel relieved, the effects of all that worrying will still linger in your mind. Besides which, I used up a lot of energy trying to crack through and see your memories the first time. We’ll have more success if we try again later.”

     The professor walked to her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a small book. “In the meantime, I want you to start working on meditation and clearing your mind. If you can learn even the basics, it will help a great deal in making the process easier for both of us.”

     “Oh, yeah, Mary is learning this stuff too,” Alice said, accepting the small book and flipping through the pages.

     “Indeed. You two should feel free to practice together. Give that a few weeks, and we’ll try again.”

     “I’ll do my best,” Alice promised, tucking the book into her backpack and rising from her seat. She started for the door, but a sudden thought caused her to turn halfway around and face her teacher. “Hey, Professor Stone, if I have these awesome mental defenses, does that mean I’m immune to being mind-wiped?”

     The older, smaller woman gave the blonde girl a gentle smile. “No, Alice. As I said, your defenses are unusually strong, but not insurmountable. The people who do the wiping have encountered such minds before, and there are a multitude of ways to overcome such obstacles.”

     “Guess I should have figured,” Alice said, returning her teacher’s grin and heading out the door.

     The parting question left Professor Stone with her own odd realization. Alice’s mind was unusually difficult to penetrate; though, had she been fogging memories instead of trying to pull them up, Professor Stone could have pulled it off. The odd part was that such minds were relatively uncommon. Yet, she’d encountered another particularly resistant mind just last year, one able to completely block her out of viewing certain memories.

     Nick Campbell’s head had been nearly as tough as Alice’s. What were the odds that two people who lived together would share a rare resistance? Not high. Professor Stone knew that. People who had been fundamentally altered in the way the former Powereds had, on the other hand, presented a far more lengthy set of possibilities. Still, two out of five didn’t make for conclusive proof.

     Five out of five . . . now, that would be something of considerable concern. Professor Stone got up from her chair and headed out the door. She’d need Dean Blaine to sign off on this, and it was not a conversation she cared to have in any other way but one-on-one.

     51.

     Professor Fletcher was just finishing up with a freshman when Camille arrived. Her knock echoed through the room, rousing the young man from the discussion.

     “That’s my next appointment,” Professor Fletcher said. “Just practice what we talked about until we meet next week.”

     “Will do. Thanks, Coach Fletcher.” The young man got up, opened the door, and allowed Camille to enter first before making his exit.

     For his part, Professor Fletcher tried not to wince when one of the younger students called him that. He understood that it was tradition, that being able to call your instructors “professor” instead of “coach” was a mark that the student had advanced enough to learn, not just be trained and drilled. Nonetheless, something about it bothered Carl Fletcher; it seemed disingenuous. His predecessor had liked the tradition so much that George rarely allowed anyone to ever call him professor, though perhaps that had more to do with how he saw himself instead of how he wanted his students to see him.

     “You wanted me to come by?” Camille asked, shutting the door and taking the seat that had previously been occupied mere moments before. In her hand was a notecard she’d found in her locker, giving her the time and room for this meeting.

     “I did,” Professor Fletcher confirmed, mentally shifting gears. His last meeting had been with someone scared they weren’t powerful enough to make it in the program. This would be about the opposite. “It will be announced tomorrow, but next week starts the first round of testing in every class except Subtlety. They’ll go on throughout the week; Close Combat usually takes all five days to complete, due to how many students take the course.”

     Camille had to agree, Close Combat was one of the most popular courses, right along with Focus. She suspected that would change next year, when everyone had to choose the area they’d try to graduate in, but for now, it was too practical to forgo without good reason.

     “The reason I’m telling you this ahead of time is that I felt it was only fair I let you know that the clock on your game has run out,” Professor Fletcher continued. “Last year, you did a good job of hiding your abilities, and make no mistake here, I don’t begrudge a student keeping an ace in the hole. But that’s only if they can really train themselves to the best of their ability while doing so.”

     “If people know what I can do, it means they’ll be able to counter it,” Camille protested weakly.

     “Which is why I’m telling you to quit hiding it,” Professor Fletcher said. “In the Hero world, that surprise will work once, maybe twice, and then everyone will know. The first two years, I agree, it served you better to stay covert. Then, you could use their ignorance to your advantage. But now is the time to learn to fight people who do know what you’re capable of. That will force you to learn how to counter their counters. It’s how we grow our abilities in a combat setting.”

     “I understand,” Camille said. She did, too. She had known since the first day of junior year that it was only a matter of time until someone told her she wasn’t allowed to sandbag anymore. It had only been luck and cunning that let her hold on to her secret for this long. Still, knowing it would happen and hoping it wouldn’t weren’t mutually exclusive things.

     “There is another option,” Professor Fletcher said gently. “Healers do benefit from Close Combat, but there’s also a case to be made for them learning Ranged Combat. You were doing well in that course until you chose to drop it at the beginning of the year. I spoke with Professor Baker, and she’d be willing to let you back in.”

     “That’s surprisingly nice of her,” Camille noted.

     “It’s not something either of us would sign off on if there were even an outside chance you were going to do Ranged Combat as your major, however, if you make the change, obviously you’ll lean into the healing abilities and major in Focus.”

     “I could major in Close Combat,” she replied, a bit of heat in her voice. Camille tolerated a lot, but she had little patience for others telling her what she was or wasn’t capable of.

     “No argument here,” Professor Fletcher said. “You’d be a real terror under the right conditions. That said, if you aren’t willing to train on how to use your ability for Close Combat, then you sure as shit aren’t going to be able to major in it.” He pulled a form from his desk and slid it across the table. Though the fine print was hard to make out from a distance, Camille could clearly see the word “Transfer” in bold lettering near the top.

     “We both know you’ve got your reasons for wanting to hide your real power,” he continued. “I’m not here to make you break out of your shell of secrecy. My job is to train you as best I can with what you’ve got, in the class I teach. If you want to keep hiding, that’s your business. You just can’t do it in my classroom.”

     Camille picked up the page and skimmed the text. Everything was just as he’d said. She would transfer to Ranged Combat immediately, and though she’d almost certainly fail the first test, that didn’t mean she couldn’t pull her grade up by year’s end. Besides, it was like Professor Fletcher said, with Close Combat gone, she’d inevitably be majoring in Focus, like every other healer. It was all there in black and white, a way to keep her secret and still keep moving through the HCP.

     “No, thank you,” Camille said, pushing the paper back across the desk.

     “Are you sure?”

     “I’m sure.” She was sure when she’d taken her first martial arts class, all those years ago. She was sure when she told her parents that she wanted to be a Hero, and sent in her applications to the HCP. She’d been sure ever since a silver-haired young boy had shown her what it meant to have someone stand between you and the darkness. She’d been sure she wanted to be that shield for someone else, and Vince’s surprise attendance in the program didn’t change that. Camille wanted to be a Hero, not a healer or a helper. She wanted to give some other little girl hope that there were people in the world that would protect her, merely because it was the right thing to do.

     “I’m not going to go easy on you,” Professor Fletcher warned her. “In fact, you’ll have the hardest exam in the class, if only because I want to test your real potential.”

     “That’s fine,” she agreed, picking up her bag and standing from the chair. “Just make sure there’s another healer on hand.”

     “You can’t heal someone after a fight?”

     “I could, but there’s a very real chance they won’t want me to touch them ever again,” Camille warned. With that, she was out the door, refusing to look back at the office, or her choice.

     52.

     “Next week begins the first round of testing in your other classes,” Professor Pendleton announced on Friday. He sat on the edge of his desk and looked out at a fraction of the faces he would see in nearly any other class. Subtlety was, if possible, even less popular than when he’d gone to Lander. It was very possible his own Hero career had contributed to that, which was a thought he quickly banished before continuing. “We, however, will not be taking one. Your other classes should provide four tests: one now, one at semester’s end, one midway through spring, and one at year’s end. Subtlety only has tests at the end of each semester.”

     The students covertly exchanged tentative looks. While having two fewer exams than the others was a boon, they couldn’t help but feel apprehension at the idea. Two years in the HCP had made them aware that few good things came without a cost. Professor Pendleton was proud of their suspicion. It meant they were learning.

     “I could tell you why this is, but I think I’d rather see who among you can put the pieces together yourself. Anyone want to give it a shot?”

     Rich Weaver raised his hand, and was immediately given the nod to go ahead by Professor Pendleton. “Because our major is different from the other five, and so, it requires a different way to test?”

     “A bit obvious, but in a roundabout way you came close, so I’ll count it,” the professor said. “Yes, the other five all do some variation of many people getting together and punching or shooting or blasting one person who must defend. Our first exam is going to be similar, but with some components meant to test things I care about seeing in you, not just your punching talents. That deals more with parameters, though, not why we have less tests.”

     “The HCP wants us to focus on martial skills, so less time is allocated to Subtlety?” Britney Ferguson ventured. She noticed the slight narrowing of the professor’s eyes, and quickly clarified. “I’m not saying I agree with it, I really like this class. I’m just accepting the situation for what it is and making deductions based on that, like you taught us.”

     “Damn you students and your gift for remembering my words so well.” Professor Pendleton sighed. “I’ll admit, you’re correct in that this course is seen as less prestigious by many, however, the time and training for it are still deemed necessary, so they did not strip our testing opportunities out of mere derision.”

     Will Murray raised his hand, having taken the time to carefully consider the professor’s precise question. Since he was the only one volunteering, he was quickly chosen to speak.

     “We get fewer tests because we get fewer chances to succeed,” Will said, voice steady and even. “Subtlety doesn’t work like fighting classes; we’re information gatherers much of the time. If you lose in a fight, assuming you don’t die, there are chances to have a rematch. In information gathering, once an opportunity is lost, there is no promise it will ever appear again.”

     “Very, very well said,” Professor Pendleton complimented. “You hit the nail on the head. As Will stated, you have fewer chances to succeed. The other classes have four tests, four grades, four scores to average together in determining their fitness to continue in that major. One bad showing doesn’t need to be the end for them. You get two. A failure means continuing will be incredibly difficult. A total blowout means there is almost no hope. This major, this career, is one of constant high stakes. Your testing schedule is one, among many, of the ways we like to slowly indoctrinate you to that world.”

     *              *              *

     Ralph Chapman, Dr. Moran, Mr. Numbers, Mr. Transport, and Dean Blaine all sat in a conference room, silent save only for the sound of turning pages as Chapman reviewed the file in his hand. Several minutes passed, then he closed the set of documents and turned his attention to the other people in the room.

     “I’m not sure how I feel about it,” he said warily.

     “No one is asking how you feel,” Dean Blaine replied, his tone more patient than his words. “You’re being notified because this change affects Vince’s living situation, and we felt it was good faith to let you know before things became official.”

     “Still, seems dangerous,” Ralph Chapman said, glossing over the dean’s dismissal of his opinion. “Intra’s son living under the same roof as Globe’s kid, are we sure this Chad Taylor isn’t just setting himself up to make an attempt on Vince?” At no point did his tone indicate he would object to this turn of events, he merely posed the question of their viability.

     Dean Blaine felt a fiery retort try to break free from his mouth; instead, he swallowed the cinder and kept his words even. “Chad Taylor is, quite literally, the model of control. He has worked through his issues with Vince, and neither feels any animosity toward the other. They understand that the actions of their fathers do not have to dictate their own relationship.”

     Ralph Chapman snorted. “Sure, every kid with a dead dad is that gracious when they meet the killer's son. What about Vince? How would he handle this?”

     “Vince is well-adjusted enough to easily cope with a new addition to his household. If anything, I think it would be good for him. He thrives in large, family-like settings. Adding one to the bunch, especially one like Chad, will have several positive effects,” Dr. Moran informed them.

     Ralph Chapman flipped back through the file and furrowed his brow in concentration. He didn’t like this. It made their investigation look weak and stupid. If even Intra’s son was so certain Reynolds was a good kid that he’d share a roof with him, then how much could there be to worry about? That was the argument that would get made down the line, and Ralph didn’t think he had a counter for it yet.

     “If you have any more questions, come by my office,” Dean Blaine said, rising from the table. “We’ll be dealing with everything next week, once the juniors’ first trials are complete. You have until then to bring forth concerns.”

     The other three followed him out of the room, leaving the file in Ralph Chapman’s slightly sweaty hands. It didn’t matter if it got damp, it was bullshit anyway. The staff was stone-walling him; it was the only explanation for how Vince Reynolds, admitted son of Globe, kept coming up looking so squeaky clean. They were coaching him, lying for him, and covering his mistakes. Sure, they’d left one or two to keep Ralph off the trail, but he wasn’t fooled. No one with that pedigree came out clean. He just needed to find Vince’s sins.

     Ralph knew he wouldn’t uncover much in just a week, but that was okay. The move didn’t matter, it was when the dean tried to use it as evidence that it would truly be in play. Ralph just had to find something good enough by then, and he could undo the sham that was Vince Reynolds.

     53.

     “. . . and after that, it was mostly just wandering around, trying not to hurt anyone, until I got selected for the process,” Vince said.

     He was resting in a chair, tilted at a half-incline, eyes skimming the top shelf of Dr. Moran’s bookcase. She didn’t keep the iconic piece of furniture known as a “therapist’s couch” for the same reason she didn’t open each session asking about the patient’s mother: aside from serving little purpose, it actively put some patients on the defensive. Instead, she had a few different pieces of furniture, positioned at different angles in the room, all with the capacity to recline. She’d found that some people wanted to watch her as they spoke, while others avoided eye-contact like it would give them the fits. There was no wrong way to talk, so she endeavored to provide an environment where anyone could find a position that was comfortable.

     Vince’s own habit was to take a chair across from her, but slightly angled away, so that he could shift from looking at her to looking at the room. His gaze altered with the subject matter. Happy stories about his father or his friends usually came with eye-contact, but the sadder recollections caused his gaze to stray. Today, they’d finished going over the last of his years with his father, however, there was still a bit of time left.

     “That’s quite a gap of wandering,” Dr. Moran prompted. “In the five years between losing your father and being found for the program, nothing of note occurred?”

     Vince adjusted his position in the chair, eyes locked on a volume with a title he couldn’t have pronounced with an hour of practice. “I mean, things happened, sure. It was five years. Just, nothing to do with my dad. Isn’t that what we’re here to talk about?”

     “No, Vince, we’re here to talk about you,” Dr. Moran reminded him. “Clearly, your father was a large part of shaping who you are, but I refuse to believe he was the only influence. Thirteen to eighteen are still formative years; surely you must have met some people who left a mark.”

     “On occasion, I guess,” Vince admitted. “There was a small town in Maine where a bunch of locals chased me away as soon as they saw my hair. In Washington, a street gang tried to recruit me until I accidentally electrocuted half of them. More than once, people offered me money to do experiments on me.”

     Dr. Moran pointedly resisted asking if he’d accepted; the tone in his voice made it clear this wasn’t a memory he wanted to dwell on. “That sounds like quite a cruel world to live in.”

     “Sometimes. Other people were nice, though. In Texas, I was sleeping in someone’s deerstand, and I heard hunters walk underneath. I was sure I’d be caught; thankfully, none of them seemed to notice. I fell back asleep, thinking I’d gone undetected, but in the morning, there was a backpack full of food and some old clothes at the base of the stand. There was a diner in Florida where they let me work as a busboy, even when some of the customers complained about my accidental flare-ups.”

     “An honest job,” Dr. Moran replied. “Why did you leave it?”

     “The same reason I left everywhere, eventually,” Vince said. “I was afraid of hurting people. The longer I was with them, the more I cared about them, and the stronger my impulse to run away was. Most Powereds are a threat to themselves, but I put everyone near me at risk.”

     Dr. Moran’s pen scratched across the yellow pad as she made a few notes to herself. How Vince had come through the life he’d lived with such kindness and optimism was a testament to his own character and to that of the man who had raised him. She’d treated people with less than a quarter of his trials and hardships who already hated the world, yet he was engaged in a demanding program that centered on helping others. Still, for all of Vince’s goodness, he was human, and his tendency to hide secrets had made itself clear over the course of their sessions.

     “Vince, when we started these sessions, I told you I believed in honesty from both parties,” she began, noticing that his eyes had turned back to her. “That said, I want you to know that I’m aware you’re hiding something from me.”

     His bright blue eyes widened just a touch, but the doctor didn’t pause her speech.

     “I’m not accusing you, or trying to force you to talk about it. I just feel it’s healthy if you know I’m aware. There’s an event somewhere in the gap between losing your father and coming to Lander. You dance around it, coming close to saying something related to that event, then stopping yourself, like when we talked about your remarkable lack of scars. I know at least one thing is there, and that’s okay. This is a process, so you don’t have to feel guilty for wanting to reach a level of comfort with me before we discuss things. In the future, however, instead of purposely trying to obfuscate bits of your past or your emotions, just say ‘I’m not comfortable talking about that.’ Okay?”

     “Okay,” Vince said, also nodding his agreement. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .” His words petered out as he searched for the right term.

     “It’s perfectly fine,” Dr. Moran assured him. “I only brought it up because I know you well enough to be aware that the act of lying, even by omission, was bothering you. This is a safe place, and you define the boundaries. You never need to feel bad because we come to a junction you aren’t ready to cross yet.”

     “Thank you, doctor,” Vince said, his voice slightly thicker than it had been before.

     “Of course. And, Vince, when you’re ready to talk, I’ll always be ready to listen.” She paused to make a show of checking the clock, even though Dr. Moran kept acute track of the minutes in her sessions. “That said, we covered a lot of ground today, so if you’d like to head out a minute early, I think that will be fine. However, if you want to keep going, I have no other appointments this afternoon.”

     “I’ll take a break for now,” Vince said, rising from the chair. “But I’ll give some thought to what I want to discuss next session.”

     “That would be very productive,” Dr. Moran said, giving him her standard professional smile.

     54.

     The Close Combat class made their way into the new room in silence, save for the scuffling of feet on concrete. Professor Fletcher hadn’t told them much, only that it was time for the first tests, and then to follow him. He’d taken them down the lifts, to one of the many floors below Lander, stopping ultimately at a large room that seemed almost bare.

     Some of the more astute students noticed the rings etched deep into the concrete floor, forming a series of circles moving out from the center. This advanced perception gave them a few extra seconds to wonder about the fate soon to befall them, but then Professor Fletcher began to speak and the point was moot.

     “As Dean Blaine informed you at the beginning of the semester, the central focus of this year’s curriculum is learning to handle multiple opponents. We Heroes move in teams more than the criminals do, but that doesn’t mean you won’t find yourself facing multiple enemies more often than you might expect. Other classes will test your skills in other ways, but here in Close Combat, we like to keep things simple. Each of you will square off with three opponents. You’ll be confined to the circle I light up, so even though some of you have abilities that work at a range, you can’t distance yourselves.”

     After Chad and Angela’s fight, many of the students had been giving more thought to their own ranged skills, and how they could augment them. It was a bit relieving to know that those elements wouldn’t be coming into play during this test.

     “The rules are as usual: make someone quit, or knock them unconscious to win. Anyone who steps out of the circle is also disqualified, but only if they leave by their own power. You flinging an opponent across the room doesn’t disqualify them,” Professor Fletcher clarified. “Aside from that, go until all three opponents are down, or the examinee has been beaten. Grade-wise, I don’t think I have to explain to you that the more of the three you beat, the better you score. Any questions?”

     Violet raised her hand. “Can we use our abilities?”

     “Fair question,” Professor Fletcher said. “Yes, full power usage is authorized. We don’t just want to test your hand to hand skills, but how you apply them in combination with your abilities.”

     The next question came from Jill Murray, and caused a few students to move an inch or two away from her. “If we use an attack that impacts things outside the circle, will that get us disqualified?”

     “No, only if your body actually touches the ground outside of it,” Professor Fletcher told her. “Everyone but your opponents and me will be behind a shield, so go nuts.”

     The grin that sliced its way across Jill’s somewhat round and pleasant face made even more people inch further away, while a few said silent prayers that they wouldn’t be put up against her.

     “I don’t see any more hands, so we’ll move on,” Professor Fletcher said. “If you’re going to be tested today, I won’t use you as an opponent for anyone else until after you’ve gone. Those of you good with math will realize that means some people will pull multiple shifts on the ganging up side. Anyone who needs some patching after a test can see Camille Belden, who has graciously offered to do spot healing. Those totally incapacitated will be taken to the infirmary. Now then, our first trial will be Chad Taylor in the center. The three attacking him will be Sasha Foster, Violet Sullivan, and Thomas Castillo. Everyone else, into the observation room.”

     Professor Fletcher pointed at a small door near the rear of the room, one that blended into the corner so seamlessly they hadn’t even realized it was there. The students complied, hustling off behind the thick barrier, finding a viewing screen set up so they could watch and hear the action as it unfolded. A few whispers flew about the strange choice in people to fight Chad, but the trial began before a full conversation could occur.

     Within moments, the professor’s thought process became clear. Sasha’s speed allowed her to match Chad’s reaction times, Violet’s density meant she could trade blows effectively, and Thomas’s energy allowed him to strike between the assaults of the other two, when Chad was distracted. If not for the recent bout with Angela, it would have been the longest fight anyone had seen Chad engage in. It took nearly ten minutes before physical exhaustion began to slow the other three’s movements, and it was less than three from that point until Chad claimed victory. Thomas and Violet made their way over to Camille, while Sasha made a stoic face and dealt with the throbbing pain in her ribs.

     The next match pitting Shane against Jill, Adam, and Allen took longer, though the one forcing Roy against Violet, Thomas, and Jill might have dragged on all period if not for a lucky punch that weakened the bonds Thomas was using to hold Roy down. Roy mumbled under his breath, despite the win, as he headed back to the safe room—something about “all that training, and I get put in a circle,” or some such. Before he’d made it all the way back, though, Professor Fletcher called to him.

     “Daniels, stay out here. You’re one of the attackers in this next round. Chad, Vince, and Camille, I want you three to come join him.”

     Roy grinned in spite of himself. The small circle meant he probably wouldn’t be able to use the technique he’d learned over the summer, but this was still a golden opportunity. Since he and Chad had both fought already, the logical victim had to be Vince. Putting Camille in was a bit of a handicap; however, he didn’t begrudge his friend that. Going solo against Chad would be tough enough, let alone if Roy was pitching in.

     The four gathered around the circle, where Professor Fletcher was waiting for them.

     “This is going to be the last fight of the day,” he said, checking his watch.

     “Looks to be quite a tough one,” Chad said, eyes sliding over his fellow students.

     “You have no idea,” Professor Fletcher told him. “Camille, in the circle’s center. The rest of you, get ready to attack on my call.”

     Camille’s voice, to the shock of everyone, came out even before Vince’s overly defensive tones could escape his mouth.

     “I need a minute to change,” she announced, her words firm and authoritative, as far as one could imagine from the gentle tone usually falling out of her lips.

     “Granted,” Professor Fletcher replied. “The rest of you, get prepared.”

     55.

     Within moments, Camille had shed the outer layers of her uniform, leaving a sports bra and pair of athletic shorts as her covering. In a rare surprise, her embarrassment was actually so overpowering she couldn’t even blush. Instead, she took deep breaths and tried not to think about how little she was wearing while in view of the entire class. This was the part of her power that she’d always hated most; the necessity for skin-to-skin contact. When healing, it was no big deal. Grabbing someone to impart damage, however, was a more difficult task.

     Her opponents took the strange behavior in stride, which spoke to just how bizarre the HCP world was, when such curious actions didn’t even spark a few impromptu questions. They silently surrounded her, forming a triangle, and waited for their cue.

     “Everyone, begin,” Professor Fletcher called.

     Chad was the first to react, bolting across the circle at speeds the others could barely see, let alone match. He didn’t know why Camille was being put against three opponents clearly out of her league, but he had his suspicions. The most logical assumptions were that she was either far more powerful than she’d let on, or the professor was using her defeat to teach someone a lesson. In either case, the necessary course of action was the same: take her out as quickly and humanely as possible.

     The small girl was jerked off the ground as Chad slipped a simple sleeper hold around her neck. It was crude, but it would incapacitate her in only a few seconds, without imparting any unnecessary pain. She struggled briefly, then raised her hand a few inches and pressed her fingers directly on his cheek. The last thought Chad had was idly wondering if she was going to waste time trying to scratch him. After that, his world went black.

     Camille rolled to the ground as Chad collapsed, the severe concussion she’d given him doing its work. She’d also thrown in several broken bones he’d have to heal if he came around too quickly. Hopefully, she’d get to heal them before he ever needed to experience the pain, but she wasn’t taking any chances against the number one rank in the class. Her eyes darted about, both wanting and dreading to see what Vince’s reaction to Chad’s defeat would be. Instead, her gaze fell upon Roy, who was running toward her. Strange that he’d taken this long to get into the fight, but then she realized why. Roy had used the extra time to remove his jacket, wrapping it around his right hand, giving him a makeshift boxing glove.

     She dodged his first punch, leaping to the side in a move more acrobatic than Roy could have matched. There was a crackling explosion, and the area she’d been in a moment before became charred as a blast of lightning struck it. The upside to this was that the electricity almost hit Roy, knocking him momentarily off balance. It wasn’t much, but it was an opening.

     Camille reoriented herself, running past Roy’s cloth-covered arm and diving for the hand still left bare. Roy recognized the danger and pulled his arm back; however, he wasn’t quite able to get away before her small fingers brushed his wrist. The months of training with Nick the previous year had noticeably increased how much damage she could impart with a light touch, which Roy discovered firsthand as he felt multiple bones in both his arms shatter. He grit his teeth through the pain and tried to focus, but his broken appendages meant he wasn’t able to stop Camille from grabbing his hand once more, and this time, snapping his femurs like twigs. With a grunt of pain, Roy went down, toppling onto his side like a freshly chopped tree.

     Camille spun about, ready to dodge another electrical attack. Instead, she barely got away from a blast of fire, one that roared so close it struck her left shoulder and left visible burns. She found Vince, perched near the edge of the circle, another fireball manifesting in his hand. With a tentative, terrified rock of dread in her stomach, she let her eyes move from his flame-wielding appendage to his face, and nearly choked in surprise at what she found there.

     Vince was smiling, no, beaming. He looked happier than she’d seen him in months. She had been ready for fear, confusion, even anger that she’d held a secret like this for so long. Instead, all she found was unadulterated joy.

     “I didn’t know you could do that,” Vince casually remarked, sending his fiery blast at her legs. She rolled to the side, very nearly putting a toe outside the circle, then scrambled to her feet.

     “Yeah, my power is more versatile than I let on,” she admitted, her own eyes tracking his to see where he was aiming.

     “Oh, I knew about that part,” Vince replied. “I just didn’t realize it would work against someone like Roy.”

     His words brought her up short, causing her eyes to widen and jaw to open slightly. “Wait . . . you knew?”

     “Sure did,” Vince informed her. “That’s why I stayed over here.” This time, he switched back to electricity, aiming for her legs again. Through intuition or luck, Camille saw the attack coming and leapt to the side. This time, she didn’t pause for chit-chat. She kept running, zigzagging through the small area of the circle before Vince could draw a bead on her.

     Vince realized what was happening and immediately switched tactics. He released a wall of flame between himself and Camille, a far tamer version of what he’d done in last year’s final match. Rather than try and run around, giving Vince enough time to line up a shot, she pushed through it, the fire licking her skin and sending spasms of pain through her already injured shoulder. Breaking through, she thrust her hand out, nearly in touching range of Vince.

     Through the entire course of getting to him, Camille had been thinking about how to minimize Vince’s ranged abilities. What she’d let slip her mind, in the fog of battle, was the fact that Vince was far better at hand-to-hand fighting than he was at ranged battle. He slid a boot-covered foot against her ankles as she lunged, taking away her balance and sending her tumbling to the floor. Camille landed prone on her back, staring up at the concrete ceiling and the silver-haired young man towering over her. For a moment, she contemplated grabbing for his ankle; however, she doubted she’d be able to make contact, and even if she did, there was still cloth covering his whole leg.

     Looking up at him, Camille realized his face had suddenly changed. In a frenzied motion, Vince ripped off his jacket and brought it down on top of her head with surprising force. He repeated the motions immediately, beating her with the large cloth garment as fast as he could. For a moment, Camille wondered if this was his way to get her to surrender without hurting her.

     Then she realized that she could still smell something burning.

     56.

     “It’s fine, Vince. Really. It’s just hair,” Camille reassured him. She, Vince, Chad, and Roy were heading back to the lifts after a quick meeting with Dr. Moran. It seemed that, when jumping through Vince’s wall of flame, a section of her long, pale-blonde hair had caught fire. Luckily, Vince noticed and put her out before too much was consumed or the flame could reach her skull, but the end results had been some severely charred portions of hair.

     “I’m still just so seriously sorry,” Vince reiterated. Only Chad’s perfect memory could keep track of how many times Vince had apologized since the incident, and he really didn’t care to.

     “Relax,” Camille commanded. “I called the place in the mall where I get my hair cut. They can fit me in within a couple of days.” Absentmindedly, she adjusted the gray cowboy hat now perched atop her skull. In a move more chivalrous than anyone expected, Roy had placed his ever-present hat on Camille’s head for the walk back to the lifts and onto campus. It looked funny on her smaller noggin, however, it was a far sight better than the lopsided remains of her hair.

     “As sorry as I am about your hair, I would still greatly like to know what it was you did in our trial,” Chad interjected. He’d been largely quiet after waking up to Dr. Moran’s healing touch, lost in his own thoughts as the administrator healed Roy and checked over Camille. Vince had been uninjured, but refused to leave the infirmary without his friends, thus resulting in all of them exiting as a group.

     “Oh, that,” Camille said. Her eyes darted to Vince fleetingly. He said he’d known, but . . . how much did he know? She dearly wanted to speak with him in private, however, it seemed as though that wasn’t in the cards for the moment. “My healing power doesn’t just take away wounds, it stores them. Then, if I need to, I can expel them into another person.”

     “Fascinating,” Chad replied. “Your ability functions more like that of an absorber than a classic healer.” Camille winced; she wished he’d chosen another word. “And you can give these injuries to people even with enhanced endurance, it seems.”

     “Yup,” Roy confirmed. “A Camille attack will even bring down guys like us.”

     “Incredible,” Chad said. “I cannot fathom how you kept such a skill secret for so long.”

     “She was careful with how she used it,” Vince jumped in. “It was her ace in the hole, so it only got used when it really made a difference.”

     “That would be prudent, given your non-imposing stature,” Chad agreed. “I will certainly be more careful in how I attack you during our next bout.”

     “Our what now?” Camille asked, attention so affixed to Chad that she didn’t even notice they’d arrived at the lifts. Scattered about were several black-uniformed freshmen, along with the occasional spot of gray. One such gray-clad person was a tall blonde who immediately recognized the four people arriving at the lifts.

     “Hey, what are you guys doing here?” Alice asked, making her way through the crowd of younger students to greet her friends. “Close Combat let out a while ago, didn’t it?”

     “We were required to make a trip to the infirmary,” Chad supplied helpfully.

     This raised Alice’s curiosity, not merely because they had a healer with them, but because Chad had included himself in that statement. “Why not just have Camille fix you up?”

     “I was getting looked at too,” Camille admitted, suddenly aware of just how precarious the gray cowboy hat on her head was.

     “Must have been one hell of a fight,” Alice commented, eyes dancing between the bashful Camille, the guilt-ridden Vince, and the hat-less Roy. “Don’t suppose anyone wants to tell me what happened, or why Camille is wearing the hat Roy almost never takes off outside class?”

     “There was . . . an incident,” Vince admitted.

     “It wasn’t a big deal,” Camille hastily added. “My hair just got a little singed. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

     “Mmmhmmm,” Alice said, the words coming out from a set of closed lips. She crossed the small distance between her and Camille, then discreetly lifted the hat and peered beneath. After a few moments assessing the damage, she set the covering back in place. “Do you have a stylist?”

     “I go to a shop in the mall that does a good job,” Camille told her.

     Alice looked as though someone had struck her with a gutted mackerel.

     “They’re really nice,” Camille kept going, “I think they’ll be able to squeeze me in by the end of the week.”

     This time, Alice’s wide eyes went from the earnest girl speaking, to the three men behind her, back to Camille, and then ultimately upward, presumably to the heavens she was asking to spare her from such nonsense.

     “Oh, honey, no. A thousand times, no,” Alice said at last. “What you’ve got there is salvageable, if, and only if, the stylist knows what they’re doing. I’ve had my fair share of snafus in getting hair gummed up or stuck on things, so trust me here.” In all her years as a Powered, Alice had never anticipated the times she floated up and got her long hair snagged on things would be useful experiences, but it seemed the universe had a strange sense of humor about such things. “We need to get you to someone with skills, and I mean today.”

     “Perhaps you’re putting too much emphasis on the importance of this,” Chad suggested.

     Alice shot him a look so full of venom it could have melted the ground. “How about I shave you bald, and we see how important you find it to be, Mr. Perfect-Part-And-Lift?”

     Chad looked away, but stayed silent. He did make the effort to appear nice each day, so perhaps he didn’t have the right to criticize someone else’s vanity.

     “Um, I don’t really know any other hair-places,” Camille said.

     “You don’t worry about a thing,” Alice assured her. “As soon we’re up the lifts, I’m calling one of my people in town. She’ll be ready for you by the time we arrive. Maybe I’ll get our nails done too, as a way to de-stress from the day. Just leave everything to me.” Alice put a reassuring arm over the smaller girl’s shoulders and led her away to the lifts.

     Camille had just enough time to shoot Vince a look of panic, to which he responded with a shrug of uncertainty before Alice dragged her completely out of sight.

     57.

     Distraught as Vince was about turning Camille’s hair into a fireworks display, he didn’t have the option of staying in Melbrook and dwelling on it all night. He and Mary were due for their last round of server training at Supper with Supers, and no amount of guilt excused him from the job. Mr. Transport dropped them a few blocks away, leaving them to casually stroll in several minutes before their appointed time. Already waiting there was a costumed woman around their own age, leaning against the host’s stand and flipping through the reservation book.

     “Hey there, rookies,” Lacey greeted. Unlike Camille and Mary, Lacey had chosen a costume that accentuated her chest by clinging tightly to her torso. It was dark purple and blue, topped with a bobbed purple wig and face paint they imagined took several hours to apply each morning. Lacey had been their trainer through most of the process, and it seemed today would be no exception. “You guys ready to work?”

     “Sure thing,” Vince agreed. He was quite enthusiastic about the idea, since it meant doing something to take his mind off the match with Camille.

     “Indeed,” Mary agreed, with less gusto.

     “Good, then let’s roll some silverware while it’s slow,” Lacey ordered them. “Hopefully, that will get our section closed faster later on. Once things pick up a bit, I’ll let you each take a table.”

     Vince and Mary nodded. So far, they’d shadowed Lacey during her job and been allowed to assist with her tables; having one of their own to work with would be a step up from what they had done to date. Both were, in truth, a bit nervous at the prospect, but they kept it off their face like the HCP students they were.

     “Let’s get started.”

     *              *              *

     “Bad,” Anastasia said, carefully flipping a section of the pale-blonde hair away to reveal more charred ends. “Bad, but not impossible.” The woman towered over everyone else in the salon, and most of the state. At six feet, five inches tall, Anastasia (one name only) looked more like she should be in spandex fighting criminals than running a hair-cutting business. Her severe face and habit of rarely smiling didn’t do much to make her seem friendlier, either. If Alice hadn’t walked up to the woman with such familiarity, Camille likely would have dashed out the door rather than sit down.

     “Yes,” Anastasia announced after more examination. “I can work with this. You sit, I shall get my special tools. I will make you beautiful.” With that, the tall woman strode into the back, thick heels clacking on the smooth tile of the floor as she walked.

     “That was . . . intense,” Camille said, once she was reasonably sure Anastasia was out of earshot.

     “Anastasia takes hair seriously,” Alice replied. “It’s part of why she’s so good at her job. If anything, when it’s done, you’ll look better than you did before the hair-fire.”

     It had struck Camille as curious that Anastasia had requested no explanation for why she was treating burned-off chunks of hair, but she kept this sentiment to herself in favor of staying meekly quiet while being looked over.

     “It really isn’t such a big deal,” Camille reiterated.

     “Camille, it’s just me here. You don’t have to pretend,” Alice assured her. “I’m not great at everything in Subtlety, but there are things I do pick up on. For example, I’ve noticed how, lately, you take the time to straighten and style your hair every day, or the way you use makeup when we’re not sweating through gym. There’s no shame in a little vanity here and there. You’re a cute girl. You should want people to notice.”

     “Oh, that. I was just trying to get a little better at that stuff,” Camille defended lamely. “After my birthday last year, I realized how little I knew.”

     “Didn’t you learn how to do it in high school?”

     Camille shook her head. “I was training almost all the time. There weren’t many occasions requiring more than some foundation and a little blush.”

     “Come on, you must have at least gotten dolled up on dates,” Alice prodded.

     “I only had one boyfriend in high school,” Camille admitted. “It was a small town, and not everyone was adjusted to having a Super among them. Even the guy I dated used to pick on me when we were little.”

     “Glad he grew beyond the pigtail-pulling stage,” Alice remarked.

     Camille smiled, opting not to tell her about how bad the teasing had really been, or how “growing up” had gotten a big dose of help from Vince’s fists. Rick had done a one-eighty after Vince knocked three of his teeth out; he’d told her he’d learned an important lesson about never knowing who was watching. Rick, once her cruelest tormentor, became her staunchest defender. She needed to call and check in on him; he was attending a bible college in Virginia, and it had been a while since they’d talked. Even if it hadn’t worked out romantically (some wounds never quite healed enough for them to grow close), she still wanted good things for him in his life.

     “Hey, Camille, I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but would you like some help?”

     The question popped Camille from her reverie and brought her attention back to Alice.

     “Help?”

     “Sure, with the makeup and hair, and all that stuff,” Alice explained. “I’ve got loads of experience with all of it.”

     “Oh, I don’t want to impose.”

     “Please, I love getting to teach people,” Alice said. “And it would be nice to teach someone who actually wants to learn for a change.”

     “Who else did you try to teach?”

     “I’ve been working on Mary since freshman year,” Alice grumbled. “We’ll make a few steps forward when special occasions roll around, but then, the next day, it’s like she’s forgotten everything I taught her about eye shadow.”

     Camille giggled softly. It was pretty funny to imagine Alice trying to get Mary into something other than her usual utilitarian ensemble. “I’m not sure; this year is already so busy . . .”

     “All the more reason to make time,” Alice countered. “We will kick ass and look good doing it. Tell you what, wait and see what Anastasia does with your hair. If you don’t feel it’s a genuine improvement, I’ll let it drop. If you like it, however, we hit the makeup counter for a little while and let me show you a few things.”

     That would certainly be out of her comfort zone, however, after stripping down in front of her class, fighting in public view with her full ability, and getting her head partially roasted, she was so far gone from comfort that a few more steps didn’t seem so terrifying.

     “You’ve got a deal.”

     58.

     Lacey swiveled into the server’s station, grabbing a tray and topping it off with glasses before tossing in some ice. While some might have needed to glance at their order pad to remember all five drinks requested, Lacey was experienced enough to recall them perfectly. Plus, they’d all ordered soda, so if she got one wrong, she could just say the syrup was low in the machine and that accounted for the odd flavor.

     “Hey,” Brooklyn said, sidling up next to Lacey and grabbing a stack of napkins. “Where are your trainees?”

     “Vince is making salads, and Mary is checking on the food for table seventeen,” Lacey replied.

     “Lucky dog, I wish they’d give me the free labor,” Brooklyn complained. The bright yellow contacts in her eyes, paired with her frilly costume, made her look something like a busty Big Bird.

     “Maybe if you stop showing up late, or asking to be cut early, they’ll consider you for a trainer,” Lacey pointed out.

     “Yeeeeeeah, but then I’d have to stop showing up late and asking to be cut early,” Brooklyn countered, flashing a wide smile. Work ethic aside, the girl could charm a table into five add-ons apiece, which was likely why she’d managed to stay employed. “Also, you should tell your guy that a muscle suit and a wig is kind of overkill.”

     “I did, actually,” Lacey replied, sloshing the last cup full of fizzing liquid and setting it on the tray. “Turns out he’s just wearing a wig. The body is all him.”

     Brooklyn let out a sound from her throat that reminded Lacey of the last time she’d worked a double and been ravenously hungry. “That is pretty impressive. I’m not big on the dopey ‘aw, shucks’ look, but I might be able to make an exception.”

     “I know, right? If I were into that sort of thing, he’d be sex on a stick,” Lacey agreed. “Oh well, at least he seems like the type who’ll pick up shifts if you give a good sob story.”

     “That’s something,” Brooklyn concurred, snagging a handful of straws and heading back to her tables.

     *              *              *

     Vince got his first solo table before Mary, an elderly couple who were very polite, if a bit indecisive on what they wanted to order. By this point, he’d shadowed Lacey long enough that he wasn’t put off, making careful suggestions and giving them ample breathing room to discuss what sounded good. He spent his free time continuing to help Lacey, not that she seemed to need it, but he didn’t see the harm in practicing the basics as much as he could.

     Mary’s table came half an hour later, when Vince was in the back working as a de facto food runner. She recognized one of her guests from across the restaurant, even sitting among a sea of people. Alice Adair was a woman who would stand out in an avalanche; she practically glowed in the surroundings of a mere restaurant. The girl across from Alice, however, wasn’t familiar to Mary. It wasn’t until she arrived at the table and opened her mouth to greet them, noticing the small woman squirming and blushing uncomfortably, that everything clicked into place.

     “Camille?” Had Lacey been present, Mary would have been docked points for not giving the proper Supper with Supers greeting, however, her reaction was quite understandable.

     Camille’s pale-blonde hair had been cut, trimmed, and styled to compensate for the burned portions. This resulted in a short, semi-spiky look that would likely have been more fitting on a girl sporting tattoos and face piercings. Credit to Anastasia’s skills, no one looking at Camille would imagine she’d just lost some locks in a fire. Not to mention, it accentuated the sharp, comely features of her face, making her all the prettier.

     Had it just been the hair, Mary might not have been so shocked, but it seemed Alice had gone all out in making the girl over. Her face was made-up so expertly that she scarcely seemed to be wearing any product, yet her features were more accentuated than they would normally be. Add in the carefully applied eye shadow, the stylish green sundress, and the accessories like earrings, and it was as though there was an entirely different girl sitting before Mary. An incredibly pretty one, at that.

     “Right reaction,” Alice surmised. “Just the wrong person.”

     “What happened?” Mary had made no attempt to recover from her momentary shock.

     “Did Vince tell you about the hair thing?” Camille asked.

     “Yes.”

     “Alice took me to get it fixed. While we were out, she sort of . . . kept going.” Camille gave a small shrug and demure smile that would have set Mary’s heart fluttering if she played for a different team.

     “She was quite the trooper,” Alice added. “She gave input, helped pick things out, and didn’t try to sneak off when I left her in a dressing room. Unlike some people.”

     The “some people” in question was still standing there, clutching an order pad. Mary had never been enthusiastic about Alice’s makeover attempts, but looking at Camille, she found herself wondering about how Alice could make her look. Camille had always been a cute girl; right now, she was downright beautiful. If anyone in that restaurant had been told that, mere hours before, this young woman had beaten the hell out of two men who shrugged off bullets, they’d have laughed themselves hoarse. Which, of course, was just a tiny part of what made a Super like Camille so dangerous.

     “I might be more accommodating next time,” Mary said at last.

     “If there is a next time,” Alice warned playfully. “Anyway, what’s this joint got to eat?” She pulled up a menu and began perusing the options.

     Before Mary could speak about the specials, a silver-haired young man in a fluttering blue cape arrived at the table, basket of rolls in hand.

     “Here you are, folks,” he said, setting them in the center of the table. “Fresh from the oven.” Given the other two baskets in his free hand, it seemed Vince was currently making a loop to ensure all the customers had received bread.

     “Thank you very much,” Camille said, daintily picking up one of the still steaming rolls.

     “It’s my plea—Camille?” Vince’s eyes grew wide, and his hands grew clumsy, nearly sending both baskets sprawling to the floor. Two years of HCP training and a lifetime of martial arts allowed him to snag them in mid-air, but his eyes never left the pale, blonde girl sitting in front of him.

     “Now that was more what I was hoping for,” Alice quipped, a wicked smile barely concealed behind her menu.

     59.

     “So, you knew about my power?”

     These were the first words spoken since Vince had gotten into Camille’s car several minutes prior. She and Alice had dined and left the restaurant an hour or so before he got off, but when he emerged from the end of his training shift, Vince had found Camille waiting for him in the parking lot. Alice was nowhere to be seen, and Mary told him she would fill Mr. Transport in when he appeared to take her back. Though Vince felt it was strange, he assumed Camille wanted to talk more about the afternoon’s accident, and climbed in. The ride had gone for five minutes with silence broken only by his occasional fiddling with radio stations, until Camille finally gathered her nerve and asked the question.

     “I did,” Vince admitted. His hand dropped from the volume knob where it had been positioned, landing in his lap at an awkward angle.

     “How long have you known?”

     “I figured it out at the end of last year,” Vince told her. “Once I realized you were someone I’d helped a long time ago, it became sort of obvious.”

     Camille nodded and kept her eyes on the road. Focusing on driving was actually helping her stay centered, rather than letting her usual embarrassment overrun her. “So, you know I’m the girl you . . .”

     “You were my first kiss,” Vince said, a warm smile appearing unbidden on his face. “You were Cami, the absorber those kids were tormenting on a hot summer day. I like your natural hair color better than what you had it dyed, by the way.”

     “Thanks. What made you realize who I was?” Camille was taking deep breaths and making sure to keep as calm as possible.

     “Something from my hallucination where I was normal. When I tried to talk to you, you got really mad and told me I was an asshole for waiting eleven years to say something to you. Even before that, though, something about you always seemed familiar in a way I couldn’t place. So, I think a part of me figured it out before the rest of me did. After that, it all clicked into place: how you’d beaten Hector and Allen, why Nick gave you an ace, everything fit better if you were a damage absorber instead of a healer.”

     “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything,” Camille said.

     “Neither did you,” Vince replied, hands fidgeting in his lap. “I can see why you hid your ability, though. It made you more effective. It’s not too hard to defend against, but only if you know what’s coming. I figured you’d reveal your power when you were ready.”

     “This wasn’t exactly the way I’d have chosen to let the secret out,” Camille admitted, cheeks burning at the memory of the afternoon’s events.

     “Beating Chad and Roy is the sort of ability reveal most of the class would kill for,” Vince pointed out. “You might have gotten me, too, if not for the whole hair-fire incident. Which, again, I’m sorry for.”

     “Hazard of the program,” Camille said, brushing away his worry. Vince would never let the guilt go if she allowed it to linger. “And I doubt I could have brought you down. You knew enough to keep clothing or space between us; plus, you have abilities that don’t require touching me to use.”

     “True,” Vince agreed. “There are ways to get under clothes, though. Maybe you should look into a weapon or tool.”

     “I’ll think about it. So, any questions for me now that you know I’m an old friend?” There were several she was both hopeful and terrified at the prospect of him asking. Unfortunately, his first query was none of them.

     “Did things get better for you? In the town, with the other children, I mean.”

     “Yes, actually. It took a while, but once I started working toward the HCP, they left me alone more. I don’t know if it was because they respected my goal, or because they finally realized how dangerous I had become. The end result was the same, though. Most kept their distance,” Camille told him. She came to a red light and carefully slowed the car to a stop.

     “Sounds lonely,” Vince noted.

     “Says the guy who grew up with one parent and zero friends,” she countered. “It was what it was. Being different can be difficult, even if it’s different in a way that makes you objectively more capable. I had a few friends, thankfully, good people who didn’t mind my shyness or ability.”

     “I’m glad to hear that.”

     “I’m glad to be able to say it. Anything else you’re wondering about?”

     Vince shook his head. “Why you hid your ability is obvious, and I’m guessing you never mentioned our previous meeting because you didn’t think I remembered.”

     “You didn’t, not until last year,” she pointed out. The light turned green, and she pressed down on the accelerator.

     “I remembered the day perfectly, I just didn’t realize you were the girl,” Vince clarified. “Which I’m sorry about.”

     “Not your fault. We were kids, and between the dye-job and the nickname, that’s a lot to figure out. You were much easier. Even without the silver hair, you just look like a grown-up version of the boy I met. I could have picked you out of a line-up.”

     “Glad to know I still look like a kid,” Vince jokingly grumbled. He turned his gaze out the window just as Camille glanced over at him. In his form-fitting costume, under the yellow light of the streetlight they passed, she realized how quickly his face was shedding the trappings of youth. Vince didn’t look like a kid; he barely looked like a teen anymore. From the soft edges of boyhood was being carved the distinct features of a man, and a handsome one at that.

     “You don’t look like a kid,” she said. “I just mean you’re distinctive. You stand out, especially to me.” As soon as the last words were out, she dearly wished her power allowed her to reach out and stuff them back into the mouth from whence they’d come. But alas, such was not her gift.

     “Well, thank you,” Vince said. “Anyway, now that your power is out in the open, what do you say to a rematch? I think I’d like to see what you can really do.”

     “Maybe soon. There’s something I want to take care of first,” Camille told him.

     “Fireproof hat?”

     “Not initially, but maybe something I’ll look into. I don’t think even Alice’s stylist can save me if I go much shorter.” She flashed him a grin to show it was meant in good fun, then took a left turn and headed toward the Lander campus.

     60.

     Unlike Close Combat, the first test in Weapons didn’t involve three students teaming up against one. Instead, Professor Cole wanted everyone to be alert for an attack from any direction, so she threw three people in at a time and let them battle to see who lasted the longest.

     “To refresh any of you who forgot from yesterday,” Professor Cole yelled on Tuesday morning, the second day of her testing, “I will allow you to use the entire combat cell as your battlefield. Corner to corner, and the ceiling too.”

     The students watched her stalk through the concrete room, eyes attentive and various weapons clutched in their hands. Professor Cole had a habit of throwing needles at people she felt weren’t paying attention. It served to ensure her students were alert through every lecture.

     “Jump around as much as you like, just remember that, for this exam, only blows struck with weaponry count. Make sure you don’t kill your classmate; I’m looking for visible contact, nothing more. Sharp edges have been tipped with foam specifically to help make sure we don’t have any such accidents. As I call you, I’ll assign you a number of hits required to take you down. Doesn’t matter if it comes from one opponent or two, once you’ve been struck that many times you are eliminated. This should all be review, so I assume there aren’t any questions.”

     No hands went up or voices rang out, so the professor continued. “Let’s get started. In the next bout, I want to see Violet Sullivan, who can take three hits, Roy Daniels, who can take four hits, and Will Murray, who can take one hit. The rest of you, into the observation room.”

     Most of the class filed out, however, Roy, Violet, and Will all separated into different corners of the room. Professor Cole took the one unoccupied by a student. Yesterday, the first group had expressed concern about her getting caught in the battle, to which she’d laughed for a solid two minutes straight. She was there as a safety measure to make sure no one accidentally struck a killing blow.

     Roy took a few test swings with his bat as he found his starting spot, doing his best to get warmed up. The weapon Professor Cole had obtained for him was darker and thicker than the one he’d bought from the sporting goods store. Roy knew there was a difference in weight, but at his strength level, it seemed rather minimal. He just had to be careful when taking shots at his opponents; Will was all human, and if Violet wasn’t in density mode, she could be delicate.

     Will didn’t fiddle with his odd weapon, nor did he swing it about. He’d been doing regular maintenance on it nightly; if something was going to go wrong, then it would, no last minute spot-check was going to stop it. Violet merely swung her spiked chain idly, assessing her opponents like she was picking out a steak at a restaurant.

     “Begin!” Professor Cole yelled, sending all three into action.

     Violet immediately took to the air, floating toward the ceiling with surprising grace. Will darted forward, putting some distance between himself and the corner he’d been standing in. Roy walked out of his corner casually, bat held in his left hand as he kept an eye on both opponents. He could reach Violet with a well-timed jump, but that would allow her ample time to counterattack with her spiked chain. Instead, Roy set his sights on Will. This match would be easier when there was only one opponent to account for.

     With no preamble, Roy charged across the room, quickly closing the gap between himself and Will. Violet tried to reorient so she could take advantage of the scuffle, but Roy was faster on the ground than she was in the air. Will made no move to get out of the way; he stayed put as he watched several hundred pounds of Super bearing down on him. Then, when Roy was three steps away from being able to use his bat, Will pressed a button on the side of his staff.

     A dense, white fog exploded out from the device, engulfing both men instantaneously. Roy stopped his assault, quickly pulling into a defensive position and stepping backward. Losing sight of someone like Will was dangerous, physical frailty be damned. This worry was immediately proven correct as Roy felt a light shock on his left ribs, an undeniable hit. Rather than stay put and risk more attacks, Roy abandoned his defense and ran blindly out of the fog. He emerged without taking any more attacks, only to catch a foam-tipped dagger, attached to a chain, in the shoulder.

     Violet smiled down at him, clearly proud of her reflexive strike at his emergence. The smile stayed in place only until Roy grabbed the base of the dagger in his off-hand, then leapt toward her. She tried to reposition and use the blade at the other end defensively, but Roy knocked it away with the bat and still managed to get a solid hit on her thigh before gravity took hold and sent him back to the ground. At least he let go of her weapon upon landing; for that much, she was thankful.

     She was still trying to recover when there was a sound like a firecracker and something struck her stomach. Glancing down, she saw a foam-tipped blade falling away from where it had struck her, quickly being pulled back to its source by the metallic wire at its base. That wire ran all the way to one end of Will’s staff, where it slid back into its hidden compartment. It was clear she’d now been struck twice; what she didn’t know was if that gizmo could shoot more than once. Knowing Will, it was highly likely.

     Violet was a trained combatant, and despite her occasional bursts of temper, she knew how to calmly assess a situation. If she kept playing defensively, Roy or Will would pick off her final hit. Better to go for a full-press offense and try to take at least one of them down. With nothing more than a thought, Violet sank to the ground, lightening the density of her weapon as she did. Since actual damage didn’t matter—a case made evident by the foam protections put on all blades—it wouldn’t be an issue if the daggers were too light to do damage. Halfway to the ground, Violet used her punch-fly technique to thrust herself forward, barreling toward Roy. He brought up his bat, but she and her nearly weightless weaponry were too quick. He struck the first dagger cleanly away, however, the second got in a little too close, and he hit the chain instead of the blade. This caused it to wrap around the bat once, dragging the foam-tip of the dagger across his chest in the process. If Violet had been a little more conservative in her charge, she might have been able to recover and take Roy’s last hit. Unfortunately, her burst of speed had brought her too close, and before she could reorient, Roy’s bat took her in the arm.

     “Sullivan, you’re out,” the professor yelled.

     As Violet floated back to her corner, she noticed that Will had used the cover of her attack to sneak around behind Roy. He readied his staff to strike just as Roy finished untangling her chain from his bat. Then, with no warning at all, Roy dropped into a squat, spun around, and swept his bat at shin level.

     “Ow!” Will yelped, as the metal cylinder struck his leg. Even going gently, it was hard for Roy to swing an implement without doing some damage.

     “And that’s Murray,” Professor Cole called from her corner. “Roy Daniels wins this trial.”

     “How did you know I was sneaking up on you?” Will asked, rubbing his leg.

     “Truthfully, I didn’t,” Roy admitted. “It was just sort of a hunch. You were all over this battlefield, using every distraction to your advantage. Sneaking around while I fought Violet seemed like something you would do, so I opted to try a wild attack just in case. It was more luck than skill.”

     “Predicting your opponents’ actions is not an ability to dismiss lightly,” Will told him. “It’s how I stayed in the fight so long.”

     “Guess there might be some truth to that,” Roy agreed. “Good fight, by the way.”

     “That it was. Next time, I’ll be sure to make it harder to win.”

     “Same to you,” Roy said, giving Will a quick grin.

     Both headed off to the observation room, clearing the combat space for the next students to undertake their trial.

     61.

     “For the last bit of class today, we’re going to discuss the known anatomy of Variant Homo Sapiens,” Professor Lee said, once the class had finished taking notes on the suspected origins of Supers. “Or, rather, the anatomy of those who have been studied after their death, and the results of which were disclosed to the public. As we’ve covered before, for various reasons, this will be slim pickings.”

     The students nodded; it was pretty much par for the course with every discussion they’d had so far. Supers leaving their remains to science wasn’t unheard of; however, very few of the organizations collecting such corpses were the kind who were willing to share what they uncovered. Even if they were, sometimes, the scientists would conclude dissection and study, only to have government agents show up and slap “Classified” on everything they’d just done. Nicholas, as one who specialized in information, understood the necessity for such tactics.

     “Of course, one thing you should already know from the assigned reading is that saying we’re going to discuss the anatomy of Supers is like saying we’ll be discussing the anatomy of mammals. Yes, there are shared characteristics, but a kangaroo is as different from an elephant as a strongman is different from a telekinetic,” Professor Lee continued. “On the subject of strongmen, let’s see specimen one-one-zero-two-eight-seven, whom we in the scientific community have dubbed Specimen Strong.”

     He pressed a button on the remote near him, bringing up a picture of a sliced open arm. The skin was nearly overflowing with muscle, packed in so densely it was a wonder the epidermis hadn’t split from the pressure of holding it in.

     “Specimen Strong was a Super who died in the eighties,” Professor Lee informed them. “He was not a Hero, despite the fact that independent evaluators determined he likely could have made it through the Hero Certification Program, had he opted to. His power set was standard for his type: enhanced strength and endurance. When they opened him up, which required another Super’s assistance to cut through the skin, they found his whole body to be filled with a dense, powerful muscle. His lifting power, by the way, was estimated to be in the ten-ton range.”

     Professor Lee clicked another button, and an illustrated diagram of a brain pulled up. “Additionally, his brain chemistry and neural pathways were different from any recorded human’s. This, as you should know if you did the reading, is one of the few confirmed consistencies in the anatomy of Variant Homo Sapiens. Regardless of their power, their brains are set up differently. Sometimes, there are glands present that we do not possess, and sometimes, we find unidentified chemicals coating the gray matter. But never do we find a normal human brain when a Super is cut open. Many theorize this to be the source of their powers, which would imply that all of their abilities are the result of altered neurochemistry.”

     “But you just said Specimen Strong had those weird muscles,” pointed out a young man in the front row.

     “I did, however, the question then becomes were those caused by the same condition as his unusual brain, or did the brain create those muscles as part of its variant functions? I realize this seems like a chicken-or-the-egg question, but it does bear mentioning. To illustrate, meet Specimen Fast.”

     The slide clicked over again, this time, revealing a set of opened up legs. They were, for the most part, what every student expected a set of cut open legs to look like.

     “Specimen Fast perished in the nineties, and had the ability of super-speed. What makes him interesting is that, despite being able to run over seven hundred miles an hour, his muscles were almost totally normal. There were a few unexpected proteins, but nothing to account for such incredible speed. Additionally, despite his own enhanced endurance granting him the power to survive moving so fast, his skin and bones were chemically identical to a human’s, and only slightly denser.”

     The slide projector went off again, bringing up another drawn diagram of a brain, though this one was visibly different from the last.

     “Specimen Fast had a brain even more convoluted than Specimen Strong, however. This is why the mind issue is so important, because, in several cases, the body of Variant Homo Sapiens does not provide any clues as to how they accomplished such incredible feats. Now, even assuming altered brain function, this theory does not explain how Supers casually bend or outright break basic scientific principles. There are colleagues among us who have just decided to say that it's magic, and I don’t fault them for it. Variant Homo Sapiens are as much a mystery to us as the sun, gravity, and thunderstorms were to primitive man. Still, I must believe that, with continued research, we will unravel this mystery, just as we have solved so many before. Something to keep in mind when you do tonight’s reading,” Professor Lee concluded. “Class dismissed.”

     Books and notepads were hurriedly packed away as the class began to exit. Nicholas Campbell took his time. He still had a few hours until the next class, and he wanted to check in with Eliza and Jerome on Nathaniel’s whereabouts. Evidently, the orange-eyed bastard had started attending his classes, although it was at irregular intervals. This distraction was taking time away from his primary puzzle, so Nicholas wanted it dealt with as soon as possible.

     He exited the lecture hall, walked purposefully down the tree-shaded sidewalk, and took a moment to enjoy the day. With October only a few days old, the weather had begun to turn cold already. Today, however, a warm front had blown in and heated everything up. People were back in shorts and dresses, knowing full well this would likely be their last chance to dress so casually until spring began its battle against winter’s entrenchment.

     Nicholas turned down another sidewalk, intent on heading to grab a quick bite, when he found a beautiful young woman blocking his path. She was clad in a white and pink sundress that would have been unseasonable on any other fall day. Her blonde hair hung below her shoulders, a few stray wisps artfully framing her face—a face that was home to sparkling green eyes and a gorgeous smile. That smile widened as his eyes met hers, and Nicholas felt an unexpected blush try to creep across his skin, as well as a surge of adrenaline race through his veins. He recognized her, of course; she was a prominent person in his files. He just didn’t know why his body was having such a strange reaction to her.

     “Hi there,” said the girl, sticking out her hand. “My name is Alice Adair. I wanted to re-introduce myself to you.”

     62.

     “A pleasure,” Nicholas replied, accepting her hand. Again, his pulse increased slightly, but this time, the effect lingered longer than before. “Unfortunately, I’m certain you must be mistaken. There is no possible way I could have forgotten meeting such a beautiful woman.”

     The blonde’s placid expression held for a moment longer, then dissolved as she let out a snort of laughter.

     “Holy shit, that’s your new guy?” Alice asked, giggling to herself as she drew back her hand. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting the same thing, but woooow. Do I get some butter with all that corn?”

     A small crease appeared in Nicholas’s forehead as his brow furrowed. This was not the reaction he’d anticipated from Alice Adair, given the files his previous self had left him. Despite her capacity for occasional bouts of insight, Alice was supposed to be docile, at least usually. While she had challenged him from time to time, it was never so overt or immediate as this. After all, she had no cause to believe he knew anything about her. Either something had changed, or Nick had left poor notes for Nicholas. The former seemed far more likely.

     “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Nicholas said. “I merely meant to politely excuse my absence of memory.”

     “Okay, play it however you want,” Alice advised him. “I guess it’s your character, after all.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a pair of tickets. With care, she extracted one and thrust it toward him. “Here. We’re going to see a movie on Friday night.”

     “I’m afraid I already have plans,” Nicholas protested.

     “Sitting on a bench and pretending to read like a creeper?” Alice asked. “I bet you can shuffle those around. As I remember it, you’re great with shuffling.”

     Nicholas battled to keep the annoyance from his face. “If there is something you wish to say—”

     “Your last words to me were ‘never forget who I am.’ I’ve been thinking about that for months, and what ultimately struck me is that there is no way you’d ever give up two years of information,” Alice said, interrupting him. “I know you too well to buy into that bullshit. And even if you don’t know everything about me, don’t pretend like you don’t know who I am. You’re better than that. Or, at least, you used to be.”

     Nicholas narrowed his eyes at the implication. “Very well, Alice, perhaps you are not entirely foreign to me.”

     “There we go, progress. Now take the ticket,” she instructed. Her hand was still extended, holding the white piece of paper. “I even picked something right up your alley.”

     Nicholas took the ticket and read the name printed on it aloud. “Ghost-Kicker Seven: The Kickstorm.” He raised an eyebrow and turned his attention back to the beautiful woman staring at him. “What on earth would make you think I’d have any interest in seeing such schlock?”

     Alice was good at hiding her feelings, better than his previous incarnation had indicated, and she’d shown up to this encounter prepared to play aloof. However, for a brief instant when Nicholas rebuffed her, he saw the pain his words caused. Genuine, unmasked sorrow filled her for the barest of seconds. Then it was gone, and she was presenting her armored front once more.

     “Because the lady chooses, especially when the lady pays,” Alice shot back. “And I’m driving. No offense, but I don’t want to cram into your tiny Bug unless I have to.”

     “I don’t . . . fine. You can drive.” Nicholas wasn’t certain why he was jumping on board with this, only that he wanted to get away from this girl and compose himself. Something told him that if he kept fighting her, she would dig in and refuse to let him leave until he consented.

     “Great. Pick you up at six,” Alice informed him.

     “You don’t know where I live,” Nick pointed out.

     Alice laughed, this time, with a tinkling melody that quickened the blood in Nicholas’s veins. “Trust me, I can find you. After all, I found you here, didn’t I?”

     With that, she turned and began walking away, her hips sashaying with a method that clearly indicated she was aware that Nicholas was watching her go. As she reached the sidewalk’s corner, a turn that would take her out of his view, Alice threw back one glance to take in the somewhat befuddled form of her once-friend. It was so strange to see him that way. Even before everything they’d gone through, Nick had been an affable, fun guy, if somewhat annoying. His first character had been the sort of person people didn’t mind having around. This new one seemed withdrawn, walled-off. If she assumed his first persona had been crafted to cultivate relationships and gain friends, then it stood to reason this one was here for substantially different reasons. He wouldn’t create a character without a purpose; that simply wasn’t in his conniving nature.

     Alice kept walking, back toward Melbrook, where she would undoubtedly tell everything to Mary. Even she wasn’t certain what her movie date strategy was meant to accomplish. She merely knew that it was intolerable to be aware of Nick’s presence and not try and reconnect with him. Maybe it would turn out to be a bad decision. That was okay; Alice had spent her life being a dutiful, proper daughter. She had more than a few bad decisions saved up.

     Back by the dorms, standing under the shade of a nearby tree, Nicholas looked again at the ticket in his hand. His pulse was slowing, and he was returning to a normal state. This was of little comfort, though, since it didn’t explain his strange reaction in the first place. Nicholas was not an emotionally predisposed person, however, that was not to say he was ill-versed in common emotions or their effects. In fact, he had quite an in-depth knowledge of such things, years of training and practice making the information readily accessible. Therefore, Nicholas knew that every symptom he’d just exhibited all hinted at having serious feelings for the person he’d come into contact with.

     It just didn’t make any sense why he’d had them upon meeting Alice Adair. Nick’s notes never mentioned anything of the sort, aside from her crush on him. Never had it been hinted that he might return such sentiments.

     “What have you done,” Nicholas muttered, words directed at a version of himself that no longer existed. He stuffed the ticket in his pocket and headed off toward his apartment. He clearly needed to reread the files.

     63.

     Alice walked into Melbrook’s common room to discover the rest of the residents were already gathered there, as was Dean Blaine and, surprisingly, Chad.

     “Excellent timing,” Dean Blaine greeted her. “We were just about to call you.”

     “What’s up?” Alice asked.

     “Not sure yet,” Vince told her. “Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport came and got us from our rooms, and when we came out, Dean Blaine and Chad were here. Maybe we’re throwing a party?”

     “I won’t say this couldn’t result in a cause for celebration, however, that is not the primary reason Chad and I are here,” Dean Blaine told him. “As your guardians have informed you, it was decided earlier in the year that, should a suitable and willing candidate appear, Mr. Campbell’s former room would be reoccupied.”

     “Well, yeah,” Hershel said. He looked between the two men and comprehension dawned across his continually less-pudgy face. “Wait . . . are you saying Chad wants to move in?”

     “I do,” Chad replied. “If none of you have objections, that is. I feel like my current life is a bit too ordered. The solution to that is a bit of chaos here and there. You are, with all due respect, easily the most chaotic bunch currently in the Hero Certification Program.”

     “I don’t know that I’d go that far,” Alice muttered.

     “Kidnappings, beach weekends, mind-jackings, and former-Powered-status-revealing ambushes, just to name a few examples off the top of my head,” Chad countered. “I’m not insinuating that these things were all your fault, I’m merely stating the simple truth that your lives are somewhat more unexpected than an average person’s.”

     “That’s probably the nicest way anyone has ever called me a weirdo,” Hershel said. “I’ve got no qualms, and I doubt Roy does either. Just don’t be shocked if he’s all over you about gym-time and sparring.”

     Chad allowed a small smile to run across his face. “I would expect nothing less.”

     Mary sighed audibly. “Great. So I trade the guy who was constantly masking his thoughts for the guy whose thoughts I can’t read in the first place.” Then she grinned, because she and Chad had been on excellent terms ever since co-chaperoning last year’s river trip, and they both knew it. “I look forward to living with you.”

     “All I’m going to say is this,” Alice chimed in. “Don’t leave a mess in the kitchen or the common lounge. Seriously, I’ve almost got Vince and Roy trained, and I don’t want to start over from square one.”

     “What about Hershel?” Chad asked.

     “Hershel is the gold standard in cleaning up after one’s self,” Alice told him. “Follow his lead on all things, and you’ll be fine. Welcome to Melbrook,” she added at the end, just so he knew she actually had no real objection to his moving in. It was still slightly hard for her to imagine another person living in Nick’s room, especially so soon after seeing what amounted to another person living in his body.

     All eyes turned to Vince, who was the final resident to give his opinion.

     “Are you sure about this?” Vince asked. “Chaos aside, we live with more observation and scrutiny than anyone else on campus. Some of that is bound to spill over onto you.”

     “I’ve got nothing to hide,” Chad replied immediately.

     “And then there’s the part about us being prototypes. We’re holding together well, but there’s always the possibility something could go wrong, and we could lose control.”

     “Vince, you have my solemn word that if that should happen, not only am I unafraid to be here, but I will personally be part of the effort to stop you.” From almost anyone else, in nearly any other situation, Chad’s words would have been a threat. To Vince, however, they represented a promise that Chad would use his tremendous power to stop Vince from hurting anyone else. Aside from keeping the bathroom clean, that was the most desirable trait he could have asked for in a dormmate.

     “I appreciate it,” Vince said sincerely. “And I welcome you to our—sorry, your—Lander home. Do you need any help moving?”

     “It’s been handled,” Dean Blaine interjected. “Chad’s things will be moved in on Friday, while you are all in class. By the time your day is done, he will be set up as a Melbrook resident.”

     “That’s awesome,” Hershel said. “We should do a dinner or something.”

     “Definitely,” Vince agreed.

     “I’m on board with that, but could we maybe do it Saturday instead?” Alice asked hesitantly. For the first time, some of the others noticed how nicely she was dressed, and curiosity bubbled up in the corners of their minds.

     “That’s right, Alice and I already made plans,” Mary jumped in. “We’re off to do some spa treatment she insisted on. It’s already booked and paid for, otherwise, we’d move it.” She resisted the urge to lock eyes with Alice. By this point, they’d been friends long enough that her blonde dormmate would know to roll with the lie. It wouldn’t fool Mr. Numbers, and it likely wasn’t enough to trick Dean Blaine, but that was fine. They weren’t the people she was trying to keep in the dark. Nick’s return to Lander was a delicate situation; it needed to be handled with care.

     “Saturday would be fine with me,” Chad said, “if we do anything at all. I don’t require any fuss.”

     “Chad, didn’t you say you were moving in specifically because your life needed more fuss?” Hershel asked.

     “Not in those exact words . . .”

     “It was still the gist,” Vince agreed. “Okay, so everybody make sure to get Saturday off, and we’ll do a dinner, or something like that, to welcome Chad properly.”

     “We’re good,” Mary told him. “Until we’re more experienced, they won’t let us work weekend evenings, since those are the biggest business times.”

     “Same here,” Hershel said. “Well, for Roy and Chad.”

     “I’m not scheduled, although, we’re allowed to come in whenever we want to work, even if we’re off,” Alice said. “Isn’t it that way for you guys?”

     “There are only so many positions at a bar to be worked,” Chad told her. “No such limitation exists on aesthetically pleasing women who walk the area and sell alcohol.”

     “He hit the nail on the head,” Hershel agreed. “No bar has ever suffered from too many hot girls in attendance.”

     “I’ll try to remember that,” Alice said. She might go pick up a shift or two before the weekend. It certainly wasn’t like she needed the money, but it would keep her occupied. The more she thought about her upcoming event with Nick, or Nicholas, or whatever, the less she wanted to dwell on it.

     64.

     The foggy landscape billowed on as far as the eye could see. There was nothing, not land, not foliage, not even light, only white fog curling about. The fallen cloud danced and swirled despite the lack of wind, sometimes as low as the knee, sometimes as high as the hip. It stretched in every direction, an endless sea of smoky white mist.

     “Well, this is obviously a dream,” Nicholas declared as he surveyed his surroundings. Even if the surroundings hadn’t made that fact obvious, he actually remembered going to sleep. After his unexpected run-in with Alice, he’d had Jerome and Eliza over to talk strategy, done a few hours of work, and then gone to bed. It was impossible to know how long had passed since he’d slipped into unconsciousness, but to him, the transition from waking to fog-world had been instantaneous.

     “Of course it’s a dream,” said a voice that was perfectly familiar, yet hauntingly different. Nicholas turned around to find a person sitting on a chair next to a coffee table, despite the fact that neither had been there moments prior. He wore unassuming garb: shorts and a t-shirt that would have been uncomfortable had this been an actual place instead of a mental image. The only remarkable things about him were the sunglasses on his face and his mirror-like resemblance to Nicholas.

     Nicholas arched an eyebrow, and then made his way over. As he approached, the fog swirled upward, and moments later, another chair waited. This one was leather, with fine craftsmanship. It resembled the chairs Ms. Pips kept in the more prestigious areas of the casino. In contrast, the sunglasses-clad young man sat in an overstuffed green one that Nicholas recognized, yet could not place.

     “It’s from the Melbrook common room,” said the young man, clearly reading something on Nicholas’s face.

     “I see.” Nicholas took his own seat, enjoying the sensation of a well-crafted piece of furniture. After a moment of savoring, he leaned forward and set his eyes on the man before him.

     “So,” Nicholas Campbell began, keeping his expression inscrutable. “What is all this?”

     “You act like I’ve got all the answers,” Nick Campbell replied, eschewing inscrutability in favor of a wickedly wide grin.

     “This is too lucid and logical for a dream, which leaves hallucination or mental invasion. I’m confident enough in my self-awareness to know whether my mind has been compromised, and must therefore conclude that this is something triggered from within.”

     “Don’t be too cocky about that self-awareness,” Nick warned. “Rich swept the rug out from under me last year.”

     “Yes, I read that in your notes. Forgive me, but I feel perhaps that happened because you were a bit . . . unfocused,” Nicholas retorted.

     “Jesus, is this what it’s like talking to me? No wonder we didn’t have many friends.”

     Nicholas scowled. “We do not have friends. We have marks and the Family, nothing else.”

     “Aren’t you just a breath of fun,” Nick remarked. “Here’s the deal, Mr. Serious. From what I can tell, I’m a vestige of your memories, of the self you became in your two years at Lander. I have all the memories you can’t access, and I’m a different person because of that. Now, the plan was for me to get wiped out, but it seems there was a small, metaphorical crack left in the wall around your memories. Hence, me.”

     “Unexpectedly sloppy work from a Lander professor,” Nicholas noted.

     “No, you should assume it was intentional,” Nick corrected. “The staff here are not the sort of people that should be underestimated.”

     “Very well then, that begs the question of why.”

     “My best guess is they figured I might know something they’d be interested in, so they kept it accessible.”

     “Don’t be daft, that much was obvious,” Nicholas scoffed. “I meant, why you are only now appearing? The procedure occurred months ago.”

     “Look who is calling whom daft,” Nick scoffed right back. “Why am I now appearing? That is the question with the obvious answer.”

     Nicholas let out a long breath, watching the fog at his feet dance from the breeze. “The girl. Alice.”

     “Ding-ding-ding, let’s give me a prize!” Nick declared.

     “You’re something of an ass,” Nicholas informed him. “So, the girl triggered your appearance. What does that tell us?”

     “It tells us that my coming here is either based on intense emotion or meeting back up with our friends,” Nick ventured.

     “Emotion . . . yes, we need to discuss that. I cannot help but feel that your notes were somewhat lacking, given my unexpected reaction to Alice Adair.”

     Nick’s face grew serious, his smile vanishing as easily as the fog drifting across his legs. “Are you surprised? Did you really expect me to put something like that down? Our vaults are secure, but nothing is impregnable. If it got out that I was indulging in such sentiment, what do you think would have happened to us?”

     “Point taken,” Nicholas acquiesced. “Are you sure you weren’t worried about someone using her to get to us, though?”

     Nick’s smile returned, bringing with it a small wave of nostalgia. It swept across the table between them, washing over Nicholas and filling him simultaneously with longing and confusion. “Alice can take care of herself. On top of being the daughter of a man with more wealth and power than some countries, she is a powerful Super. No, someone would have attacked her through us long before they’d ever successfully endanger Alice Adair.”

     “I’ll have to take your word for it,” Nicholas grumbled. This version of him was irritating. It had his mind and his training, but it was clearly clouded with attachments and emotions. No wonder it had decided to self-terminate and reset to a more efficient model.

     “On her strength, yes, but not on everything,” Nick said. He reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a small, glowing orb. “The rest you’ll have to earn, but the first one is always free.”

     “What is that?”

     “You know what it is. Something I smuggled over from across the divide. A clue to the puzzle I left you with, or perhaps a trap to lead you away from the answers. It’s a memory.”

     “One of my memories,” Nicholas said, eyes wide as he stared at the orb.

     “No,” Nick told him. “One of mine.”

     Nicholas felt the urge to reach forward and take it, but he pulled himself back. “How do I know I even want that thing?”

     Nick laughed at him, clear and hearty and with far more exuberance than Nicholas believed he’d be capable of managing.

     “Of course you want it,” Nick said, still chuckling lightly. “Curiosity is our biggest weakness. We always want to know more than anyone else, to be a spider in the center of a web spun from information. You want it so badly that you're suppressing the small twitch in our right eye we get when we’re excited. Even though you know it might be dangerous to have, you still want it. And guess what? It’s all yours.” Nick reached out, setting the golden orb on the table between them.

     “You’re trying to goad me into action,” Nicholas accused.

     “I’m trying to cut the bullshit,” Nick countered. “We both know you’re going to take it, and seeing as you’re the only person here, there’s no need to pretend you’re resisting.”

     Nicholas contemplated debating him, then realized Nick was right. He would take the orb; all he did by delaying was burn time. In certain situations, that was a valid tactic. This was not one of them. Nicholas reached his deft fingers forward, pausing inches from the orb’s surface.

     “You said I’d have to earn the others.”

     “Only the first taste is free,” Nick confirmed. “You know how these things work.”

     “Should I be worried about what that will entail?”

     “You’ll worry no matter what I say. Take the damn orb.”

     Nicholas grabbed it in his fist, surprised at the unexpected warmth flowing from it. His world began to melt away, the fog replaced with sand, emptiness with twinkling stars, and silence with the sound of crashing waves.

     “See you next time,” Nick called from an unseen location. Then he was gone, and Nicholas fell completely into a memory of him and Alice walking along a beach at night, and the conversation that followed.

     65.

     That Friday, Vince’s Close Combat trial was the final first-round test for any of the Melbrook students. Mary and Alice had both placed exceptionally well in all of theirs, with Mary dominating Focus and Alice easily crushing her adversaries in Control. Vince had fared decently in Ranged Combat, however, his imprecise and somewhat slow shots had left him well-outstripped by the quicker students. Aware of his need to impress those watching, Vince walked into Friday’s class ready to fight the devil himself if needed.

     “Vince Reynolds,” Professor Fletcher called, pulling him from the observation room. “I want to see you against Murray, Riley, and Castillo.”

     Vince walked out to the center of the room, followed closely by Jill, Adam, and Thomas. He moved to the middle of the battle circle, while the others took their places in a triangular pattern around him. All of them wore serious expressions, though Thomas seemed to be visibly nervous, unlike the others. This was all well within the expected standard of HCP attitudes pre-battle, though, with the exception of two slight variations. Thomas’s hands were shaking ever so slightly, and Vince’s expression had grown uncharacteristically stoic. Few noticed these oddities, but the ones who did were keen enough to deduce the implications almost immediately.

     As Professor Fletcher reviewed the rules, Chad and Roy stood in the observation room, their rapt attention focused on the ensuing conflict.

     “What’s your bet?” Roy asked.

     “Ordinarily, this situation would result in an expedient loss for Vince,” Chad replied flatly. He didn’t want to see his future dormmate lose; however, if loss was what made him better, then it was a necessary process.

     “Ordinarily,” Roy agreed. “Although, if he can steal Thomas’s energy again . . .”

     “That would indeed shift the dynamic,” Chad surmised. “But I suspect Vince has not had much opportunity to practice such a technique.”

     “Thomas didn’t exactly jump up and down to volunteer himself,” Roy confirmed.

     “Still, that is not the anomaly in this match that will affect the outcome.”

     “You talking about how serious Vince looks? Usually, he goes into these things a little more cheerful.”

     “Partially,” Chad replied. “The implications of his demeanor lead me to believe he will fight well, but still lose. No, the difference in this match will be based on a single element—fear.” The students in the circle began to move, and both young men gave the match their full attention.

     As soon as it started, Jill leapt forward. Her suit whirred constantly, the servos and synthetic muscle amplifying every motion she made. She was confident in her suit; she knew Will’s creations could stand up to a little rough-housing. Generally, Jill liked to work to the opposite of her opponent’s style. If they fought up-close, she’d hit from a distance, and if they were good at range, then she would get in their face. Vince, unfortunately, also possessed such versatility, so there was no such basic strategy that would make him easy prey. In the end, the choice boiled down to which would be more effective. After last year’s display, she knew his ranged powers were too damn strong. Better to get right next to him.

     Hot on her heels was Adam, clearly intent on copying his opponent rather than his allies. It was not a terrible strategy, since, without the suit, Jill was nearly powerless, and Thomas’s power was strong enough to not require a duplicate. Fighting absorption with absorption: that was one Adam knew could turn the tides of battle.

     Thomas glowed as his energy flowed around him, bright circles appearing on each of his hands. With two of them going in close, Thomas knew his place was striking at a distance, keeping Vince off-balance. He took deep breaths, trying to keep his focus as Jill and Adam drew near. He just had to wait for a good moment to strike. That’s what he kept telling himself. Just wait for the right moment.

     Vince, meanwhile, stood unmoving at his spot in the center. His eyes were half open, and his hands were at his sides. If his strange behavior worried Jill or Adam, neither showed it by slowing down. Jill’s pace increased, the power in her suit driving her forward. She came within range and wound up, throwing a massive punch at Vince’s shoulder. It very nearly made contact; in fact, it was only inches away from shattering his collarbone.

     But, just as Jill punched, Vince moved. It was a small step to the side, but it was enough to take his shoulder out of her range. She had just enough time to wonder how he’d reacted so quickly before Jill noticed Vince's hand resting on her forearm. A moment later, the screens in front of her eyes went dark. She reached out to her suit, trying to uncover what had gone wrong. Understanding dawned in the darkness as she realized that her suit, the ingenious invention that Will had spent days, if not weeks, working on, had gone dead. With a single touch, Vince had drained every drop of power it had, leaving her imprisoned in her own armor.

     All Adam saw was Jill miss her punch and freeze. He kept expecting the techno-armored girl to move as he drew close, but she remained as lifeless as a politician’s conscience. He redirected himself, spinning around her, using the still suit as a barrier so he could come at Vince’s other side. Adam had skills: he was adaptable, trained, and talented, especially at melee fighting. What he didn’t have, however, was nearly three months of recent experience against a merciless opponent.

     Just as he rounded Jill’s frozen form, Adam felt Vince’s boot deposit itself in his stomach. The kick had been fast, aiming for the precise moment when he’d have to shift from turning to charging. Adam coughed loudly, but stayed standing. He hadn’t made it through two years of HCP training to be undone by a single kick.

     The bolt of electricity, on the other hand, was more than enough to do him in. Adam collapsed on the ground, and Vince stepped over his body.

     From across the circle, Thomas felt the opportunity as much as he saw it. There was an instant, a single second between blasting Adam and shifting his focus, when Vince was totally vulnerable. One focused blast would be enough to take the silver-haired student out of the fight. There wasn’t even a need to feel guilty; two out of three opponents was a fine showing. It was the perfect opportunity for Thomas to seize a win. He focused his power, lined up the shot . . .

     And froze.

     The feeling, the horrible, sickening feeling of losing the energy that was as much a part of him as his beating heart was all that Thomas could focus on. If he fired, Vince might drain it again. All rationale, the knowledge that it had been a different Vince, fluttered out of Thomas’s head. It could happen. He could get drained again. That thought alone roared through his mind, deafening all other possible responses.

     The bolt of electricity hit Thomas dead in the shoulder, sending him reeling to the ground. As he fell, his terror was replaced with shame. Not just about the blown opportunity, but about what he felt when he collapsed to the concrete. Even though he’d been burned by the bolt and bruised by the impact, Thomas was overwhelmed with relief. At least he hadn’t been drained.

     “Winner, Vince Reynolds,” Professor Fletcher announced.

     “Told you,” Chad said, back in the observation room. “The deciding factor in this match was fear.”

     66.

     Alice decided not to overdress for her date. She was tempted to; a very real desire burned in her to pull out all the stops and show up at her date’s door looking so good she literally struck him mute. Had it been Nick, Alice would have charged forward with the plan at full tilt. She would have taken a special, lovingly malicious glee in forcing him to spend the whole night playing it cool while pretending like he wasn’t paying attention to her dazzling form. But she wasn’t going out with Nick. She was going out with Nicholas, and he simply didn’t fill her with the same playful joy she would have gotten from spending a night with Nick.

     That thought rested heavily on her mind as she pulled her car into a parking space outside Nicholas’s apartment. Alice pulled down the mirror and checked her makeup once more. It was fine, as always, subtle and well-applied, the perfect complement to her pastel green dress. For Nick, she would have chosen something bolder. Then again, she wouldn’t have had to ask Jill to dig through records to get Nick’s address, either. The two of them could have just left from Melbrook, enduring sappy advice from Vince, stern warnings from Mary, and good-natured teasing from Hershel or Roy. None of that was happening, though. Instead, the others were helping Chad get moved in to Nick’s old room, and Alice was chasing the ghost of her feelings by going out with the quasi-stranger who had inherited Nick’s body.

     She stepped out of her car, straightened the skirt of her dress, and put her game-face on. This was still something. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was better than the ache of missing Nick that she’d been dealing with for the last several months. Nicholas had become Nick once. There was always the chance that he could eventually grow into him again. If that possibility existed, she wanted to nurture it along, and she damn sure wanted to be there when it came to fruition.

     This wasn’t perfect, but she still chose it over nothing.

     *              *              *

     Eliza let out a soft whistle as she stared out the window of Nicholas’s apartment. The gentleman of the hour stood in the bathroom, door ajar, as he carefully inspected himself one last time. Despite his knowledge that the purpose of this evening was information gathering, that damned memory Nick had slipped him kept popping up, unbidden, in his head. Each time it did, an accompanying sensation of anxiousness and excitement materialized as well, which drove him to the current state of fastidiousness regarding his appearance.

     “Not too bad,” Eliza called back to him. “And she looks a far sight higher-class than the girls you always hound in the casinos. What the hell does she see in you?”

     “I am known for being charming,” Nicholas replied, emerging from the bathroom. Jerome sat on the couch silently, watching Nicholas as he passed. Ordinarily, Nicholas would have preferred to ready himself in solitude; however, the extenuating circumstances of his situation had demanded he call in Ms. Pips tag-alongs. “Are you two suitably prepared?”

     “For the fifth time, yes,” Eliza said, rolling her eyes. “We wait five minutes, then follow the tracker you’ve got on you. Jerome and I hang back, stay out of sight, and only emerge if Nathaniel makes a move.”

     “And if the tracker should go dead?” Nicholas prodded.

     “Call immediately, get your current location, and stay as close as necessary to ensure you both are watched over,” Eliza quickly replied. “Jerome and I know the plan; this isn’t our first covert bodyguard job. What’s got you so on edge? For all Nathaniel knows, you’re just after some tail; there’s no reason to think he’ll definitely make a move.”

     If Nicholas answered honestly, he’d have told them he wasn’t entirely sure what had him so nervous, but he suspected it was predominantly due to the fact that he had feelings for this girl. That meant he cared about her safety, and the idea of exposing her to danger twisted a part of his stomach he hadn’t even known existed. Nick could have told him what that part was; unfortunately, Nick’s counsel was not so easily obtained.

     “The girl is the daughter of a very wealthy, powerful man,” Nicholas informed Eliza. “Endangering her could lead to extremely severe consequences, both for myself and for our Family. Her safety is paramount in this evening’s outing, higher priority than my own.”

     Eliza cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not sure we’re permitted to make that sort of prioritization.”

     Nicholas readied himself to defend the decision, but Jerome came to his aid before it was necessary.

     “Nicholas is right,” Jerome agreed. “Though it was unnecessarily risky for him to make a date with someone so connected while in this situation, we should put the girl’s safety first. No one of us is more important than protecting the Family as a whole. Injury to her could impact all of us; something bad to Nicholas will only affect him, as well as possibly you and I.”

     “Great, so now she’s more important than all three of us,” Eliza sighed.

     Nicholas pointedly avoided commenting on how important Alice was. That was information they didn’t need to know—plus, he wasn’t entirely sure of it himself. One memory didn’t mean everything. There were certainly countless others that would shine different lights on the relationship he’d once had with this girl. Surely some of them would quiet the uncertainty whispering in his mind. Since it seemed the only way to access those was to push forward, Nicholas steeled his resolve and prepared for the date.

     A single chime echoed through the apartment—the sound of a doorbell. Eliza and Jerome slipped soundlessly into the back room, Eliza touching one finger to the watch on her wrist to assure him she was keeping an eye on the time. Nicholas waited the few seconds it took for them to vanish, then pulled open the front door to greet his guest.

     *              *              *

     In the parking lot below, a man who had been elbow-deep in the engine of his truck only moments before was making a greasy-fingered phone call while hunched in the shadows.

     “Yeah, the apartment you told me to watch. Someone new just showed up. It’s a girl. No, a different one. Blonde, tall, green dress. She’s not going in. It looks like they're talking in the doorway. Wait, hang on, now the guy’s coming out and locking the door. They’re going somewhere.”

     The man paused, listening intently to the voice on the other end of the call.

     “I can do that. Just tell Nathaniel to make sure the cash is ready.” He closed the phone quickly, then produced a new tool from the open box at his feet and headed back to the truck’s exposed engine. It was as perfect a camouflage in a college parking lot as a white coat in a snow bank. As the blonde in the green dress and the young man got into her car and drove off, they did so under the man’s watchful eye. Only when he was sure they were gone did he wipe off his hands and set about his next task.

     67.

     “So, what made you pick a horror movie?” Nicholas asked as Alice’s car sped quickly through a yellow light, barely passing the other side before it turned red. If she noticed or cared about the crime nearly-committed, nothing on her face gave it away.

     “You liked horror movies,” she replied truthfully. “I can barely think of a single gathering you didn’t try to hijack and fill with a low-budget gore-fest.”

     “If that’s true, it still doesn’t account for why you chose one as our evening’s destination,” Nicholas pointed out. “Something more suited to your own tastes might have been more enjoyable.”

     “I . . . I don’t think I want to answer that question just yet,” Alice said, after a slight pause. Maybe, if things went well, she’d tell him why she’d decided to sit through a terrible horror movie rather than take in a piece with actual artistic or entertainment value. Maybe, but not yet. That bit of truth would have to be earned.

     “All right then, let’s change topics,” Nicholas said graciously. “Why risk speaking to me at all? Surely you’re worried I could blow your secret identity and get you tossed from the program. After all, you’ve revealed yourself as an HCP student to someone outside the program.”

     Alice actually laughed at that idea, a muffled sound from under her breath. “You know, I thought about that when I decided to come find you. I even felt a little afraid of the possibility for about half a second. Then I realized that there was no way you’d risk doing something like that.”

     “Risk? There is no risk at all on my part,” Nicholas pointed out. “There are no consequences to outing an HCP student.”

     “None from the program or the school, sure,” Alice agreed. “But you and I spent two years together, none of which you remember. Now, I’m sure you’ve got some way to recompile information or something—that sounds like classic Nick—however, what you probably didn’t record are all the secrets I gleaned about you during that time. You don’t know how much I know, so there’s no way you’d risk pissing me off and finding out if it’s enough to get you in trouble with your people back home.”

     “Valiant attempt at a bluff,” Nicholas informed her. “Unfortunately, you failed to create a believable scenario. No version of myself would ever betray secrets dire enough to put me in jeopardy.”

     “Maybe not intentionally, but you seem to forget that you lived under the same roof as a telepath for two years. One who has no scruples about constantly listening to our idle thoughts. One who is my best friend in the world, and who will happily give me dirt for vengeance, if it’s called for,” Alice pointed out, taking a smooth left at speeds bordering on unsafe. If not for her exceptional handling of the vehicle, Nicholas might have found himself fearing a wreck. Instead, his terror was reserved for the possibility of what Mary might have overheard during his years residing with her.

     “I accounted for that risk,” Nicholas lied lamely.

     “Sure you did,” Alice replied, tone confident and even. Will might currently be the best in Subtlety, and Nick had surely held the crown before him, but no one could accuse Alice Adair of slacking off in her efforts. “And just so we’re clear, you should never use yourself as a litmus test for what Nick would have done. He did things that you would never consider viable options. Nick was closer to one of us than one of you.”

     “Such high praise. You must have been quite taken with him,” Nicholas said, keeping his own voice calm. For some reason, being verbally accosted by Alice did not leave a pleasant taste in his mouth.

     “I think I spent more time hating, distrusting, being annoyed at, or outright loathing Nick than anyone else in our group,” Alice admitted. “Yes, I was taken with him. He was an outright unapologetic ass more times than anyone has a right to be, but he was one of us. When it mattered, he was one of us.” The car made a light squeal as Alice accelerated into the parking lot and quickly located a space.

     This multiplex was located near the outskirts of town. The faded neon glow fell through the windows of Alice’s car, painting the whole interior in unnatural hues. A few other cars decorated the parking lot—there was only so much demand for obscure B-grade films, instead of Hollywood blockbusters, after all. In a way, the building was almost creepier than the movies it showed, years of neglect succeeding where poor special effects failed.

     “And what am I?” Nicholas asked, staring at Alice, her blonde hair almost appearing green in the neon light.

     “I don’t know,” Alice said, staring at her steering wheel. Maybe this whole thing had been a bad idea. Nicholas was making her miss Nick more, not less. She’d chosen to go see a stupid horror movie because it was where Nick would have tricked her into going, if they’d ever gotten a first date. But they didn’t; they’d had two years together, and she’d let so many chances to step up and advance their relationship slip away. Then, one day, there were no more chances. She wouldn’t risk doing nothing again. At least this time, she’d see what possibilities were there.

     “I don’t know what you are,” Alice repeated. “That’s why we’re going on a date. I want to find out.”

     “I suppose that’s fair,” Nicholas acquiesced, popping open his door and stepping out into the neon-filled night.

     Alice took a moment to compose herself, then followed. In the brief time she hesitated, Nicholas covertly checked his phone to see if there were any messages from Eliza. It came up clean, so he pocketed the small electronic device. Eliza and Jerome were both pros; if they were staying silent, it meant everything was going to plan. Evidently, Nathaniel was still keeping his distance. That was a good thing; Nicholas had no desire to see his night ruined by the orange-eyed freak.

     *              *              *

     In the parking lot of Nicholas’s apartments, the flames were finally dying down as firemen doused the smoldering car liberally with water. Several police were on the scene, taking a quick scan of the area and immediately noting the tell-tale signs of a bomb. The car it had destroyed was a mid-size sedan, unremarkable in color or model. In fact, there was only one feature about the vehicle that distinguished it from the other automobiles in the parking lot, aside from having just been incinerated.

     Warped by heat and thrown several feet from the blast was the car’s rear license plate. That was not the oddity, though, the thing that made it stand out. Every other vehicle around had California plates, but these weren’t from the golden state.

     This car had possessed license plates from Nevada.

     68.

     The movie was pretty much exactly as terrible as both of them had expected it to be. Unfortunately, it was also a tense affair, since, as awkward as conversation between the two had been, silence turned out to be even worse. The fact that they were the only two people in the theater certainly didn’t help things much, and by the time the credits rolled, Alice and Nicholas both breathed a sigh of slight relief to be done with it.

     The parking lot was even emptier than when they’d gone in—not surprising given the late hour and the poor options available for viewing. Still, the neon glow from the marquee lit the lot well, and neither felt particularly in danger as they walked toward Alice’s car. For Nicholas, this was because he erroneously believed he still had people watching over him. For Alice, her confidence came from surviving two years in the HCP and being very sure of her own abilities. In this manner, she was not the first Super to be caught unaware and overconfident, nor would she be the last.

     The slight pop of sound was all the warning they received, and it was woefully inadequate. Nicholas felt the pinch of pain in his neck, immediately recognizing the sensation as a dart entering his skin. A cold, numb feeling began to flow through his veins. He barely made it another two steps before his feet refused to respond correctly. All Nicholas could do was twist his body as he began to fall, getting line of sight on his assailant. Even though the tall form was some distance away, the glowing orange eyes immediately gave away its identity.

     “Alice,” Nicholas grunted, the unknown poison making his tongue slow and heavy. “Run.”

     “No, Alice, was it? I must insist that you stay.” Nathaniel’s voice rang out across the parking lot as he gracefully stepped closer. Strangely, he was dressed better than either of them in a black suit paired with an orange button-down that clashed horribly with his flickering eyes. “I think our little party just wouldn’t be the same without you.”

     Alice took in the scene, the initial sense of panic and surprise quickly fading as she assessed the situation. There was a dart sticking out of Nicholas’s neck, and from the way he had fallen, it appeared he was at least partially paralyzed. The young man advancing on them wore an expression of unmasked hatred; there was no question he was intent on doing Nicholas serious harm. Probably her as well, judging from his statement. Given his eyes, he was either a Super or a Powered, and not knowing his ability put her at a huge risk. On the upside, the small black gun in his hand couldn’t possibly hold more than one dart of that size at a time. It meant he’d have to reload—an opportunity she would never give him—and he’d used his first shot to take out Nicholas instead of the blonde date he surely assumed was no threat. Alice let a light smile wash over her face. He was going to regret the hell out of that decision.

     “Party, huh?” Alice dropped her purse to the ground and stepped out of her heels in a practiced motion known only to debutantes and pageant queens. Her hands came up to her ears, deftly removing the modest earrings she’d selected for her night out. “What makes you think I want to party with a guy like you?”

     “Given that you’re out with Nicholas, you clearly don’t have high standards,” Nathaniel rebutted. He looked over at his nemesis. “Really, Nicholas, I did warn you that I was specifically here to take away everything you wanted. I give you the courtesy of a warning, and then you stroll out to a nearly deserted location with such a fine-bodied harlot. It’s almost like you didn’t think I meant it.”

     “Did you just fucking call me a whore?” Alice asked, an unexpected wave of anger washing over her mind.

     “I actually said harlot—”

     “I know what harlot means, you son of a bitch.” Alice tested her range of movement in her dress by carefully stepping back. She could use her footwork, but kicks were out of the question. That was all right, her hand-to-hand skills were likely more than adequate. She might not be allowed to use her powers, but two solid years of training and fighting had left her with plenty of mundane ass-kicking options. Then again, this fellow wasn’t under the same constraints as she was.

     “Hey, what’s his power?” Alice asked Nicholas, making no attempt to whisper or hide her question.

     “Fear,” Nicholas wheezed out. His eyes kept scanning the area; they were the only part of him able to function with some degree of normality. Where the hell were Eliza and Jerome?

     “You can stop looking for your backup,” Nathaniel told him. “I see you searching all over for them, but they were unexpectedly detained by a very inconvenient car explosion.”

     Strangely, his words had a more chilling effect on Alice than Nicholas. She’d been expecting a fight, and understood this person was an asshole, but she hadn’t truly grasped what was on the line until he’d casually admitted to murdering people. Her anger at his words faded instantly. This wasn’t a place for petty emotions. Alice was fighting for her life. No, for both Nicholas’s and her life. It was different from every match she’d been in so far. There was no safety net, no agreed-upon rules: this was win, or die. This, she realized, deep down in the core of her being, was what she’d signed up for. This was what it was like to fight as a Hero.

     It said volumes about the character of Alice Adair that, upon reaching a moment that had broken the will of many before her, the idea of running away never even entered her mind.

     Instead, she dashed forward, quickly closing the gap between her and the assailant. She was quick, but without super-speed, there was no way to be fast enough to not give him time to prepare. Nathaniel was ready when she arrived, sending a long-legged kick right for her midsection. Alice side-stepped it easily, countering with an open-palmed strike at his eye. Nathaniel dodged, barely, and still received a blow to the temple for his trouble. He darted backward quickly, faster than Alice could follow in her dress.

     “You’ve got spunk,” Nathaniel complimented. “I think that’s enough of that, though.” He reached into her mind and found the biggest, oldest fear she had, the one that had dominated the majority of her life. With a minor exertion of will, he activated it, filling her brain with an illusion that was sure to send her into fits of terror.

     To Alice, she went from fighting the orange-eyed man in the parking lot to tumbling through the air, miles above the ground and quickly dropping in an instant. It was the nightmare she’d had ever since she was a little girl: she’d floated too high and was now falling, dying the way any Powered with flight ultimately would.

     Back in reality, Nathaniel felt the burst of fear come from the girl, filling him with strength and energy. He turned to Nicholas, who was clumsily clawing at the ground, trying to pull himself up.

     “Let . . . Alice . . . go . . .”

     “I highly doubt I’ll be doing anything of the sort,” Nathaniel replied, lazily ambling over to the man who’d bested him year after year for the entirety of their lives. Seeing him sprawled out helpless on the ground warmed Nathaniel with a great glow of satisfaction. He couldn’t wait to hear Nicholas begging for his life. Or, perhaps, for the life of the girl. “I think she’ll be a great addition to our evening. I must say, you do have fine taste in women. Even among the gaggles of women in Vegas, you have a knack for pulling out the most beautiful ones.”

     “Vegas, huh?”

     Nathaniel felt a strange prickle of worry run down his spine at the sound of that voice. He turned around to find Alice staring at him with a dark humor in her eyes, clearly no longer bound by the illusion.

     “If you’re one of his Vegas enemies, then that makes this a lot easier,” Alice said, mentally flexing her own abilities in preparation. If Nathaniel was from Vegas, then he wouldn’t be aware of the rules for the HCP, including the ones precluding the use of abilities or maintaining secret identities.

     “Do not underestimate—”

     “Save it,” Alice interrupted. “This fight is already over. You just don’t know it yet.”

     69.

     “How did you break out of my nightmare?” Nathaniel asked, regarding Alice far more warily than he had before.

     “That two-cent illusion? Please, that kind of piss-poor power won’t hold someone like me. So, what’s your deal, you make people hallucinate their fears?”

     “Feeds . . . off . . . them . . .” Nicholas added from his prone position on the ground.

     “Not sure what that means, but it doesn’t really matter,” Alice said, keeping her eyes fixed on Nathaniel. “Because you picked the wrong fear.”

     “Did I?” A wild grin cut across Nathaniel’s face, the orange glow from his eyes reflecting slightly off the veneers of his teeth.

     “Yeah, you did. You had me tumbling toward the ground from a mile or so up, spinning helplessly out of control.” Alice returned his expression with a dazzling grin all her own. It would not have looked out of place plastered on the cover of a magazine, worn by an airheaded celebrity. All the same, it filled Nathaniel with a sense of unexpected dread, which only served to prove he wasn’t quite as stupid as Nicholas thought him to be.

     “Your turn.” At Alice’s softly spoken words, Nathaniel blasted off into the air, a short yelp of surprise and an expression of unmitigated panic the last they could see before he rose out of sight. Alice turned to Nicholas, who was trying in vain to pull himself off the parking lot asphalt. “Are you going to be all right? Should I get you to a hospital?”

     Nicholas shook his head. “Short . . . term . . . paralyze . . . not . . . poison.” The one upside to his current, near-incapacitated state was that he didn’t have to explain how he was so well versed in the effects of various drugs and poisons.

     “Good.” Alice smiled at him, not the false grin she’d given Nathaniel, but a genuine expression of affection. This also induced a feeling of dread, though for very different reasons. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

     She looked up at the sky, where Nathaniel was now suspended in a zero-gravity field. Her summer with Mary truly had improved her level of control beyond what she’d ever expected. Last year’s final match had been a hell of a motivator. She just hoped it would be enough to see this through to the end.

     “Stay put for a second, I’ve got to finish this.”

     “No . . .” Nicholas protested, desperately willing his words to come out faster. She didn’t realize what she was doing, the danger she was stepping into.

     “Hush now,” Alice instructed. “You know as well as I do that if I leave it like this, he’s going to come back sooner or later. I realize you don’t remember, but this is sort of what we do.”

     “Dangerous . . .”

     “Life is dangerous,” Alice replied, rising a few feet from the ground. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let someone come after one of us. Especially you. Now, shut up and watch, because today, the princess is going to be the one doing the saving.” She was off, soaring into the sky like a blonde bullet in a green metal casing.

     In that moment, as Nicholas took in her words and watched her fly, bursting through the light fog that had settled in the parking lot, he understood why Nick could have fallen for this girl.

     Nathaniel had nearly recovered from the initial shock of being hurled from the ground when Alice appeared, floating with graceful ease as she circled him. She was almost close enough for him to reach into her mind once more when an unexpected new force exerted itself on him, sending him into a rapid spin. He stayed put as he twirled in place, but the speed increased continually, and within a few moments, his dinner had exited through the entrance.

     “What’s wrong?” Alice called, close enough to be heard, but still out of physical reach. “Having trouble focusing that mental power in a spin cycle?”

     A quick retort was washed away in another burst of vomit that emerged as soon as Nathaniel dared to open his mouth. Mercifully, the spin slowed, and Nathaniel found himself merely floating at a deadly height and horribly dizzy, which spoke to how bad the previous situation had been, if this was an improvement.

     “Or, heck, maybe you’re smarter than you look,” Alice theorized. “Maybe you’ve realized the only thing stopping you from plummeting to the ground is me, and you aren’t certain if I’ll continue to be so gracious once I’m stuck in a hallucination.” In the back of her mind, she could practically hear Professor Pendleton’s advice: “Never use idle threats when intimidating someone, use rational outcomes.”

     Nathaniel hadn’t actually considered such a possibility; however, he was keenly aware of the point she raised as soon as the words left Alice’s mouth. With his ability rendered useless, Nathaniel decided to attack the girl through another venue.

     “Do you have any idea who you’re trifling with? I am Nathaniel Evers, member of one of the most powerful crime families in all of the Northwest. If you beg me for forgiveness, slowly, I might be willing to overlook your idiotic antics this evening.” Nathaniel waited for her to pale and tremble at the realization that she’d inadvertently bitten off a feud with real criminals.

     Instead, Alice threw back her head and laughed. Long, giggling peals of laughter that filled Nathaniel with a burning ember of hatred.

     “A gang? Or, sorry, mafia? That’s what you threaten me with? Motherfucker, my father keeps an entire private army on speed-dial, and he is not shy about using that button. You think I don’t know what I’m messing with? I could make three calls and have you bankrupt by morning. But I won’t do any of that, because I don’t need someone else to fight my battles. See, Nathaniel, you seem to think that this is a fluke, that you lost this one out of sheer bad luck.”

     Alice extended her hands, showing off the manicured, painted nails at the tips. “Not even a chip. That’s how little effort you are to me, Nathaniel Evers of the mafia; you didn’t even require me to chip a nail.”

     Nathaniel’s body began to spin again, but this time, it was a slow, deliberate movement. Alice matched his rotation, eyes gleaming in the moonlight as she stared at him.

     “Do you know why I had a strategy prepared specifically to incapacitate someone who induced hallucinations? Do you know why your shitty illusion couldn’t keep me fooled for more than a few seconds? Do you know why you have been so amazingly, miserably ineffective? Because, while I’m sure you’re hot shit in Vegas, this town is out of your league. While you steal, and plot, and do whatever it is that criminals do, I’m training. While you sleep, I’m training. While you obsess unhealthily over Nicholas Campbell, I’m already miles ahead of him, because I was training. You think your power makes you unstoppable, but that’s because you’ve only used it around humans or unskilled Supers. You’re like an idiot with a knife, one who kills unarmed people and thinks himself invincible. But you left your little town where you were so scary, and in this place, you won’t find such easy prey.”

     Alice was only a few feet away from him now. She exerted a gravitational field that pinned his arms to his sides, then leaned in, pressing her hand to his chest. Her lips continued forward, until they were only an inch away from his ear. She whispered to him, breath warm and words cold, filling Nathaniel with the sort of uncertain terror he hadn’t experienced since childhood.

     “Welcome to Lander. Here, there be monsters.”

     Alice pushed, sending Nathaniel in a downward arc to the ground. She took care with his descent; he would land in a nearby dumpster hard enough to bruise and perhaps break a bone or two, but nothing that would kill or permanently maim him. Alice had certain ethical standards to uphold.

     After all, she was training to be a Hero.

     70.

     “Well shit,” Alice sighed. “That does put kind of a damper on things, doesn’t it?”

     It had taken nearly an hour, but Nicholas had finally regained enough motor control to talk, and the first thing he’d told her with his rediscovered eloquence was the vital piece of information he’d tried to impart during the battle.

     “I would say it puts far more than ‘a damper’ on things,” Nicholas huffed. “Nathaniel is a student of Lander and lives in town. He is eligible to turn you in, informed enough to know about it, and spiteful enough to do it. Your entire HCP career could be gone by tomorrow morning.”

     Alice nodded, her hair somewhat tangled from the high winds she’d flown through. “Yeah, that would really suck.”

     The two were parked a few streets from Nicholas’s apartment, illuminated by the bright safety lights of a nearby gas station. Currently, they were waiting for word from Eliza that the area was safe to enter and that there were no more bombs waiting to be detonated.

     It seemed Alice and Nicholas weren’t the only ones who’d had a surprising evening. Nathaniel had spared no expense in contracting out local muscle to try and take down Nicholas’s guards/keepers. A car bomb had mildly winded Jerome, whose ability kept him safe from such things, but the armed thugs had presented a somewhat more time-consuming challenge, especially since they’d had to be dealt with out of sight from the police. Between them, cell phone jammers, and having to sweep for bombs, Nathaniel had succeeded in taking them temporarily out of the equation, though he’d surely have preferred if they were killed. Still, if he’d wanted that outcome, he should have hired far more or far stronger people. In Vegas, reputations like Jerome’s were earned for a reason.

     “Forgive me, but you appear to be strikingly apathetic about your precarious situation,” Nicholas observed.

     “I don’t want to get kicked out of the Hero Certification Program,” Alice said, turning toward him. “My friends are there, I’ve got a potential future ahead of me, and then there’s family stuff . . . . For a multitude of reasons, I don’t want it to happen. But it is what it is. I have no regrets about what I did tonight. What was my other option, let that psycho have his way with us? Hell fucking no.”

     “You could have run,” Nicholas pointed out.

     “Still would have used my power,” Alice countered.

     “Yes, but he wouldn’t have cared. You could have gotten away to safety and never risked your life or HCP standing.”

     “And all I would have had to do was leave a friend behind,” Alice surmised.

     “I’m not Nick. Your friend, all the memories and thoughts that comprised him, they’re all gone. I am a different person, and you owe me no such obligations.”

     “You know, Nick once convinced me to run away,” Alice said. She turned her eyes back out the window, staring into her memory rather than taking in the scenery. “It was during our freshman year, the labyrinth trial. He got me to leave Mary alone with Chad, convincing me that it was more prudent for us to stay out of her way. He wasn’t wrong, in a way, but I’ve never forgotten that feeling. How gut-wrenchingly awful it was to leave someone I cared about to an uncertain fate, while I scampered away to safety. That feeling, more than any other bit of motivation people have tried giving me, is what drove me to work so hard at getting stronger. I’m not leaving a friend behind, not ever again.”

     Nicholas considered a retort, but then thought better of it. “Sounds like Nick was quite convincing when he needed to be.”

     “He had his moments,” Alice agreed. She let out a soft, awkward cough, and changed the subject. “You’re sure your friend will be okay?”

     “Jerome is nothing if not durable,” Nicholas assured her. “We were fortunate that Eliza was not in the blast, though. Her power doesn’t afford such protections. As for the goons, they never stood a chance. No, the goal of that operation was to make me temporarily vulnerable. I’ll have to step up security measures so that Nathaniel doesn’t catch us unaware again.”

     “After the scare I gave him, I bet he’s already halfway to Vegas.” Alice chuckled.

     Nicholas let out a small laugh too, but inside, he felt far from humorous. It would take more than Alice’s gentle threats to dissuade Nathaniel Evers from a course of action.

     *              *              *

     Across town, in a luxury hotel room, Nathaniel had just finished putting away his laptop. All his research pointed to a single, inevitable conclusion: Alice was in the HCP. There was no other explanation for her level of power, skill, and combat proficiency. Nathaniel wondered if Nicholas realized he’d bagged one of the rare hidden treasures on campus. It was doubtful: Nicholas rarely cared for anything more than surface attractiveness, which Alice certainly had in spades.

     The orange-eyed young man sat at the desk in his hotel room, moving his long limbs into a triumphant stretch. The bruises from his landing were still sore, but the magic of revenge was already soothing the pain. In the morning, he would expose this girl as having used her powers, and she’d be tossed out. There were many darker, slower revenges Nathaniel might have utilized if given the chance, however, it was more prudent to take the sure-shot against someone of her capabilities.

     He’d just finished stretching when he felt a firm grip settle on both sides of his Adam’s apple. The door had not opened, and he’d heard no footsteps, so whoever was clutching his throat was undoubtedly a Super. He tried to stay calm and not allow memories of the night’s earlier defeat to cloud his judgment.

     “I am not some twenty-one-year-old trainee,” said a voice behind Nathaniel, presumably connected to the hand tightly holding his throat. It was male, spoken in a harsh whisper that would make it difficult to identify. “The second I sense any mental fuckery, see a single sign of an illusion being cast, I will tear your throat out. Gulp once, if you understand.”

     Nathaniel gulped, not that he needed much prompting. Growing up as he and Nicholas had, they were both acclimated to people of less-than-upstanding morals. That included the wetwork personnel, individuals whose entire occupation was predicated on their willingness to do things that had to be done, no matter the circumstances. Nathaniel had sat in with them before, and he noticed that, to a man, each had had the same demeanor when dealing with someone whose life hinged on their next words. They were not cruel, nor angry, nor forceful. They were perfectly calm, as though any of the potential outcomes would suit them fine; all that remained to be seen was which one occurred. Blood or compliance, there was no difference to those calm-voiced men.

     The voice behind him spoke in exactly such a measured, detached tone.

     “I know you’re thinking about paying the girl back for your loss by outing her. You aren’t going to do that. You’re going to forget all about her. Her name, what she looked like, that she had any powers at all. If she gets outed, by anyone, at any time, I will assume you had a hand in it, and I will kill you. Make sure you are clear on that. Alice gets outed, you die. Take all the precautions you like, but that is the sequence of events that will play out. Gulp once, if you understand.”

     Nathaniel gulped.

     “Good boy. Whatever you and Nick have going on, keep the girl out of it. She has far more dangerous friends than you do. If you see her, run. I don’t have to tell you what happens if you test me on this, do I?”

     Nathaniel gulped, this time unintentionally.

     “Glad we understand one another.”

     Then, just like that, the pressure was gone, and Nathaniel was free. He jumped from his seat and scanned the room, unsurprised to find it empty. He took a deep breath, an action rendered somewhat painful by the bruises forming on his throat, and reconsidered his plan of action.

     Alice had warned him she was connected. At the time, Nathaniel had taken it as bluster, but it seemed there was some truth to her words. Better not chance it, at least not until things with Nicholas were settled.

     71.

     Alice rose early Saturday morning, so early, in fact, that she interrupted Mr. Numbers and Mary playing their usual game of chess. By the time she’d gotten in the night before, everyone was sleeping, so there’d been no opportunity to give anyone a run-down of what had transpired on her date. Even a year ago, she might have kept the incident to herself, but after everything with Vince, she’d decided that keeping the higher-ups abreast of what had happened was for the best. She gave Mr. Numbers a complete account of the night’s activities, not bothering to ask Mary to leave, since the telepath would pick it up anyway.

     Mr. Numbers listened attentively, asking questions only when necessary, and otherwise letting Alice tell her account. Once she was done, he walked briskly to the apartment he shared with Mr. Transport, roused his sleeping friend, and escorted Alice to see Dean Blaine. He paused briefly to inform Mary that he remembered exactly where the pieces on the board were, and that he’d know if she moved them around. Mary swore an oath of chess-based morality, and then the two men in suits vanished, taking the still bed-headed blonde girl with them.

     Mary sat alone in the common room, a look of uncertainty on her face. She’d known Nicholas was on campus, and that Alice was intrigued by him, but the events of the evening didn’t quite add up against what she’d heard in his thoughts. With Mr. Numbers occupied, perhaps it was time to play a different kind of game.

     *              *              *

     “The good news is that you didn’t do anything illegal,” Dean Blaine informed her, once Alice finished giving him a run-down of the previous night’s happenings. He, Mr. Numbers, Mr. Transport, and Alice were all sitting in his living room, an informality he would never have tolerated in circumstances less dire than one of his students being attacked.

     Her eyes widened in surprise; evidently, that possibility hadn’t even occurred to her.

     “Fighting criminal Supers is the job of Heroes,” Dean Blaine reminded her. “There are very serious penalties for Supers who try and take up the job without proper certification.”

     “But . . . he was attacking my friend.”

     “I didn’t say the law was perfect, only that it was the law. Here, thankfully, it was rendered moot by your assailant's clearly-stated intent to do you harm. Supers cannot go looking for a fight, however, using their abilities in self-defense has been deemed within their basic rights,” Dean Blaine explained. “So, assuming you’re telling the truth, which we can confirm with a telepath if needed, there’s no reason you’d need to see any charges filed against you. That’s the good news.”

     “The bad news is that if he turns me in, I’m out,” Alice said.

     “Correct,” Dean Blaine confirmed. “While I don’t disagree with your use of power, the secret identity rule is an HCP standard for good reason. It teaches you restraint, how to live and blend in among humans, gives you a clean slate to launch a Hero career from, and most of all, educates you on how to solve problems without resorting to your abilities. What you did, while understandable, does put you at risk. But there is a bright spot to consider.”

     “I’ll take what I can get,” Alice said.

     “The man who learned about your powers did so while attacking you and another citizen,” Dean Blaine reminded her. “Busting a Super in the HCP is not a small thing, and we don’t take anonymous submissions. If he does come forward to expose you, he will be immediately arrested for assault, as well as any other crimes we can tie him to. From what you’ve told me, and what I know about Mr. Campbell’s previous lifestyle, there is a good chance Nathaniel Evers is smart enough to be aware of these consequences and avoid them. It would not surprise me at all if he never spoke of the incident to another soul.”

     “Not turning me in, maybe, but why would he keep the whole thing a secret?”

     It was Mr. Transport who filled in this gap for her. “The male ego, especially at your age, is a fragile thing. Even knowing he was beaten by someone undergoing Hero training, the thing he’ll most likely focus on is losing to a young, blonde girl.”

     “That’s idiotic,” Alice commented.

     “That’s boys, or at least boys in their late teens. Not everyone has their gender biases forcefully beaten out of them by trained professors,” Dean Blaine reminded her. “In this case, it could work to your advantage, so cross your fingers and hope that Mr. Evers is the prideful sort.”

     “There’s almost zero chance he isn’t,” Alice said. “Especially knowing he runs in the same circles as Nicholas.”

     “Ah yes, the other portion of the evening I wanted to speak with you about,” Dean Blaine said, jumping on her words immediately. “While there is no rule forbidding it, I trust you understand the risks you are taking by associating with Nicholas Campbell?”

     “Professor Stone went over them at length with me, and I made sure I was comfortable with them before I ever approached him.”

     “I was not speaking of risks related to the HCP,” Dean Blaine said, correcting her misassumption. “Nick Campbell, for all the strange wonder that he was, no longer exists as we knew him. You are not the first HCP student to try and reconnect with someone who has been forced out of the program. Even in cases less severe than his, it rarely ends well.”

     “Did you ever try to do it?”

     “Once,” Dean Blaine admitted. “A close friend I had during my freshman courses. I tried to reconnect with him, to rebuild a friendship on the ruins of his somewhat scattered memory. It wasn’t the gaps in his recollection that sank the efforts, however. It was the distance in the lives we were living. You don’t realize it, because all of your friends are in the HCP, but your world is tremendously different from a normal human’s. The gap between normality and your life is the hardest thing to overcome, even when dealing with people who used to be part of the HCP.”

     “You make it sound like connecting with any non-HCP students is impossible.”

     “Not impossible,” Dean Blaine said. His mind flashed on a memory of Miriam in her youth, the girl he hadn’t been able to keep with him as the HCP grew more intense. He’d failed to bridge that gap too, but Joshua had accomplished it, making it seem almost effortless. It could be done . . . by some. “Not impossible. Just very hard.”

     “I’d hardly be much of a future Hero if I shied away from a challenge,” Alice pointed out, her eyes set in determination.

     Dean Blaine smiled patiently. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t be.”

     72.

     Chad’s “Welcome to Melbrook” party consisted of a homemade dinner, prepared by Vince and Hershel, and took place in the common room so they could all eat together. The purpose of this was both to demonstrate the benefits of Melbrook living (easily accessible kitchen, comfy places to dine in), as well as letting him know that it was nice to have him there.

     The young blond man took everything with his usual detached politeness, though inwardly, he felt a touch overwhelmed. Chad had lived alone his entire time at Lander, and before that, he’d been the lone child of a single, working mother. Bustling, lively living spaces weren’t a thing he was accustomed to. When he felt that sensation rise up, though, Chad calmly reminded himself that such was exactly the reason he’d chosen to come live here in the first place. He needed to break out of his comfort zone.

     Once the food was eaten and the plates were dumped in the sink for consideration at a later time (in other words, whoever broke down and washed them first), the conversation turned to other options for the evening.

     “I’d say we could go to a club or something, but honestly, even Roy’s a little burned out on that now that he’s working at one,” Hershel said.

     “And if that’s how Roy feels, I doubt we even need to ask Alice and Chad,” Mary surmised. A nod from both confirmed her suspicion.

     “We could watch a movie,” Vince suggested.

     “Not a very social activity,” Hershel countered. The exception was the horror movies Nick had subjected them too, which fostered ample talking, complaining, and, of course, booing. “Is there anything happening on campus tonight?”

     “I don’t think so,” Mary said. “I mean, aside from the nightly dorm parties with poorly smuggled booze.”

     “That’s it!” Alice declared, rising up in her chair. “We should throw a party.”

     “It’s like nine already, and all we have to eat are leftovers,” Vince pointed out.

     “No, not tonight. Sorry, I was just drifting through things to do, and I realized the sophomore slash freshman party is coming up soon, and then I realized this is the first year we won’t get to go. That sort of bummed me out for a moment, until I realized Halloween was coming up, and Mary mentioned parties. We should throw a Halloween party.”

     “Tabling that for the moment, it doesn’t really help us figure out what we’re doing tonight,” Mary said.

     “What’s to figure out? None of us are big drinkers, save for Roy, so since we vetoed watching a movie, we’ll end up having some sort of board game tournament.”

     “You know, that actually does sound kind of a fun,” Hershel said.

     “I have no objections,” Chad said, presumably affirming the idea.

     “I’ll go see what we’ve got,” Vince volunteered. He rose from his seat and ambled over to a small closet, where a moderate selection of games sat on the upper shelf.

     “There, now that we’ve settled that, can we get back to my Halloween party idea?” Alice asked. Mary made a “go ahead” motion with her fingers, and that was all the incentive Alice needed. “Look, our Halloweens have traditionally sucked, right?”

     “Got jumped freshman year,” Vince supplied from the closet, where he was stacking boxes in his arms.

     “Right, then Nick, Mary, and I got brain-jacked last year,” Alice said. “What if, this time, we met Halloween on our terms? We reserve a nice section of tables at one of the local bars and throw a party for the juniors and seniors in the HCP. Not everyone will come, and even if they do, our numbers are pretty low, so we can easily fit everyone into a medium-sized space.”

     “It sounds to me like, when things take their usual turn, the difference will be that, this time, we’ll be left with the bill for damages,” Mary pointed out. “We do have bad luck on Halloween; no reason to tempt fate by upping the stakes.”

     “Actually, I think I’m with Alice on this one,” Hershel interjected. “All superstition aside, I feel like a party could be a good thing. This year has started off more tense than the others, and it’s only gotten worse. The first day was spent finding out which friends had gotten booted out of our lives; that’s some serious stuff. A party might be a good way to remind everyone about the friends they have left.”

     “I don’t object to the party idea. I’m just wondering why we have to be the ones to throw it,” Mary said. She was somewhat surprised that Hershel had disagreed with her, not because she expected unquestioning boyfriend loyalty, but because he was often the voice of reason alongside her.

     “Because we’re the ones who can,” Chad said. It surprised almost everyone in the room to hear him come down on the side of pro-party. He wasn’t known for cutting loose and getting wild. “We recognized the need for social bonding and stress relief, we have the resources to facilitate it, and we have no reason to suspect any other group in our year fulfills the first two criteria. Therefore, it is our duty to undertake the task.”

     “You just made getting half the class drunk sound surprisingly noble,” Alice complimented.

     “I fear Angela must be rubbing off on me,” Chad said, letting out a sigh that might have seemed genuinely depressing, if not for the slight smirk on his face.

     “Okay, since it seems like I’m outvoted here, can we at least be smart about this?” Mary asked. “Halloween is three weeks away. Let’s shop around, and see what our options are. Maybe we can find someplace reasonably private where we can at least minimize damage if things go wrong.”

     “That seems both prudent and easily accomplished,” Chad agreed.

     “Yahtzee!” Vince yelled. This confused everyone, until they noticed the bright red box in his hand. “No? Okay, we’ve got other stuff. Just seemed like a good one.”

     “Pick a few and bring them over,” Alice instructed. “In the meantime, I’m getting my laptop and looking up costume ideas. Mary, what size do you wear again?”

     Mary lifted a single eyebrow and somehow managed to scowl with the other one. “Why do you need to know that?”

     Alice said nothing, merely scampering out of the room with a mischievous gleam in her eye. Mary wondered if it was too late to request her own change of dorms.

     73.

     With the first round of trials over, life in the HCP settled back into the strange form of normality that occurred when you had dozens of highly skilled Supers training rigorously. For the junior class, little heed was paid to the outcome of the matches, beyond the personal lessons they’d learned. Training regimes were tweaked and new strategies conceived, but for most of the class, it was just like any other battle they’d endured at Lander: they moved past it almost as soon as it was over. There was one notable exception, however.

     Will glanced up from his worktable in surprise at the sound of a knock—generally, his roommates left him alone during construction time. He set down the soldering gun, but left his safety goggles on; no sense in taking them off if this would be a quick meeting. With a few steps, he reached the door and pulled it open. To his surprise, it was not one of his housemates on the other side. It was Camille.

     “Hey,” she greeted sheepishly. “I was wondering if you had a moment to talk.”

     “Of course,” Will said, opening his door the rest of the way. Camille stepped inside, unfazed by the sprawling collection of various electronics spread across the dwelling. It looked like a robot serial killer’s hidden lair, but she’d known Will since freshman year and was accustomed to his cluttered environment.

     “I don’t mean to interrupt,” Camille began. “I was over visiting Violet, and we started talking about last week’s Close Combat trials.”

     Will gave her a slight nod. The small girl’s upset, taking out Chad as well as Roy, had needed less than a single afternoon to spread throughout the class. Discovering the sweet little healer was actually packing serious power had left more than a few students rethinking what they believed they knew about their classmates.

     “Anyway, while I was complaining about the biggest weakness of my ability—skin on skin contact—it reminded me that I wanted to talk with you about finding something that could help.”

     “That depends,” Will said, considering his words carefully. “Are you looking for a way to use your ability without directly making contact with the other person?”

     “Well, that would be amazing,” Camille admitted. “But I doubt you’d have anything that could totally repurpose my power just lying around. What I really wanted to ask about was some sort of material that I could wear, but that would still let me use my ability. The stripping down bit is really freaking embarrassing.”

     Although Will had heard her ensemble described as no more revealing than a swimsuit, he understood that, for someone as bashful as Camille, it was still more than she wanted to show off. This would be especially true if she became a Hero and needed to use her power in the public eye.

     “You were correct in that I couldn’t completely remove the contact barrier of your ability. Well, actually, I might be able to, depending on how your ability works, and what I could come up with. It would, perhaps, be more prudent to say that, even if I could remove that limitation, I wouldn’t.”

     This time, it was Camille’s turn to nod. She and Will weren’t close friends, but they were friends. Still, they were also in competition with one another. That meant he would help with certain things, but he wasn’t going to give her such a supreme edge that it cost he or Jill their chances at graduation. It was one of the boundaries one had to observe when being friends with a tech genius.

     “The request for a more modest outfit, however, I will happily accommodate if possible,” Will continued. “There are no guarantees, obviously. Each power is different, and it may turn out that no combination of materials will allow you to utilize your abilities.”

     “I understand that,” Camille assured him. “Honestly, I’m just glad for any help you can give. I’d happily take skintight over skimpy.”

     “That’s a good thing, because your outfit will almost certainly fall into that category,” Will informed her. “I’ll need to make some testing equipment before we do a preliminary round of trials. We could start sometime next week?”

     “Wow, that’s really soon. I appreciate it.”

     Will gave her a reassuring smile. “The next trials will, presumably, be in December. I assumed you’d want to be clothed by then.”

     “Yes. Yes, I very much would,” Camille agreed.

     *              *              *

     Nicholas picked up the phone on its second ring. He sat in his apartment, quietly reading through some old files as the afternoon sun streamed through his window. The ringtone was Eliza’s, which gave him a mild sense of trepidation as he put the receiver to his ear. She had been less than pleasant ever since Jerome was roasted (albeit without injury) by a bomb, and she nearly killed by goons. He didn’t entirely get the attitude—it wasn’t as though lasting harm had actually come to either of them.

     “Got a new girl in the parking lot,” Eliza said as the call connected. Instantly, Nicholas shifted gears. This was not a mere harassment call; it was the sighting of someone in their complex who didn’t belong. Ever since his date with Alice, far more attention had been paid to those details.

     “Assessment?” Nicholas asked.

     “I think she’s a visitor,” Eliza replied. “She’s reading the numbers on the doors, but looks as though she’s not entirely sure what she’s looking for. Appears to be a student, arrived on foot from the direction of campus, so if she is a fake, she’s at least playing the part well.”

     “Any distinguishing characteristics?”

     “Nothing outstanding. Brunette, short, non-descript clothes. No purse or jewelry, not that that means much in the middle of a school day.”

     Short, brunette, and seemingly oblivious to things like fashion. A creeping suspicion gnawed at Nicholas’s gut. It was an easy theory to test. He focused on thinking about his apartment’s number, running through the digits several times.

     “She’s on the move,” Eliza informed him. “Coming up the stairs. Shit, she’s heading right for your place. Should Jerome and I intercept?”

     “No, Eliza, let her be. I’ve expected this visit since I arrived.” Nicholas ended the call, then rose from his seat, not bothering to put away the file. In a few long-legged strides, he crossed the apartment, opening the door just before the short brunette could knock.

     “Mary, I presume,” Nicholas greeted her.

     “And you must be Nicholas,” she replied, stepping inside. Nicholas closed the door firmly behind her. He didn’t need anyone overhearing this discussion.

     74.

     “To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected and inconvenient visit?” Nicholas asked. He noticed Mary walking slowly through his living room, taking in the decor with a careful eye. Clearly, she was looking for something, or things, yet he had no clue what she might be hoping to spot.

     “I was looking for pictures,” Mary stated without prompting. Nicholas blinked in surprise, then mentally adjusted. Understanding one was dealing with a telepath wasn’t the same thing as expecting one’s thoughts to be on open display. He wondered how Nick had gotten used to it.

     “He didn’t,” Mary said, ceasing her examination and settling down into a chair. “He just became tireless about marshaling his thoughts. There were slip-ups, of course—no one can control their every errant thought—but Nick came closer than I ever suspected anyone could.”

     “Impressive,” Nicholas replied. “Now, are you going to answer my question?”

     “I’m here to spy on you,” Mary said, not a single shred of guile in her voice. “I want to know your motives, I want to know your intentions, and I want to see if it’s safe to let you be around the others.”

     Nicholas stared at her for a moment, before taking his own seat in a chair across the room. Nick’s notes had warned him Mary was something of a busybody, so he’d expected her to make a play eventually. However, this was more overt than he’d anticipated from a skilled telepath.

     “I don’t know that you have the authority to stop me,” Nicholas pointed out.

     “I don’t need authority,” Mary replied. She smiled at him, her small stature and sweet expression making her appear as harmless as a kitten batting at a sunbeam. “I have power. That’s all the authority you would respect, anyway.”

     “I’m abreast of the rules regarding HCP students and keeping their identities secret. Whatever bargaining pieces you may think you have, rest assured I possess plenty of my own.”

     “Hmm,” Mary said, smile giving way as she bit her bottom lip in contemplation. “I didn’t expect that.”

     “You thought I’d have no rebuttal to your threats?”

     “No, I assumed you’d have something. I mean I didn’t expect you to be stupider than Nick,” Mary explained.

     Nicholas kept the glower off his face, but only barely. “Beg pardon?”

     “Maybe stupider was the wrong word,” Mary conceded. “Worse? More ignorant? No, those don’t feel right either. I guess I thought giving up all your Lander memories would turn you into a more efficient and more cunning manipulator. But then again, you’re basically the same person you were when we first arrived at Melbrook. I suppose my judgment of you from those days is foggy, since I didn’t know as much then as I do now. That’s probably it: I thought old you was smarter because old me wasn’t experienced enough to see all your weaknesses at the time.”

     “My, you do like to blather,” Nicholas replied. “And yet, you’ve done nothing but level false assertions. I am not ‘stupider’ than my previous counterpart. If anything, from what I’ve seen, I’m a step up.”

     “Are you? Because Nick would have come up with a better bluff than threatening to out me in retaliation. He’d have known I was aware of the gambit Alice used on you, and that I could level the same threats even more effectively. Of course, he would have also known me well enough to predict that I would never reveal the sort of secrets that could bring you serious harm, both because you’re a former friend, and because I’m not a heartless monster.”

     “Which means I have leverage, while you have none,” Nicholas pointed out.

     “No, what it means is that you have a way to get back at me,” Mary corrected. “See, Nick would also have understood that when I say I’ll stop you if I deem you to be a threat to my people, I spoke those words with full understanding of the consequences of my actions.”

     The pictures—tasteful art meant to leave a fleeting impression and then be forgotten—along Nicholas’s wall began to rattle ever so softly. The coffee table was next, then every piece of furniture in the living room.

     “Nick grasped that the kind of bond we all have is not something you take lightly. He understood the concept of sacrifice. You, clearly, do not; so let me spell it out. If I decide you are too dangerous to be allowed near my friends, I will stop you. Make any threats you like, out me if it pleases you, but make sure you’re clear on this one point: I have the power to stop you, and I will use it.”

     The rattling stopped, everything settling into place as though no disturbance had ever taken place. Mary flashed Nicholas another harmless smile.

     Nicholas, for his part, kept his heartbeat in check only through years of practiced self-control. Reading about these people had been one thing; dealing with them up close was another. They were focused, powerful, and incredibly dangerous. Nearly every encounter had served to remind him that he was scarcely better than human, and they were far beyond such a state. And Nick had managed to spend two years somehow coping in the presence of these beasts.

     “He didn’t cope,” Mary corrected. “He flourished. Nick had something you don’t; he had the memories of us when we were all scared and new to the program. The bastard knew enough of our emotional strings to play the chords and keep us dancing. Plus, he had friends who would do anything for him. Melbrook might not be the best assortment of Supers on campus, but we’re not the worst group to have your back in a fight.”

     “So I’ve seen,” Nicholas admitted. “All right then, let’s back off the sword-waving for now. After all, I might pass your test and be deemed fit for mingling.”

     “There’s the Nick sensibility I missed,” Mary said. “In the spirit of friendship, I’ll even tell you that your acquaintance, or employee, or whatever she is, Eliza, is listening in on us.”

     There was a muffled thump from the other side of the far wall, as though someone leaning against it had made a sudden motion in surprise.

     “I’m annoyed, but not surprised,” Nicholas admitted. “She’s here partly as backup, and partly as a spy for Ms. Pips. No sense in getting mad at a spy for spying.”

     “Ms. Pips sent someone to watch you? Why not Gerry?”

     “How do you know . . . never mind. Gerry is too busy to come spend a few months charting my every move.”

     Mary knew it was a lie, and she heard the truth in his thoughts. She also understood that this deception wasn’t for her benefit, it was meant for the eager ears of the woman on the other side of the wall.

     “Let’s start with why you’re here in the first place,” Mary suggested, skimming past the thorny topic.

     “I’ll put on some coffee,” Nicholas suggested. “This might take a while.”

     75.

     “Oooh, out-of-print editions,” Alex chirped happily, pulling out a weathered cardboard box and burrowing into its contents. He and Hershel were exploring one of the local gaming/comic shops in the Lander area, one they hadn’t been to in several months. It was a farther drive than some of the closer options, and the limited free-time being a third year had provided them with was often spent either training or, in Hershel’s case, working. Thus, upon finally gaining a free afternoon to do some shopping, they’d walked into a slew of new product that hadn’t been present at their last trip.

     “Heck yeah,” Hershel said, stooping down next to his friend to look at the aged books. “Jeez, an Alphablaster comic. I haven’t seen one of these in ages.”

     “His popularity did fade pretty quickly after the eighties,” Alex agreed.

     Comic books, once a realm of purely fictional exploits, had shifted after the outing of Supers. Some of the classics still existed, but many of the newer graphic novels told stories that were fictionalized accounts of real events, or at least featured actual Heroes. Devotees of a particular Hero or team were known to snap up their comics as ardently as the rest of their merchandise, meaning some books held tremendous value to the right buyer.

     “Man, that would be a great costume for Halloween,” Hershel commented, looking the letter-splattered uniform over closely.

     “I try to avoid Hero outfits when I can,” Alex replied. “Best case scenario, I’ll probably be sick of the things one day, so I’m trying to enjoy the allure of them while I can.”

     “Then what are you coming to our party as?”

     “A surprise,” Alex said, eyes glinting mischievously under his shaggy brown bangs. “How about you? Any ideas yet?”

     “Nothing for sure,” Hershel replied. “Roy’s offered to let me have the whole night, since he’s using so much time for bartending, but I feel guilty about it. I got all of last year’s Halloween, too, and it is his favorite holiday.”

     “Why not split it, then?”

     “That’s what I’m leaning toward,” Hershel said. “But that means I have to find two costumes, not just one.”

     “Roy can’t shop for his own costume?” Alex asked.

     “If I leave it to Roy, he’ll show up shirtless and smothered in baby oil.”

     “That sounds like an exaggeration.”

     “It’s what he did freshman year,” Hershel informed him. “He wore a lazy barbarian outfit, oiled up, and called it a day. Roy’s never been very shy about his physique.”

     “I can see that,” Alex said, flipping through more comics. “Then again, big as Roy is, in a room of people from our class, it won’t be quite as impressive.” As he moved, his “Han Shot First” shirt was pulled tight against his shoulders. While Alex wouldn’t pass for a body-builder, he could easily be mistaken for a devoted athlete. Two years in the HCP had sculpted even the leanest of them into well-built physical specimens. Hershel was behind, but he was slowly gaining ground.

     “Which is why I want to get him something less douchey,” Hershel said. “Holy crap, is that an old Captain Starlight?”

     “Yeah, but it’s a reprint,” Alex noted. “And there’s a lot of damage to the cover. It looks like someone spilled coffee on it.”

     “I realize it’s not worth much, I just liked Captain Starlight,” Hershel said, plucking the weathered piece from the bin. “He was my favorite for a long time.”

     “Captain Starlight was everyone’s favorite at some point,” Alex pointed out. “When you’re the first, you get that kind of love.”

     Hershel set the comic book down at his side, and continued perusing the bin’s contents. Most of the other works were about Heroes who had never particularly held Hershel’s interest. Strange as it was, he hadn’t grown up all that into Heroes. They’d reminded him too much of the Titan-shaped hole in his life, and the uncontrollable alternate personality that made day-to-day living so hectic. These books had never been much of an escape for Hershel, which was why he’d turned to sci-fi, fantasy, and LARPing with such vigor. In those worlds—at least, the ones he liked—power could be gained by anyone with enough grit and willpower. People weren’t handed a lottery at birth declaring them Super, Powered, or human. They could forge their own greatness; genetics had little to do with it.

     Alex, on the other hand, was simply an unapologetic geek. He loved all of it, every bit of magic or wonder an under-paid mind could produce, and absorbed each bit with unwavering enthusiasm. Had he been born a human, Alex certainly would have suffered at the hands of brawnier youths for this inclination. In his case, the genetic variation that gave him his ability also provided a childhood in which he went unpunished, at least physically, for daring to step from the bounds of socially acceptable hobbies.

     After a few more minutes of searching, they’d turned up nothing else of value or intrigue, and were preparing to move on when a frayed edge at the bottom of the box caught Hershel’s eye.

     “Hang on,” he said, lifting up a large section of books to reveal one that had slipped to a horizontal position, becoming hidden under the weight of all the vertical comics. There, blazoned on the cover, was a masked man with a warm smile, lifting up an entire bus while the children inside cheered him on.

     “Holy shit,” Alex said, eyes widening. “I thought they recalled these things like a decade ago.”

     “They probably did,” Hershel agreed. “I can’t imagine anyone was buying them.” He carefully lifted the comic to confirm what he already knew. The title on the cover blew away all lingering doubts as to what he’d uncovered:

     The Adventures of Globe! This issue: Globe vs. Mechnomass

     “Think it’s worth anything?” Alex wondered aloud.

     “Not monetarily,” Hershel said. “I know enough about disgraced Heroes to know their merchandise plummets in value. I think it might be worth something to Vince, though.”

     “You sure it’s a good idea to give him something like that? We know what happened last year when he saw the news report.”

     “I’m sure,” Hershel said, adding the Globe book to his current stack of purchases. “Vince has never stopped believing in his father. With everyone tearing him down in the news, I think it will be nice to remind him that, once upon a time, Globe helped a lot of people.”

     “You make a fine point,” Alex agreed. “But don’t go to the counter yet. I still want to look at the new role-playing books. I heard Wizards is finally putting out a new version.”

     “About time,” Hershel said as he and Alex hustled over to a different section of the store.

     76.

     Nicholas took one look around the foggy, ill-defined landscape, and swore. “Not this shit again.”

     “Oh, come now, you can’t really be all that surprised.” Nick’s voice was strange for Nicholas to hear. It came from the same vocal cords as his own, yet it was different, lighter, filled with a playfully teasing edge. Perhaps . . . happier?

     “Surprised, no. Just inconvenienced,” Nicholas said, turning around and walking over to where his past self was sitting. This time, the table between the two chairs was slightly larger, and there was an unmarked brown box sitting on top of it.

     “I can see how a weird dream might very well take time out of your busy day. No, wait, you’re already asleep.”

     “The memory you gave me was inconvenient,” Nicholas snapped, a momentary lapse in composure that he quickly remedied. “I didn’t need to know about possible previous feelings for Alice.”

     “See, that’s the thing. You sort of did,” Nick countered.

     “Why? All it did was make my evening with her all the more uncomfortable. And considering the fact that Nathaniel almost killed me, that says quite a bit.”

     “Please, with Alice there, he never had a shot,” Nick said. “Don’t let the sweet smile and the designer clothes fool you, that girl has a crockpot of pissed-off ready to boil over when there’s good reason.”

     “She was . . . ferocious,” Nicholas admitted, remembering the terrified look on Nathaniel’s face as he’d come plummeting into a dumpster.

     “She’s a lot of things,” Nick replied. “However, today isn’t about Alice.” He opened the box and produced a black and white checkered board. Beneath the board were two identical set of figures, different only in their color.

     “Chess.” Nicholas allowed his mouth to turn downward in a visible frown. “I loathe chess.”

     “Me too,” Nick agreed. “So rigid and straightforward. I like games with a little more fluidity.”

     “You mean, with more creative ways to cheat,” Nicholas said.

     “Same thing. Remember when Gerry tried to make us learn chess?”

     “He was adamant that the key to winning was to cheat the player, not the board,” Nicholas recalled, with perhaps a bit of fondness in his voice. “It was his way of teaching us to manipulate people, rather than just read them.”

     “We learned it, we just never liked it as much as the sleight-of-hand tactics,” Nick finished. “But Mary, on the other hand, loves chess. She and Mr. Numbers play it every Saturday.”

     “So your notes indicated.”

     “Do you find that strange?” Nick asked. “Knowing what Gerry taught us about chess, why would a telepath need to learn it? And play it against a master, without her powers, at that?”

     “She’s learning to manipulate,” Nicholas theorized. “Her power lets her read people; however, she recognized that it was not the same as making them do what she wanted, so she undertook a training regimen to correct such an oversight.”

     “You’re close,” Nick said. “Really, only off by a few degrees. That said, they’re pretty crucial degrees.” He finished setting up the board, each piece in its proper starting position. “Black or white?”

     “Neither,” Nicholas replied. “I have no intention of playing this game with you.”

     “Someone is a spoilsport,” Nick grumbled. “I didn’t even tell you the stakes. We’re playing for another memory.”

     “I assumed as much. That’s why I’m electing not to play. The last one caused me nothing but ill-timed awkwardness. I don’t need your memories, or your emotional encounters. I prefer my interactions with people to be clean and simple.”

     “Yeah, I remember that,” Nick said. “Here’s the thing though, this is not a make-you-feel-gooey-in-the-aorta kind of memory. It’s a memory regarding some deeply personal shit that Mary knows about. The sort of thing you definitely want to be aware of.”

     “And of course, you can’t just tell me what it is,” Nicholas complained. He looked up from the board to his past-self and nearly let an expression slip in surprise. All of Nick’s levity had evaporated away, leaving him with the sort of look a man about to pass down a death sentence would wear.

     “I can’t.” Nick’s voice matched his expression in severity. “But you need to know this.”

     It could be a ploy; no one knew better than Nicholas how good an actor he could be. Still, this was himself he was dealing with. He had to believe that such seriousness stemmed from genuine concern.

     “Fine,” Nicholas yielded. “I choose black.”

     “Leaving me to make the first move,” Nick pointed out. “Thinking you can get a read on me?”

     “Shouldn’t be too hard. We are the same person, after all.”

     “That is one of the many things you are shockingly incorrect about,” Nick replied, making his first move. “We’re not as distinct as Hershel and Roy, but we are different. Two years of memories can change a lot about a person. In fact, meeting you like this, I have a hard time believing I was ever really entirely like you.”

     “Says the one of us who went soft and grew feelings,” Nicholas countered, choosing a conservative move that would hopefully draw Nick out.

     “We always had feelings,” Nick sighed. “Despite what we tried to convince others of, we’ve never been empty inside. I just actually dealt with a few of mine, rather than hiding them all away behind the too-cool-for-this-shit facade.” He moved once more.

     “No, you used sunglasses and an idiotic attitude.”

     “Did it ever occur to you, in the two years I was putting on a show being Nick, that I actually started having fun?” Nick asked. “Not just from the challenge of staying a step ahead of ridiculously powerful beings, but just from being able to say stupid things and not worry about being watched by people the Family had dealings with.”

     “No, it didn’t occur to me,” Nicholas replied. “You just got comfortable playing a character. Gerry warned us it could happen in long assignments.”

     “Maybe you're right,” Nick conceded. “Or maybe Gerry just didn’t want us to spook when we finally starting cutting loose a little, so he gave us a plausible lie to use as a mental shield.”

     “That does sound like something he would do,” Nicholas agreed. “Anyway, it’s your move.”

     “Thanks,” Nick said.

     They played in silence for some time after that, no sound heard through the dream-world save for the clacking of pieces moving into place. The next word spoken by either of them had no relation to their previous argument, though it certainly had the potential to incite another one.

     “Checkmate,” Nick declared, moving his knight into position.

     Nicholas studied the board carefully. Nick was right. He’d set a careful trap and sprung it flawlessly. The game was his.

     “Well played,” Nicholas said. “But I have to admit, I’m surprised. I thought you’d let me win so you could give me the memory.”

     Nick shook his head. “You seem to be under some misimpressions about my motivations. I’m not cooling my heels in the hidden parts of your brain because it’s fun. I want back out. The more memories you get back, the more I exist in our outer self. I’m not playing to keep them from you, I’m playing to give them to you.” Another golden orb was produced from his hand and set on the table, next to the chessboard.

     “You’re a sneaky bastard,” Nicholas accused.

     “Thank you,” Nick replied.

     “And what’s your plan if I don’t pick it up?”

     “The orb is a symbol,” Nick informed him. “You don’t have to touch it. You’re getting the memory whether you want it or not.”

     “Fine,” Nicholas said. “But you might find me far more reluctant to play your next game.”

     “Feel free to refuse,” Nick graciously offered. “But I’ll take that as a forfeit.”

     “This is not what I’d expected from my past self.”

     “Really?” Nick asked. “Because, if anyone should have seen it coming, it’s you.”

     Nicholas had no ready counter for that, so instead, he picked up the orb. The world faded around him, swirling into a memory of coffins, revelations, and an emotional battle in the depths of his subconscious.

     When he awoke, the barest remains of tears were in his eyes.

     77.

     Angela was nearly to the lifts, class having let out roughly ten minutes prior, when she became aware of a gray-uniformed male approaching her. With most of the younger classmen, she had trouble keeping them straight. She, like nearly every other HCP student, cared predominantly about the people she was directly competing with. The exception was this year’s junior class, which she had more than cursory awareness of due to Shane and Chad. The young man coming up to her was neither of those people, but she still knew his name. After all, around this time last year, she’d been the one coming up to him without warning.

     “Thomas, right?”

     Thomas gave a small nod of confirmation. “Thomas Castillo. I was wondering if you could spare a few moments of your time.”

     Angela glanced at her watch. She had an hour break before her next aboveground class, time she usually spent grabbing a lazy lunch. Some of that could be spared, as long as he kept it quick.

     “A little,” she replied.

     “Thank you. I needed to ask how you chose me to host the sophomore party last year. The time is drawing close, and I presume it’s my duty to elect a sophomore to carry on the tradition.”

     “You presume right,” Angela said. “Well, for me, it was easy. I just asked Shane for the background on you young’uns and picked the person best suited for it. I’m guessing you don’t have any friends or siblings in the sophomore class?”

     “I do not,” Thomas confirmed. “My social circles have been somewhat limited, I now realize, to almost entirely HCP students in my year.”

     “Don’t sweat it, we all do that,” Angela said. “There’s a bond between people you’ve tried to viciously knock unconscious. Not totally sure why, but there is.”

     “So it seems. Back to my dilemma, do you have any advice for making my selection?”

     “If I had to say anything, I’d say you have two criteria that need to be filled for a good party-host candidate,” Angela said. “First, they need a house. Can’t very well have much of a party in a dorm room. Anything in the Lander Lounge area should be good. Second, they should have come to your party last year. It allows you to play the ‘passing of a torch’ card, along with a healthy dose of guilt. Plus, people who were at the one last year already know the deal. You don’t have to explain a whole lot to them.”

     “I’d thought there would be many other factors to weigh,” Thomas said. “Social capability, overall power to enforce peace, that sort of thing.”

     “Oh yeah, that’s great information if you can get it, like I did,” Angela agreed. “But since we established that you can’t, I just gave you the bare-bones package.”

     “Ah,” Thomas said, realization setting it. “Capability to host, and willingness to do so. I see now.”

     “That’s part of why I picked you last year; you’re quick on the uptake,” Angela said. “All right, I’m going to go get lunch, if we’re good here?”

     “Yes, thank you, you’ve given me some direction to work in.”

     “Better work fast. Traditionally, you need to give them at least a month and a half to prepare,” Angela said as she stepped onto the lifts.

     Thomas made an odd, strangled noise in his throat. “You gave me less than three weeks.”

     “Yeah, but I’m waaaaaay more irresponsible than you,” Angela countered, giving him a theatrical wink as the lift carried her upward, toward Lander’s normal campus and away from Thomas’s silent fuming.

     *              *              *

     “No fucking way,” Eliza said, crossing her arms over her torso for emphasis. “Not happening.”

     “Your opinion is heard, considered, and summarily dismissed,” Nicholas replied.

     Jerome said nothing; he merely watched the two building toward a world-class bickering session with the detached resolve of a father who hasn’t slept in several nights. The three of them sat in Nicholas’s apartment, having their first face-to-face team meeting since Mary’s visit. Nicholas had taken two days to think over their conversation before requesting to meet with his associates. Once he told them why, Jerome understood why it had been a difficult decision.

     “Dismiss it all you want, I’m not doing it,” Eliza reiterated.

     “You will,” Nicholas disagreed. “Mary set down terms for continuing to interact with my former colleagues. One of those was that I had to go on a public outing with them in order to allow everyone to be aware of and adjust to my presence.”

     “Yeah, goody for you, but Jerome and I aren’t coming along.”

     “Eliza, Nathaniel’s people planted a very well-planned, perfectly timed, insidiously hidden explosive device. If not for fortune and Jerome’s power, one or both of you could be dead right now. There’s no secret that you and I don’t always see eye to eye, but you’re both members of our Family. The last thing I want is to see either of you dead,” Nicholas said. His voice softened slightly, and from just his facial expressions, one could have believed he was totally sincere . . . unless they knew how skilled he was at faking such emotions.

     “More like you didn’t want to answer to Ms. Pips for our deaths,” Eliza muttered. “Even if I buy that line of reasoning, why should we come with you? Why not watch from afar? There’s no need to expose our identities to these people.”

     “Except that they are valuable, useful assets,” Nicholas reminded her. “The only reason Nathaniel didn’t get his hands on me is because Alice Adair had enough power to completely neutralize him. Since it seems I’m going to be entering into their social circle, bringing you two along will mean that you can join me at outings and what-not. It gives you reason to be right beside me. That fulfills your duties as both bodyguards and snitches. It’s a win-win.”

     Eliza mulled this over. He made strong points, but they all favored Eliza and Jerome. Nicholas was not the sort to do anything for another person unless he was seeing some gain from it as well.

     “Those are great reasons for us to come,” Eliza admitted. “But until you tell me why you insist we be there, I refuse. I will take this all the way up to Ms. Pips if I have to.” There it was, the trump card. It was a double-edged play, because if he called her on it, she had to follow through. If Ms. Pips didn’t agree with her thought process, then it would make Eliza seem flighty and weak. Those were not qualities one wanted Ms. Pips to assign to them.

     Luckily, it seemed Nicholas had already been prepared to concede this point. “Mary demanded it,” he said, the barest touch of embarrassment in his voice. “She doesn’t seem to care about the fact that you’ll be spying on me, and, by extension, them, but she’s only going to tolerate it if she has the chance to check you out as well.”

     “So if Jerome and I don’t go, you’re cut off from the Melbrook group,” Eliza surmised.

     “Correct. At that point, I can either write off the loss of incredibly powerful allies, or I can go against Mary’s will and see how full of bluster her threats were.” Nicholas dearly didn’t want the second option, not after the memory Nick had forced upon him. Mary had seen his darkest fear, his deepest secret, his soul laid bare. He didn’t want to cross her, if it could be avoided.

     “Well then, this shouldn’t be a discussion of if Jerome and I will go.” Eliza leaned back against the couch’s soft cushion and daintily crossed her legs. “It should be a discussion of where we’ll be having our five-star dinner while you convince us. Word to the wise, you never go wrong with Wagyu beef.”

     78.

     The cold cheese sandwich on Walter’s plate did little to entice him toward eating, and not just because it was cafeteria quality. His appetite had been shot all week, ever since his team’s first trial. Despite having two of his three best friends in his roster, along with an assortment of other Supers he considered quite skilled, Walter’s team had been summarily crushed. They’d lost their flag in under fifteen minutes, and been beaten in three physical confrontations. For most of the team, it was disheartening, and somewhat scary. For their captain, a man currently staring at a cold cheese sandwich, trying to figure out why he’d purchased it in the first place, the loss had nearly destroyed him.

     Walter was so focused on his plate that he didn’t immediately notice when someone sat down at the table next to him. He wasn’t expecting company; this was a Tuesday, which meant the others all had classes during his only time for lunch. He usually ate a quick meal, and then hurried off to study or train. Today, it seemed, was going to be different.

     “Walter Cross, correct?”

     Walter looked up from his sandwich, unsurprised that the guest at his table was a fellow member of the HCP. The fact that it was one of his seniors, however, did startle him a touch, rattling him out of his fugue and into speaking.

     “Yeah. You’re Thomas. I met you last year.”

     Speaking about anything linked to the HCP while aboveground, even something as innocuous as a party, had to be done with exceptional care.

     “That’s right, you and your friends ended up at a party at my house,” Thomas confirmed. “Which, actually, is what I wanted to talk with you about. That party, it’s something of a tradition.”

     “I’d heard about that,” Walter said. He’d done as much digging as possible when the invite had come last year. He knew it was a way for the sophomore class to officially welcome the freshmen who had made it that far, telling them they were part of the HCP. The party had certainly accomplished that goal; nothing like watching Cameron slug it out with Roy Daniels to send the message that this was where they belonged.

     “Good,” Thomas said. “Hopefully this next part will not surprise you, then. I’m here to tell you that you, and by proxy your housemates, have been selected to throw the party this year.”

     Part of Walter wanted to ask how Thomas knew he lived in a house, but then he thought better of it. Subtlety was a course in their school, after all; he really shouldn’t be surprised that the older students had skills for information gathering. Had Walter asked, he would have learned that Thomas had employed the favorite tactic of Subtlety Heroes all over the nation: he’d gone and talked to a telepath.

     “I really appreciate it,” Walter said, his words tentative. “But I don’t think I can do that.”

     “May I ask why not?”

     “I need to double down on my . . . studying,” he replied, careful emphasis put on key phrases. “I was part of a group project last week, one we failed badly. We’ve got several more coming up, and I have to make sure we don’t get any more failing grades.”

     “That is very important; your group’s grades should be your top priority,” Thomas agreed. “However, this party should be your second. The purpose it serves, welcoming strangers to an existing community, is a vital one. You should know this quite well.”

     “I do, I really do, I just . . . couldn’t someone else do it?”

     “That would depend on you,” Thomas informed him. “From the information I gathered, you seemed like the best fit. You have the house, you are responsible enough to be in charge of your group project, and you understand the need for the event. If you can find a better fit, then by all means, feel free to pass the burden of duty to them.”

     Walter gave his head a little shake. “I don’t even think I should be leading my group project,” he admitted, his voice soft and fragile. “I feel like we could have passed the last . . . test, if only we’d had someone better leading us.”

     “You might be right,” Thomas said. “Maybe you’re not the best pick for leading a group, or for hosting a party.”

     “Gee, thanks,” Walter grumbled. It wasn’t untrue, but he sort of wished Thomas hadn’t just come out and said it like that.

     “Still, that changes nothing,” Thomas continued.

     “What do you mean?”

     The older boy leaned forward, his dark eyes so serious that, for a brief flicker of a moment, Walter thought Thomas was about to start a fight right in the middle of the cafeteria.

     “I mean, it changes nothing. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t the best pick for either of those roles, they have still been thrust upon you. They are yours, no matter what. Do not waste your time lamenting your fitness or fearing there could have been a better choice made. If you’re afraid you are unfit to lead, then work every day to make yourself better. That, and quitting, are your only options. Pissing away time on questions that have no relevance gets you nowhere. It doesn’t matter if you should lead. You are the leader. Own it, and make yourself the best you can be. If you can’t face your fear and do that, then you should turn in your resignation today.”

     Walter gulped, and not just because Thomas’s words had come dangerously close to touching on the real subject of their discussion. The intensity of his admonishment had nearly knocked Walter from his chair. He suspected this speech wasn’t entirely for him, but rather than asking follow-up questions, he just nodded his head enthusiastically.

     “I understand,” Walter said quickly. “I’ll throw the party.”

     “Good,” Thomas said, appearing to somewhat come back to himself and dial down the intimidation. “Good, I . . . you are the best fit, you know. Whether you believe it or not.”

     “Thanks,” Walter said. “I, uh, I need to get going to my next class.”

     “By all means,” Thomas said. He watched as the younger boy with the light curly hair and glasses hustled out of the cafeteria, pausing only to drop an untouched sandwich in the trash. Thomas remained at the table for some time, quietly reflecting on the words that had come unbidden from his mouth. What he’d said hadn’t been wrong, but it also hadn’t been just for Walter. No, Thomas knew as soon as he spoke that those words were meant for him. He’d done everything he could to avoid the truth; he’d bucked it for as long as possible. Now, it stared him in the face, refusing to fade back into mental smoke.

     Face your fears, or quit. That was what he’d told Walter. And, more importantly, himself.

     79.

     Mr. Transport had the fork, laden with pasta and sauce, halfway to his mouth when his phone rang. This was not the ringtone he used for his general calls, nor the flippant one he’d assigned Mr. Numbers, nor even the festive one he had rigged to ring when Sally Daniels called. This was a ringtone associated with a single number, a line used only in very certain circumstances. His fork clattered to the plate as Mr. Transport grabbed his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear.

     “Transport,” he said quickly.

     “We have a situation. Numbers with you?”

     “No, he’s at the grocery store,” Mr. Transport replied.

     “Come get us, then we’ll circle back for Numbers. We’re at a café in Lisbon, two blocks down from where you lived a few years back. Need an address?”

     “No, I remember it well.” Mr. Transport hung up the phone and removed the napkin he’d had tucked into his white button-down. With practiced grace, he grabbed his black suit jacket from the nearby hanger and slipped it across his lean shoulders. With a moment of visualization and a minor application of effort, the world dissolved around him, reforming in the shape of a muggy day outside a small café—one that served truly great pastries. Sitting on the patio, both with coffee cups in front of them and clad in black suits, were a very large, muscular African American male and a dainty brunette. Mr. Transport walked over to them hurriedly.

     As soon as he reached the table, the large man put a powerful hand on Mr. Transport’s forearm, then did the same to the hand of the girl sitting across from him. Just like that, the world around them froze, all life becoming a living sculpture, save for the three people at a single café in Lisbon.

     “Glad you could make it,” Mr. Stop said, releasing his grip. He only needed to touch them when he did the freeze; afterward, they could function independently. This was what made him such a rare and powerful Super. That, and the fact that the ability to slow or halt time on such a large scale was so uncommon it had manifested in less than five total cases since Supers were discovered.

     “I was about to eat,” Mr. Transport grumbled.

     “This shouldn’t take long. I bet I can have you back before your dish cools,” Mr. Stop replied. “It’s a standard snatch and grab. Daughter of a Hero named Bilge. Made enemies with people smart enough to figure out who he was. The girl was taken approximately thirty minutes ago. As soon as Bilge realized she was gone, he called Dispatch. Good news is she’s still alive.”

     “Alive, and in a building a few miles south of downtown Detroit,” Mrs. Tracking added in. Mr. Transport took her at her word. Mrs. Tracking could find almost any person in the world with just a picture. Her limitation was that they had to be alive, so if she had a location, it meant the girl was still breathing, for now.

     “Any intel on the kidnappers? Powers we need to be aware of?”

     “One is a baseline strongman,” Mr. Stop responded. “The Heroes would rank him as a Standard Class. We don’t know anything about the others.”

     “Understood. Go in expecting the worst,” Mr. Transport said. “Anything else I need to know before we get Mr. Numbers?”

     “Yes. Bilge is really pissed off, and from his history, we don’t think he’ll let logic dissuade him from vengeance, if given the chance,” Mr. Stop informed the team.

     “Shit,” Mr. Transport said. “I hate these.”

     “Nobody likes them,” Mrs. Tracking agreed. “But it’s gotta get done.” She tried to take a sip from her coffee cup, but it remained frozen. Objects outside Mr. Stop’s touch were locked in place just as much as they were in time.

     “On that note, let’s go get Numbers,” Mr. Stop said.

     Mr. Transport put a hand on Mr. Stop and Mrs. Tracking. Usually, just proximity was enough to bring people with him, but when operating in Mr. Stop’s time freeze, he needed physical contact to teleport others.

     Moments later, the three appeared in front of a grocery store. It only took half a second of real-time for Mr. Stop to unfreeze the world, grab Mr. Numbers (along with the other two), and bring them back into frozen-time. Once that was done, Mr. Numbers was brought up to speed. Then, the work began.

     *              *              *

     Bertram, or Bonecrusher as he was known among his colleagues, had no idea what had happened. One minute, he and the boys were sitting around, discussing the first thing they’d make that asshole Bilge do once they told him they’d taken his daughter. Bonecrusher was in favor of having them make him show his face on live television, but Maggot pointed out that the station would probably just blur it. Maggot was oddly smart for a grunt-level criminal. The only thing that held him back from climbing higher in some gang’s ranks was his inability to deal with any kind of authority. Flick, who didn’t totally seem to get the concept of street names, was bringing up a point about having Bilge do some robbing for them.

     Then, in the span of a blink, Bonecrusher was shoved backward, into a chair that hadn’t been there before, and locked down with some really tough manacles. He knew they were tough because they didn’t give way when he used his considerable strength to buck against them.

     “You’re wasting your time,” said a calm voice from behind him. Maggot and Flick were gone; he couldn't see or hear either of them. The voice’s owner stepped in front of him—a short man with frozen blue eyes and a tailored black suit. “The chair and manacles were designed by a tech-genius. It would hold up to a Manhattan Class, or at least one with just strength. Someone like you will never break free.”

     Bonecrusher didn’t like the way this man said “never.” There was an air of finality to it that Bonecrusher was accustomed to hearing when he was the one giving the threats.

     “Who are you?”

     “I’m no one,” the man replied. “I barely exist. You and I have that in common. For now. So, Bertram, who told you about Bilge’s identity?”

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

     “Really? Quite a coincidence, seeing as the girl you had tied up was his daughter. She’s gone, by the way. Reunited with her father, who is currently being told that all of you were killed in the extraction process. Viciously, too; we really laid on the gore. Had to, or he’d have come after you himself. Can’t very well have a Hero engaging in cold-blooded murder.”

     “So that’s your threat, I talk or you tell him the truth?”

     “The truth? That implies that what we told him earlier was a lie,” the man replied. “Which, I suppose, it might have been. A lie, or a prediction. That all sort of depends.”

     “Fuck you,” Bonecrusher said, working up a good wad of phlegm and spitting it at the man. He dodged it perfectly, as though he knew exactly when and how it would be coming. The man leaned over Bonecrusher, his arctic eyes boring into the bald, tattoo-covered man’s mind. Not since becoming a Super had Bertram felt the kind of deep-down, brain-numbing fear that washed over him in that moment.

     “You’re going to tell me what I want to know, Bertram. We can’t have people leaking the identities of Heroes, because then, someone might do something really stupid, like you did. Honestly, did you never think to wonder why there’s never been a reported case of hostages being used against a Hero? We’re very good at this, Bertram; we’ve been doing it a long time. That’s how I know you’ll talk. With enough time and motivation, everyone talks. It’s simple math.” The man flashed Bonecrusher a wide smile, one that felt like it was pushing an ice pick of fear right through his eye.

     “Trust me, Bertram, you’re going to talk. It’s all just a game of numbers.”

     80.

     “Vince, can we talk?”

     Vince was surprised to see Thomas waiting for him, the caramel-skinned student patiently positioned outside the gym. Despite his claims that he held no ill-will toward Vince from their earlier encounters, the two hadn’t spoken as much during the semester’s first weeks. It could have been time constraints—with training, and a new job, Vince certainly had less time available—but something told him there was more to it.

     “Sure,” Vince said.

     Thomas nodded, then motioned for Vince to follow him. They began walking down the hallway, two gray-uniform-clad young men traversing the concrete tunnels woven beneath the school. It wasn’t until no other students could be seen that Thomas finally spoke.

     “I have a problem,” he said, his usually stoic voice coming out several shades softer.

     “Can I help?” Vince asked immediately.

     “If anyone can, I believe it would be you,” Thomas replied. “The issue I am facing is one that I’m deeply ashamed to admit, even to myself. That’s why it has taken me so long to come to terms with its existence. Yet, even now, when I’m trying to find a way to solve it, I find myself hesitant to say the words aloud.”

     “Thomas, we’re friends. You can tell me anything. You know that.”

     Thomas did know that. Vince wasn’t a perfect person, but his loyalty was an aspect that no one could call into question. No, the problem was not saying the words to Vince, it was saying them at all. To speak them aloud would make them real, would mean there was no path but forward. If Thomas admitted his problem, then he had to either face it, or be consumed by it. With only a small quiver of hesitation, Thomas made his choice.

     “I’m afraid of you,” he said, words barely stronger than a whisper. “I’m afraid of you stealing my power again. What it felt like, last year, was just . . . . I’ve been injured many times. Pain is not a thing I’m scared of. But that sensation of having a piece of me torn away . . . it haunts me. I lost in our combat trial because I was too scared to attack you, too afraid of you draining me again.”

     “Thomas, I . . . I’m sorry. I wish I could undo what happened.”

     “I know, but you cannot. You cannot make it so that I will forget what happened, and even if it were in your power, I would refuse. That is not the way a Hero should defeat such a problem. But, I must ask you to make recompense for your actions. I need your help, if I am going to break through this barrier of fear.”

     “Anything,” Vince said. “Name it, and I’ll do it.”

     “I’d hoped you would say as much.” Thomas ceased walking, stopping in front of one of the many combat cells that dotted the Lander underground. He hefted the door open with a mighty wrench and gestured for Vince to enter. Vince complied, and Thomas pulled the door shut behind them.

     “There is only one way I can see for me to overcome this fear,” Thomas announced, his body beginning to glow orange as he summoned his energy. “I need you to drain me again.”

     “I understand.” Vince was not the smartest person on campus, and he was lacking in many standard social educations, but this was something well within his wheelhouse. It made perfect sense—at least, it made perfect sense to the kinds of irregular minds that could endure HCP training and still yearn for Hero careers. If Thomas was afraid of being drained, then he needed to experience the pain of it over and over, until it no longer held any power over him.

     “One thing,” Vince said. “I don’t know how I did a lot of the stuff on the tape. When I’m amped up, it’s like when I was a Powered—everything just seems to happen. I run on pure instinct. Replicating those actions requires me to develop control and understanding of how it all works. It’s basically like training myself to release adrenaline on command, instead of when it comes as a reaction.”

     “You’re saying you don’t know how to drain my energy?”

     “I’m saying it might take me a while to get the hang of it,” Vince corrected. “Energy that flows outward is easiest, that’s the stuff that is already trying to get in, I just open the door. It’s why fire was always my easiest. Other times, though, it’s harder. Kinetic energy took me a lot of practice to nail down, since I had to pull it in during the brief moment I was getting hit. I’m not sure where yours will be on the hard-to-absorb scale. All I can say is that I promise I’ll keep at it, no matter how long it takes.”

     “I greatly appreciate the sentiment,” Thomas said. He took a deep breath, trying to steady the shaking his body was already trying to give into. Just the idea of manifesting energy in front of Vince was enough to induce quivering. Strangely, Thomas didn’t feel the expected wave of shame at this realization.

     The room seemed brighter as Thomas conjured a large, orange hand made from his energy. He directed it across the room, connecting it to his body by means of a long, thick tendril. With great care, Thomas wrapped Vince in the energy hand’s fingers. The goal was to be drained, not to accidentally crush Vince.

     “I’m going to start trying,” Vince announced.

     Thomas nodded his understanding, but deep down, he wished Vince hadn’t told him that. Knowing it was coming made the fear worse. Still, Thomas persevered, keeping his energy grip on Vince despite the part of his mind screaming for him to run.

     At first, nothing happened. Thomas held his grip, while Vince’s face grew still as his concentration deepened. After a few minutes, Thomas began to wonder if he should have made the energy hand a bit smaller. He was nowhere near his breaking point, but holding a conjuration like this would eventually wear him out. He was just about to start shrinking the hand when he felt it start. Unlike before, his power wasn’t ripped away in a single rush; this time, it was more like someone had put a hole in a water balloon. The energy was slowly trickling out, but the longer it went on, the faster it started to flow. The hand that had held Vince was now a shapeless blob, a series of orange rivers rushing into him with increasing speed.

     Then, just when it started to get unbearable, the whole thing stopped.

     “I’m sorry, I should have asked this earlier,” Vince said, skin glowing a faint orange. “Did you want me to take all of it, or only some? I don’t know how much training you have left today.”

     “Take . . . take it all,” Thomas said, gritting his teeth in an effort to hold on to his mental control. “Do what you did to me last time. It’s the only way.”

     “Understood.”

     This time, there was no gentle increase or subtle beginning. It was like last year’s fight all over again. Thomas felt his energy flowing out of him, his precious power being ripped away, until every drop of it was gone and he collapsed on the floor, utterly indistinguishable from a human.

     “Are you all right?” Vince asked.

     “I’m alive,” Thomas replied, slowly dragging himself to his feet. The world felt different when he didn’t have his energy inside him. Colder, scarier, more dangerous. It was a feeling he didn’t like, but would have to get used to. “This isn’t a one-time thing, you know.”

     “I know,” Vince assured him.

     “Every day that we can swing it, I want to do this,” Thomas said. “Can you handle that much energy?”

     Vince didn’t genuinely know the answer to that question. True, they’d yet to find his limit for how much he could hold, but it had to be out there. No one in the absorber category had an infinite capacity. Between the forest fire, his sizable amount of electricity, and the kinetic stockpile he’d started, he already had quite a bit. Thomas’s energy was abundant; draining him completely meant absorbing a whole lot of power. Still, Vince felt like he was responsible for the problem his friend was facing, so it was up to him to help fix it. He would drain as much power as Thomas needed. If he hit his limit, Vince would just find another way.

     “I’ll be fine,” Vince assured him.

     81.

     “Okay, so far, confirmed, we have Thomas, Violet, Jill, Will, Camille, Adam, Alex, Angela, and Shane, while Sasha, Britney, and Amber are all maybes,” Alice surmised, running down the small list jotted on the yellow legal pad in her hand.

     “Correct,” Chad affirmed. His perfect memory made keeping track of something as simple as an RSVP list mere child’s play. Mary sat next to him, thankful they’d managed to recruit him into joining Alice’s pre-party planning committee. These tasks had previously been lumped entirely on her, so it was a pleasant change to share the pain.

     “So, counting all of us from Melbrook, and Mary’s three mystery guests she refuses to talk about,” —Alice shot a pointed look at her short, telepathic friend, who feigned sudden interest in the pages of a costume catalog she was being forced to look through— “I think that brings us to a confirmed seventeen, possible twenty.”

     “I admit, my experience in social outings is greatly lacking compared to most students our age, however, that strikes me as a difficult size of party to manage in a bar setting, especially with my understanding of how sweeping the celebration of Halloween is,” Chad pointed out.

     “He’s right, we’ve got only a few days left, even if we found a place that took reservations, we’d never get in,” Mary agreed, with perhaps a subtle ring of hope in her voice.

     Alice pointed at Mary with a forceful thrust of her index finger. “You’re right that we’ve only got a few days, which is why you’re supposed to be picking a damn costume. I told you, no getting off the couch until you’ve selected something. I’ve gotten everyone else, even Chad and Vince, to get their stuff. You will not be the only person un-costumed on Halloween.”

     “If we can even find a place,” Mary started again.

     “I will book us a place,” Alice snapped, brushing a long strand of blonde hair out of her face. “We are going to meet Halloween head on this year, and that means being together. I don’t care if I have to book three VIP sections to do it, we’ll have a place to go.”

     Mary let her last vestiges of resistance fade away. Though the loss of one of their own had been hard on all of them, Alice had taken Nick’s loss most to heart. It had manifested in some strange behavior, such as going on a date with Nicholas, but at least this reaction made sense. Alice was scared of losing another friend, with sound reason, so she was clutching at the chance to build a memory of everyone together. While Mary would have preferred to “meet” Halloween with a stay-in movie marathon, this clearly meant a lot to Alice, which indicated it should mean a lot to her best friend.

     “What did Chad and Vince pick?” Mary asked, changing the subject with all the tact of a drunk in a liquor store. “Hershel won’t tell me about Roy’s costume, so if there’s a theme, I’d like a heads up.”

     “I’m going to be a robot, apparently,” Chad chimed in. “I’m not certain what Vince is. He should be off work in a few hours, though, you can ask him then.”

     “Wait, hang on, a robot?” Mary asked.

     “I think so,” Chad said, giving a small shrug. “I asked Angela for advice, and she said she had the perfect costume for me. When I probed deeper, all she would say is that it was shiny and metallic, so I put the context clues adequately together. Shiny, metallic, and suited to me, a man who is aware that his emotions are less than prevalent, all combine to equal a robot.”

     “Yeah, that does sort of make sense,” Mary agreed.

     Alice bit her tongue and resisted the urge to point out that Chad had overlooked a key piece of information. Mainly that he was using logic to deduce the costume, and Angela didn’t operate on logic. She operated on . . . who the hell knew what, but it sure as shit wasn’t logic.

     “Anyway, there is no theme,” Alice said, bringing the discussion back around to Mary. “So pick whatever you think looks good.”

     “Uggggh. I wish I could just wear my work outfit,” Mary groaned. “It fits me well and is already done. Stupid rules about not wearing our uniforms in social settings.”

     “It’s also considered bad form to wear Hero costumes when in the HCP,” Chad reminded her. “Although I’ve never understood why.”

     “Originally, I heard it was to keep ourselves as disassociated from Heroes as possible, but as time goes on, I’ve begun to think it’s just one of those fashion rules that became law. Like not wearing white after Labor Day. Of course, that ignores how doable it is to break those laws and look good doing it, but I suppose that isn’t really the point,” Alice theorized. “Now, back to the catalog. Come on, you must have a few standouts.”

     “I’m having a hard time finding a compromise between huge and cumbersome, or thin and revealing,” Mary admitted. “The Victorian outfits are gorgeous, but the idea of moving around in something like that all night seems like a massive pain. Then there’s the other end, the stuff I don’t know how these girls found the courage to wear for a paid modeling session, let alone out in public. Maybe I’ll just use my princess costume from last year again.”

     “Negative,” Alice told her. “No repeats, that’s very counter to the spirit of Halloween.” She reached over and plucked the catalog from Mary’s dainty hands. “Look, I know what you want, and this doesn’t seem to be making us much headway, so are you willing to just trust me?”

     “Trust you how?”

     “Trust me to pick out your costume for you,” Alice explained. “I’ve got your measurements, I can make the choice and place the order. Come on, Chad let someone else pick out his costume.”

     “Chad is dating the person he trusted with that responsibility,” Mary reminded her.

     “Would you rather I let Hershel choose? I bet he’s got a few outfits he would love to see you in,” Alice said.

     Mary’s cheeks grew momentarily red, and she gave her head a firm shake. “No, no, definitely no. Fine, you can pick. But I reserve the right to veto what you pick if it makes me uncomfortable.”

     “I’ll agree to that deal only if you try it on before rejecting it,” Alice countered.

     “Try it on privately,” Mary said. “Just you and I. No witnesses, no pictures.”

     “I can work with that,” Alice said. “Deal.”

     “Deal,” Mary agreed.

     “It occurs to me,” Chad said, reminding both girls that he was in the common room with them, a fact that had temporarily slipped their minds, “after watching your display, that perhaps I should have put some rules into place with Angela, rather than giving her free rein over my costume selection.”

     “I’m sure it will be fine,” Alice assured him. “How bad can a robot costume be?”

     82.

     The bar was full for a late-October weekday, but not so packed that empty seats were unobtainable. Some were unoccupied only for a moment, while others seemed to have a cloud of danger wafting over them, driving away all but the most determined of souls. One such table held the strongest of these auras. Though it was, ostensibly, designed to accommodate four people, only one woman was currently seated there. She sipped slowly on a glass of white wine as she flipped idly through the pages in her book. Whether she had come here alone and intended to stay that way, or was merely waiting for her chosen company to arrive, every aspect of her demeanor sent the message that strangers should save the offers of free drinks for more accommodating women. It was a shame, too, because she was easily one of the most beautiful beings in the bar. With her delicate yet sharp features, short blonde hair, and toned body, she would have been approached countless times if not for her mastery in signaling people to stay away.

     One man, after walking into the bar with another, better dressed man at his side, disregarded those signals. Instead, he bounded over to her table, tall legs carrying him quickly through the bar, and grabbed her from behind, lifting her up in an enthusiastic hug.

     “Gah!” she yelped, dropping her book and forming a fist, clearly ready to inflict some damage. She jerked around in the arms holding her and got a good look at her assailant. Then, for the first time all night, her face softened and a genuine smile rested on her lips.

     “Miss me?” Sean Pendleton asked, looking into the eyes of his former classmate and long-ago crush.

     “Sean?” Her voice was incredulous, stained with uncertainty and disbelief. “You’re . . . you’re really out? You didn’t . . .”

     “No, he didn’t,” Blaine said, finally making his way over from the door. “He’s working with me these days.”

     At Blaine’s appearance, Sean set the woman down, allowing her to walk over to the dean of Lander’s HCP and enveloping him in a hug of her own.

     “It’s been too long, Clarissa,” Blaine said, giving the woman a firm embrace. She was quite tall, only a few inches below his considerable height, which had never helped diminish her slightly intimidating nature.

     “That it has,” she agreed, finally letting go. “I have to say, I was surprised when you contacted me. Our class isn’t great about keeping in touch.” She made no mention of how hard she'd worked to stay off the grid. There was no need to tell Blaine what he already knew.

     “At least in my case, I’ve got an excuse for not calling,” Sean pointed out.

     Clarissa let out a short, uncomfortable laugh. “I guess so. Speaking of, what’s the deal with this? You couldn’t tell me Sean was out, or that he was coming along?”

     “I could have,” Blaine said. “But Sean thought it would be more fun to surprise you in person.”

     “And how right I was,” Sean added.

     “Okay, I’ll give you that. But, I mean, how are you out? It’s still years too early.”

     “Work-release,” Sean replied. “Did you hear about what happened in Blaine’s staff two years ago?”

     “Only a few rumors here and there,” Clarissa said. “I’m not very connected since I retired.”

     “Let’s leave the whole story for more private places of discussion,” Blaine said. “Suffice it to say, I needed to do some rapid re-staffing, and, despite his later career choices, Sean definitely has a considerable resume.”

     Clarissa nodded her understanding. Being from The Class of Legends was pretty much an open door to any Super or Hero-related job one could want, and she should know. It was one of the reasons she'd originally made herself as absent as possible from the Hero world.

     “So, was this why you wanted to meet? Because, I have to tell you, this is a surprise worth braving the bar scene for,” Clarissa declared, giving her old friends another smile. It truly had been too long since she saw them. At least with Sean, there was an excuse. With Blaine and the rest of her class, it had mostly been too painful. Seeing them just reminded her of . . . what she’d lost.

     “Partially, yes,” Blaine said. “A night out with an old friend was definitely worth the trip. However, I have to admit something up front; I also came here for selfish reasons.”

     “You’re a dean now, I’d be a fool if I showed up expecting anything less,” Clarissa said, laughing a bit.

     “Glad you understand the situation,” Blaine replied. “You see, I’m setting up the junior year guest speakers, and one of the ones I had lined up dropped out due to a conflict. With short notice, it would be hard to get someone as good, so I was thinking that perhaps an old friend could fill in?”

     “Blaine, I don’t know. I left that world a long time ago. I’m not sure what I’d have to talk to them about.”

     “That’s why he wants you,” Sean interjected. “This is the speaker who talks about what life is like after. To show them that you do go on living once the career is done. You seem to be doing great, and with your pedigree, it would mean a lot to some of the kids to hear from you.”

     “I suppose so.” Clarissa sighed in defeat. She knew she’d have to cave eventually; this was part of the Hero life, even after one was out of it. Better to get it out of the way and enjoy the rest of her night with old friends. “Fine, I’ll go help out, but only if you get the first three rounds.”

     “A more than fair bargain,” Dean Blaine agreed. “There is also one thing I should give you a warning about. I seriously doubt it will come up in any way, but I would be remiss as a friend and colleague if I didn’t let you know.”

     “With a preamble that long, this must be a bad one,” Clarissa said. “Maybe I should have negotiated my price harder.”

     “We can reopen it, if needed, but I don’t think this is particularly bad. Just . . . something you should know,” Blaine continued. “Retired or not, I have no doubt you saw the news last year about Phil.”

     “Yeah, it was pretty hard to miss,” Clarissa said, tone neutral and voice careful.

     “I won’t linger on the subject; I know how close you and he were. I just feel that you should know that, in his time . . . away . . . Phil adopted and raised a young boy off the streets. That boy is currently in the class you’ll be speaking to. Again, I see almost no way this could come up, however, it seemed wrong to let you come without telling you.”

     “How could Phil have . . . never mind, if it was him, he’d have found a way,” Clarissa said. She took a long, steady drink from the glass of wine that had previously only been sipped. “Well, that is a hell of a curveball to throw someone. Phil had a son, sort of.”

     “Indeed,” Blaine confirmed.

     “What’s he like?”

     “He’s a good kid,” Sean said. “Tough, strong, kind of dopey, and ridiculously loyal.”

     “In other words, a lot like Phil,” Clarissa surmised. “Okay then. I’ll still do it. I’m not sure if I’ll want to talk to him, or even know which one he is, but I’ll come speak to the class. However, I’m amending our agreement to where your rounds have to be top-shelf. Agreed?”

     “For you, Clarissa, I will happily strike that bargain,” Blaine said.

     83.

     “I’m not coming out,” Chad said, his voice echoing through the Melbrook common room despite speaking from behind the closed door to boys’ lounge. “I was misled on my costume, and I feel it is inappropriate to walk around in.”

     “Don’t be such a spoilsport,” Angela called. Her own costume was a mystery, as she was wearing a long blue robe over the length of her body. The only clue the others had was that her blonde hair was teased up in a messy bundle. Otherwise, she was totally concealed.

     “It can’t be that bad,” Alice said. She was dressed in a blue and white dress, with a simple black hairband running across her head. Sewn to her left shoulder was a purple-striped, stuffed cat with a wide grin, giving away a hint to her identity for those who didn’t pick up on the subtle cues. For Alice, the idea of dressing up as another Alice tickled her with a strange humor, which made the costume all the more fitting.

     “I assure you, it is rather bad,” Chad’s voice reiterated.

     Alice let out a long sigh, then turned to the other males currently in the room. “Vince, Roy, you two want to pop open the door and drag him out?”

     “You say that like he won’t put up much of a fight,” Roy pointed out. “Not that I mind a good row, but I’d hate to get blood on my outfit.” Roy’s “outfit” consisted of a pair of red shorts that ran down to his knees, soft-soled shoes, a red silk robe across his back, and a set of boxing gloves tied together and hung around his neck. It was as much of a compromise as Hershel had been able to strike with his brother, in that, at least this way, Roy’s shirtlessness seemed to be part of a genuine costume effort, and when Hershel took over, he could close the robe.

     “Don’t feel silly, Chad,” Vince encouraged him. He tugged on the red-and-yellow striped poofball hat that hung to his ears, effectively concealing his silver hair. “I let Alex coordinate our costumes, and I don’t even know who I am.”

     “For the love of . . . how many times do I have to tell you this? You’re Jayne, I’m Mal, and Will is Wash,” Alex grumbled. He wore a striking ensemble himself, chocolate-colored coat hanging to his calves and a genuine replica pistol strapped to his side.

     “I don’t know what that means,” Vince replied.

     “Just tell people you’re a browncoat,” Will instructed.

     “No, Jayne wasn’t part of the . . . screw it, sure, why not?” Alex threw up his hands, abandoning all hope of educating his pop-culture-deficient friend.

     “Chad, it can’t be all bad. I took a risk letting Alice choose my costume, and while it’s a little more than I’d have picked out, it still looks nice.” Mary’s words were gentle and reassuring. The small brunette was clad in tan slacks that hugged her legs, a period blouse dipping just a bit below the neck, and a large, voluminous red cloak. Even without the picnic basket, she was clearly meant to be a modest, yet sexy, Red Riding Hood.

     “’More’ is not my concern,” Chad mumbled.

     “Well, you need to get over your concerns soon,” Alice informed him. “We’re meeting Thomas and Camille’s bunch in half an hour, and if I’m not there, they won’t let them into the area I reserved. How about we be fair and leave it to a group vote? Come out, and let the room decide if Angela has asked you to wear a bad costume. If they say yes, I’m sure we have an old spare we can lend you. If not, you deal with it, and we get moving. Fair?”

     There was a moment of silence as Chad contemplated his options, then the door to the boys’ lounge slowly opened, and Chad stepped out.

     The room was suddenly filled with gasps, blushing cheeks, suppressed snickers, and one piercing wolf whistle. The latter was done by Angela, who immediately stepped forward to admire her handiwork.

     “Chad, um, I thought you were going to be a robot,” Mary said, pointedly angling her gaze directly at his eyes.

     “A robot? Where’d you get that idea?” Angela interrupted.

     “You said metallic, shiny, and perfect for me. I made assumptions,” Chad explained.

     “I kept my word, didn’t I? They are shiny and metallic. And the costume is perfect for you. I mean, you’re a blond man in superhumanly good shape. Rocky seemed like a good fit.”

     “I’ve seen Rocky around ten times,” Roy said. “And at no point does he wear a set of skintight gold shorts.”

     “Wrong Rocky,” Alex corrected. “Check Hershel’s memories. Angela is talking about Rocky from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Which, if I were to take a stab in the dark, would mean she’s dressed as Janet.”

     “Give the nerd a prize,” Angela declared, letting her robe fall to the floor. Underneath, she was wearing a white bra and a skirt slip that ended in a torn, misshapen line well above her knees. “See Chad, I got us a couple’s costume. Aren’t I just the sweetest?”

     “It occurs to me that you are still wearing a considerable amount more than me,” Chad pointed out.

     “Oh? Did you want me to even that out?” Her hands moved lightly to her toned back, where she hooked a thumb under the catch of her bra.

     “No! No, you do not need to expose yourself,” Chad snapped quickly.

     “So, you’ll wear the costume without complaining?”

     “I never said that.”

     “Then you’re going to change? After I went to all the trouble of picking these out just for us, so anyone who looked would know we’re together, you’re going to just wear some other costume and leave me looking silly?”

     “I . . . no, I will not. Let’s go to the party. As is.”

     Angela threw back her head and let out a slight peal of mirth. “Oh Chad, you’re just too much fun. Once we’re in the car, you can put on your real shorts. You’ll still be Rocky, but this pair will leave a lot more to the imagination.”

     “I’m confused,” Chad said.

     “I just wanted to see if you’d actually wear that for me,” Angela explained, moving in close and giving him a small, lingering kiss on the cheek. “Now that I know, there’s no way I’m letting you out of the house in those things. I’d be batting other women away all night, and that’s just not my idea of how to have a good time.”

     “Dang,” Roy said, watching the ordeal unfold before him. “That has got to be, mothers excluded, the most downright terrifying woman I’ve ever met.”

     “Yes, she is,” Chad agreed. Despite the seriousness of his words, he returned Angela’s kiss, and when they were finally done, the night was able to commence.

     84.

     The club Alice had chosen, Dashabout, was higher scale than many of the dives they’d visited, or, in a few cases, were working at. It was frequented not just by lowly college students out to score cheap drinks and get laid, but also by an older, more sophisticated crowd of graduates . . . who were looking to score cheap drinks and get laid. The fake IDs Nick had provided the previous year came in handy, as the bouncers actually looked at the identification presented to them, rather than merely making sure it was plastic and rectangular. Few in the group needed to use the fakes though, since the majority of them had crossed that mythical threshold into the age of twenty-one.

     As the Melbrook group entered, they were greeted by a young brunette woman with a cheerful grin. She was dressed as a fairy princess, the tiara and wings giving away her costume. After a quick chat with Alice, and a few last minute forms being signed, she ushered them through the club to their area. It was an expansive space, done up in steel and mirrors to such an extent that one could scarcely glance in any direction without encountering a reflection of themselves. Already, the bar area swelled with patrons clamoring to be served, so they could court a fresh buzz before the remainder of the intoxication from their pre-gaming wore off. The dance floor was less cluttered, despite the subtle thump of bass and the swirl of multi-colored lights enticing people to come gyrate. Most were either downing the liquid courage that dancing would require, or didn’t want to sweat and grind through their costumes just yet.

     The fairy princess showed them up a small section of stairs to an elevated platform. On it were several couches, some plush chairs, and tables centrally located near every seat. The elevation provided them a view of the still sparse dance floor, as well as a good line of sight on the door. This prime location was not a coincidence; Alice the Party-planner had known they’d have lots of people filtering in and wanted to be able to spot them upon entrance.

     “All right everyone, here’s the deal.” Alice made her announcement at the center of the platform, drawing their attention before they could even sit down. “There will be a pair of servers making rounds through the VIP sections, so if you don’t want to deal with the bar, you don’t have to. That said, they’re going to be busy tonight, meaning you may want to open a tab at the bar and start doing some charming and tipping if you’re a heavy drinker.”

     “Warning appreciated,” Roy said.

     “No problem. Now, the rest of our friends should get shown here by Bree—that’s the private host who was dressed like a fairy. Again, she’s going to be pretty swamped since its Halloween, and they may not even know to ask her where we are. That means keep an eye out if at all possible; we don’t want anyone to feel ditched. Alex, I’m counting on you to catch the stragglers everyone else misses.”

     “Can do,” Alex replied. “At least, until after the first few rounds. Then things get a bit muggy.”

     “Then please pace yourself.” Alice paused, mentally ticking off points on her hand. “Okay, I think that’s everything you need to know. Obviously, go forth and have fun, and don’t worry about leaving your purses or coats unattended. No one who isn't vetted by Bree or escorted by us is getting up here, so valuables are safe. Part of why I picked this place was their great security.”

     It struck Angela that her fellow blonde bombshell had gone a bit overboard on sectioning them off and setting up a safe perimeter. She noticed everyone else going along with it, however, so she chose not to broach the subject. Chad had told her this group was chaotic; maybe they’d had bad experiences with clubbing. Or maybe being outed as Powereds had left them with a touch of paranoia. Either way, she was grateful not to have to worry about the little details, so maybe Alice hadn’t gone that far overboard, after all.

     “That’s everything, so you’re all dismissed.” Alice clapped her hands together and smiled at the group. “And let’s have ourselves a Happy Halloween, for a change.”

     “I think, with all you’ve done, Alice, there’s no way we can’t,” Vince told her. “Really, thank you. This must have been a lot of work.”

     “More than I expected, but well worth every bit,” Alice said. “We’re long overdue for a nice, fun, and, most importantly, peaceful evening.

     *              *              *

     “It is too a costume.” Eliza stuck her hands on her hips and stuck out her tongue, as if her tone weren’t quite defiant enough.

     “It’s a three-dollar cat mask,” Nicholas rebutted, his own outfit far more intricate. Much of Nick’s freshman year gunslinger costume had been appropriated to the task. Colors had been changed, cuts retailored, and most importantly, a black mask had been added to his eyes, creating the image of a passable, if not terribly creative, Lone Ranger costume.

     “And all you said was that we had to wear masks,” Eliza shot back. “Which Jerome didn’t even do!”

     Jerome sat on Nicholas’s couch, reading a small book while the other two bickered. It was true that he hadn’t worn a mask, but he had certainly rendered himself unrecognizable. His makeup was Hollywood grade, tinting his skin the color of recently dead flesh, and the puckered scars that ran all the way from his face to his neck bolts were sickeningly realistic.

     “I said we had to be able to hide our faces,” Nicholas clarified. “If things don’t go well, and Mary gives us the boot, at least you two will still be unknowns to the group.”

     “So, why are you hiding your face? They’ll know you regardless.”

     “Because it seems more prudent to tell them of my return in a controlled situation, where they are appropriately braced, rather than letting them dissolve into chaotic emotion by spotting me walking through the door. Now, this is a high-end club, so people there will have taken their outfits seriously. You need to blend in, and that means showing up in something more elaborate than a cat mask, jeans, and a t-shirt!” Somewhere in the deep recesses of Nicholas’s mind—in a place he couldn’t quite touch anymore—he realized this argument felt exhaustingly familiar.

     “Nicholas is right,” Jerome chipped in from the couch. “We need to blend.”

     “Fine, what if I change to black jeans and a slinky black top? Then I’m a sexy black cat. I don’t think anyone will say boo to that outfit.” Eliza smirked at her own Halloween humor, a gesture that left Nicholas all the more annoyed.

     “That will have to do.” Nicholas checked his watch, making sure they were still on schedule. “But hurry. I detest arriving after the optimum hour.”

     “Yeah yeah. You and your showmanship.” Eliza opened the front door and headed out into the cool night. She would change quickly, just not as quickly as Nicholas wanted. It was important to manage expectations, after all.

     85.

     Within an hour of the Melbrook group’s arrival, most of their friends had shown up and been led to the seating area. Jill, Sasha, and Selena hadn’t hung around for long, staying only long enough to drop off purses, say some hellos, and then head out into the thick of the party. Mary noticed that Selena and Alex managed to chat cordially for a bit before the other two dragged her into action—a sight that put her somewhat more at ease. After the roughness of Alex and Selena’s breakup, it had seemed like they’d never be capable of coexisting around one another. Time had, thankfully, begun healing their wounds.

     Camille had come with Thomas and Violet, who were dressed as a fighter pilot and a sexy ladybug, respectively. Neither would admit it, but with Stella gone, they hadn’t quite been able to muster up the same gumption for Halloween costume-shopping as before. She hadn’t been huge on the holiday either, but their three-way grumbling had been something of a tradition. Now, without her, faux disinterest in the holiday had transformed into the genuine article.

     Camille had actually put a bit more thought into her costume than in years previous. Whether it was the influence of Alice’s tutorials, or merely the breaking out of her shell, she had decided to put on a get-up that would actually invite a little attention. With her now shorter hair gelled and spiked, she wore a grungy outfit that was illuminated at various points by neon tubes sewn into the fabric. Accessories included a pair of goggles resting on her forehead and thick boots that added a few inches to her height, not to mention an endless variety of wrist bangles. She’d gotten Will’s help for the effects, but the construction had been all her. It all worked to make the small healer into a tough cyber-punk, a costume Alex gave her endless compliments on.

     As the rest filtered in, they followed a similar pattern. There would be greetings, Alice would give them the low-down, they’d thank her for setting things up, and then most of them would ogle Chad in a mixture of shock and interest once they caught sight of his costume. Some were told that the earlier version was far worse, which spurred terror in some and curiosity in others. Once that was out of the way, they would disseminate to their respective locations. Some went to mingle at the bar, others were set on dancing, but the majority took the time to appreciate the relatively tranquil space they’d been provided.

     It was while sitting peacefully that Camille noticed Alex, still wearing the large brown coat that had to be too warm in the heated club atmosphere, jerk up from his seat like he’d sat on a needle. His eyes darted about furiously, an expression of confusion, then concern, flashing across his face. Before anyone noticed, Mary was there, at his side. The two said nothing, which confused Camille only until she realized a pair of telepaths didn’t need words to have a conversation. Lack of speech didn’t keep the expressions off their faces, though, at least not entirely. Alex still looked confused, but his face was moving more and more in the direction of anger. Mary almost kept her usual calm facade, but every now and then, she’d show a twitch of nervousness. Finally, after several moments of standing in seeming silence, Alex gave a small, begrudging nod, and then walked away to sit with Vince and Will. Mary surprised Camille. Instead of returning to her seat, she walked over to the couch where her fellow short woman was watching and plopped down next to her.

     “I know you’re wondering what that was all about.”

     “A little bit, yeah,” Camille admitted. “Why was Alex in such a tizzy?”

     “Because I’m an idiot.” Mary leaned her head back, resting it against the black leather seat. The red hood pulled away slightly, revealing the tight braid she’d worn for her costume. It conjured up a momentary, unexpected pang of loss in Camille’s heart. That hairstyle would forever be something she associated with her former steel-shifting friend.

     “I forgot about Alex,” Mary continued. “He’s just so . . . not like me and the professor that I honestly forgot how good he was at recognizing people. I’m trying to do something a little risky tonight, something I wanted to control every aspect of. Alex has graciously agreed to go along with it, for now. Hopefully it all works out.”

     “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Camille said. She patted her friend on the leg anyway, if for no other reason than Mary seemed like she needed a bit of reassurance.

     “So I’m aware. Just needed to vent a bit to someone, and you already noticed our talk, so I had to give you an explanation anyway.”

     “It must be hard, not having Hershel around when you really need someone.”

     “Even if he were, I couldn’t talk to him yet either. But yes, it is hard.” Mary took a long breath and pulled her head up, readjusting her cloak so it was almost, but not quite, covering her face. “And there is still a lot of night ahead, so I’m just crossing my fingers that Alex is the worst fire I have to put out.”

     “It seems a bit daring to try . . . whatever you’re doing . . . on Halloween. Given your group’s track record and all.”

     “You think so? The way I see it, we’re long overdue for a bit of good luck on Halloween. This is just me trying to cash in on it.” Mary stood up from the couch and adjusted her outfit slightly. “Maybe you should do the same. You’re looking very eye-catching tonight, and I’m keenly aware that a few people have noticed.”

     “Trust me, I know. Alex wouldn’t stop fawning.”

     Mary let out a small, devious chuckle. “I wasn’t talking about Alex, but you’re close. In fact, I’d say you’re at the right table, if you catch my meaning.” As she walked away, she passed by Alex, and the two exchanged a furtive glance. Sitting next to him still were Will and Vince. Camille noticed something when Mary walked by—as her eyes naturally followed her friend’s path, they caught sight of another stare, this one observing her. Vince’s bright blue irises darted away the moment he realized he’d been caught, an action which made Camille blush.

     Vince had been looking at her, and he was at the same table as Alex. Mary’s words still hung in Camille’s mind, lingering like tendrils of daring fog amidst the first rays of morning. They were overdue for some good Halloween fortune.

     Maybe she’d try and grab a piece of that too.

     86.

     Nicholas had barely made it five minutes past the door when a short figure in a bright-red hood sidled up to him. The amber eyes peering out from under the crimson hood studied him carefully, then turned their scrutinizing gaze on his two companions. Only after the silent test was concluded did the young woman speak.

                     “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Mary, an old friend of Nicholas’s. And you are?”

                     Jerome acted first; formality was one of the many lessons that had been drilled into him for his role in the Family. He might not understand why this telepath was pretending not to know who they were, but it didn’t matter. His job was not to question why, it was only to follow orders. Nicholas had told them to play nice, that was all that mattered.

                     “Jerome,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the ever-present din of bass coming from the dance floor. The area was still under-filled enough to where they could stand without being jostled, but the growing line outside the doors suggested that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

                     “I’m Eliza,” Eliza announced, taking a step forward. If she’d hoped to assert some subliminal form of dominance with her height, she had chosen the wrong opponent.

                     “So glad you all could make it. I’d love to chat and get to know you better later, but I think I’d like to speak with Nicholas first. Why don’t you grab some drinks?” Mary’s voice couldn’t have been sweeter or more polite.

                     It also couldn’t have been clearer that she wasn’t making a request.

                     With a small nod from Nicholas, the others took their cue and headed to the bar, leaving him alone with his former dormmate. The duo shuffled slightly out of the way, leaning against a wall between a pair of unattended tables. This kept them out of line of sight for the reserved seating area, the dance floor, and a large portion of the bar.

                     “Well, any chance you were followed?” Mary asked.

                     “Not that I can tell. Nathaniel is good, but with my full attention, he shouldn’t be able to sneak up on me again. That said, my ego has recently been humbled, so I would appreciate it if you kept a mental ear open for him.”

                     “Already intended to,” she said. “But if he tries anything here, he’ll be in for one hell of a surprise. Half of our junior class is in attendance, and plenty of them can do serious damage, even without using abilities.”

                     “I highly doubt Nathaniel will make a move tonight. His last loss is too recent; Nathaniel is the sort to lie in wait and lick his wounds. Besides, a place this size presents too many uncontrollable factors. It makes for a poor environment to plan an ambush in.”

                     “Let’s hope he sees it that way too. I’d like to have one Halloween that doesn’t end in violence.” Mary shifted her position slightly, running her hands along the edge of her cloak. “So, are you ready to meet some old friends?”

                     “Don’t you mean go to my audition? Have no fear; I will make them all feel quite at ease with my presence here. How are we going to do this?”

                     “I’m going up to our section,” Mary said. “Once there, I’m going to tell them about you being here, and that your memories are still fogged. At that point, anyone who wants to leave the section and meet you will come with me. Those who don’t feel like reconnecting with an ex-program member will stay put, and you’ll respect that. If everyone comes, then you and your people can join us in our section. If not, you and yours hang out in the main part of the club. I’ll listen to everyone’s thoughts as the night goes on. If I think you can exist among us without causing serious problems or emotional turmoil, then the next steps will be yours.”

                     “A shockingly unfair arrangement, but given the amount of leverage you possess, I have no choice but to agree. What of Jerome and Eliza?”

                     “They stay with you,” Mary replied. “If they’re part of your world, then the people reconnecting with you need to know that. All cards on the table.”

                     “Funny, as I recall, you were never much of a card player.”

                     “Nicholas, you don’t recall anything. You just read that in a file.” With that, Mary walked away, red cloak bobbing amidst the sea of bodies as she made her way back to her friends.

                     “Well, I wouldn’t say I don’t recall anything,” Nicholas muttered under his breath as he watched her go. The memory of their fight in his mind, when she’d discovered his deepest secret in that subliminal church funeral, was crisp as the pain of a fresh wound. He knew Mary was more resourceful, surprising, and determined than her amiable facade might indicate. That, above all else, was why he was playing along with her game.

                     Thanks to the recovered memory, Nicholas understood just how unstoppable Mary could be when motivated.

     *              *              *

                     “Hey Vince, do you want to go dance?”

                     Vince glanced up from his discussion to find Camille standing beside him, hands purposely stuck to her hips as she awaited an answer. It was bluster, pure and obvious, but it was still quite striking. She was beautiful, in her own way. And the longer Vince knew her, the more enthralling she seemed to become.

                     “Are you sure you want me? I’m not exactly the picture of grace.”

                     “And I’m hell in heels? I just feel like moving around a bit and checking out all the other costumes. Plus, I’m trying to work on getting outside my comfort zone, which dancing definitely is. Come help a friend out.”

                     “All right, but if I accidentally break one of your toes, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Vince replied, rising from his chair.

                     “Maybe it’s time we all started thinking about getting some dance partners,” Alex said. He glanced about the section to see who was remaining.

                     “Why not try our luck with someone not in direct competition with us?” Will suggested. “There seem to be plenty of beautiful women who we won’t have to fistfight sometime in the near future.”

                     “The man makes a good point,” Alex said. He and Will stood up as well, though Alex paused to smooth out the various facets of his coat. “You two should probably go ahead. Will and I need to formulate a game plan. We can’t go out there without having proper wingman duties assigned.”

                     “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I’m probably better off not knowing,” Vince said, chuckling softly to himself. “Come on, Camille; let’s go try not to wound each other.”

                     “You ask for the impossible.” The two headed down the stairs and toward the dance floor. Alex watched them go, following the red-and-yellow striped hat carefully as it navigated through the growing crowd.

                     “So, what are these duties you need performed?” Will asked.

                     “We’ll get to that later. The real reason I had us hang back is because Mary’s on her way up, and we don’t want to miss what she’s going to say,” Alex explained.

                     “Shouldn’t you have stopped Vince?”

                     “No way,” Alex replied, permitting himself a sly grin. “He and Camille finally going off and doing something as intimate as dancing together is . . . well, not more important, but more pressing. Mary’s announcement will be here when he gets back. For now, let’s cross our fingers those two finally make some damn headway.”

     87.

                     When Mary stepped into the seating area, she did a quick scan of those present. Angela and Chad were talking on a couch; Will and Alex were standing near the entrance, clearly waiting for her. She spotted Roy leaning on the side-railing, talking with Alice, Violet, and Thomas as he ogled girls in skimpy costumes. The rest, it seemed, were out getting drinks or dancing. That was okay for the most part, though she wondered if she should wait for Vince to come back.

                     “I don’t think you’ll get a point where everyone is present,” Alex said, answering her unspoken thought. “This seems like almost everyone who would care. Might be good to strike while the opportunity is here.”

                     “I suppose you’re right,” Mary said. She stepped the rest of the way into the section, moving to the middle of it, and then addressed her friends. “Everyone, could you come in close for a minute? There’s something I need to talk to you all about.”

                     Curious glances were exchanged, but the request was complied with as people wandered to within arm’s reach of Mary, who was taking measured breaths to stay calm. She wasn’t scared of speaking to a group, not after having been captain of a team for a year, but the proposition of what lay before her still conjured a minor aura of nerves. It didn’t help that the constant, dull thrum of music pounded against her head, reminding her of the days when she couldn’t shut the voices out. Mary pushed those thoughts away as she pushed away the fear and worry. This was not the time for getting caught up in her head. This was the time to deliver.

                     “I ran into someone a few minutes ago. Someone we all know, or, at least, used to know. Nick is here. Nick Campbell. He came back to Lander as a regular student after the expulsion, and he’s at this club tonight. His memories are still wiped and all, I just . . . I thought you all should know that he was here. I talked with him for a bit. He’s a little different—losing two years will do that—but he’s still the same guy he always was underneath. If anyone wants to meet him, I’m going to go visit with him some more in a bit.”

                     “Mary, you know the danger in what you’re doing,” Chad cautioned. “Those who leave the program often hold bitterness toward the ones that stayed. Outing former friends isn’t unheard of.”

                     “I know, Chad. That’s why I came here to tell you all like this, rather than bringing him over. Anyone who wants to take that risk can come with me, but I don’t think anyone will look down on someone for being cautious.”

                     “Count me in,” Angela declared.

                     “You barely ever spoke to Nick,” Chad reminded her.

                     “So what? Still seems like it might be fun. I’m always up for fun.”

                     “Then I suppose I should come as well, and see this fun for myself,” Chad said.

                     “I’ll go talk with him too,” Roy said. “To be honest, I always figured it was only a matter of time before he pulled something like this. Nick loves stirring shit too much to go out quietly.”

                     “I’ll go see him,” Alice said, her simple words belying the storm of emotions inside her. She didn’t like lying to her friends, didn’t care for pretending to know less about Nicholas than she did. That was why she’d kept her response so simple. It was one of the ways Professor Pendleton taught to mentally trick themselves: if everything you said was true, then you weren’t lying. All she did was agree to go talk to him, nothing untrue was uttered.

                     “I will sit this one out,” Thomas told the group. He looked at the ground, not wanting to see any reaction in their eyes. “While Nick and I were friends, we were not tremendously close. I don’t begrudge him a new life here at Lander; however, I have too much on my own plate at the moment to add another risk. I’m sorry.”

                     “You have nothing to feel bad about,” Violet said, softly placing a hand on his wide, muscular shoulder. “That’s a smart decision. So smart, in fact, that I’m copying it and staying put with you.”

                     “As am I,” Will added. “Give Nick my best, but I’m afraid it seems unnecessarily dangerous to interact with him anymore.”

                     “Makes sense,” Alex agreed. “But I’m going to say hi. If his memories are sealed, it isn’t that dangerous. And I kind of miss that wild-minded jerk.”

                     “That’s everyone here then,” Mary said, noting each person’s decision. “Would one of the people staying tell Vince and Camille when they come back from dancing?”

                     “I’ll do it,” Thomas volunteered. “I believe I can explain it to Vince in the easiest way possible.”

                     “I don’t doubt that. Okay then, everyone else ready to go say hello to an old friend?” Mary asked.

                     “Sure, let’s get this show on the road,” Angela said, hopping out of her seat in a motion that might have left her chest exposed if she were wearing a more modern bra with less coverage. “We have to knock out the big reveal before the inevitable bar fight.”

                     “Bar fight?” Alice asked.

                     “Yeah, Chad filled me in about you hooligans and your Halloween havoc. Two throw-downs in two years? Seems to me, we’ve got decent odds of a threepeat.”

                     “For everyone’s sake, I dearly hope you’re wrong,” Mary said. Inwardly, she reminded herself to do another mental sweep when walking everyone over to Nicholas. If their bad luck was going to strike again, Nathaniel Evers seemed a likely agent for it to use. She began walking toward the stairs, indicating that the others should follow.

                     “I just don’t understand you guys; fate goes out of its way to give you a battle-rich tradition, and you try to avoid it. Kids today, no appreciation for the finer things in life.” Angela still followed Mary, despite the grumbling.

                     “If we can get through this night without a punch being thrown, I’ll consider it a rousing success,” Alice said, heading to the stairs.

                     “Now, I wouldn’t go that far,” Roy said, following as well. “I mean, I’m not saying I want a full-out brawl, but it is still a party after all. A little scrapping would liven things up.”

                     Angela turned to Chad, and jerked her thumb in Roy’s direction. “New plan: when I’m not around, follow his lead. I like the instincts on this one.”

                     Chad merely shook his head and continued walking, wondering if perhaps his plan to liven up his life hadn’t succeeded a bit more than he’d intended.

     88.

      Vince and Camille’s attempt at dancing was unsurprisingly awkward. Despite both being in peak physical condition, neither was entirely gifted when it came to holding a beat. This says nothing of the overall discomfort they felt at the proximity most other dancers had to their partners; people who were dancing so close it was often hard to distinguish them as separate entities. Modesty and nerves compelled them to maintain at least some distance between their bodies, crush of the crowd be damned. After about two songs, Camille made a motion for Vince to leave the dance floor, and he happily obliged.

                     He followed her, only a bit curious to see she was going off in the direction opposite of the seating area where they’d left their friends. A few minutes’ walk from the dance floor, Camille located an open two-top table with chairs that were so tall it took her a bit of effort to climb into one. Vince slid into his own easily, his own height being adequate, if not considerable.

                     “Already tired?” Vince asked. It was easier to talk here, away from the booming sound of the dance floor. He was impressed by the acoustics of the club: as loud as the music was for the dancers, it immediately died off to background noise when one entered the main club area.

                     “Not tired, just not having that much fun,” Camille replied. “Sorry about that. Sometimes, I try to push myself into new things, just to get out of my comfort zone. I shouldn’t have dragged you along.”

                     “I’m glad you did. I can be a little stuck in my ways too. It’s good to shake things up. But I don’t think I want to do that kind of dancing.” Vince gestured vaguely in the direction of the floor they’d left, not really pointing at any couple in particular. He didn’t need to get specific to convey the message.

                     “That was . . . a bit much,” Camille agreed. “I might like to try a different kind, though. The two-stepping wasn’t nearly as bad.”

                     “Think they’ll play any country?”

                     Camille glanced around at the steel, mirrors, and upscale décor. “I’d guess probably not.”

                     “Should we go back to the seating area, then?”

                     “We could, or we could just sit and see if they play something else. There is a spectrum of music between country and . . . whatever this is,” Camille said. She was thankful for the excessive makeup her costume had demanded; it hid the worst of the blush she could feel burning in her cheeks. She’d come so far with Vince, but every now and then, the simplest things could set her off. Then again, lying in wait, hoping for a slow song wasn’t really all that simple, if she were honest with herself.

                     “I like that idea,” Vince said, flashing Camille a grin that threatened to spread the blushing to her ears. “It’ll be nice to sit and chat. I feel like I see less of you and Alex since the team . . . since last year.”

                     “We work together,” Camille reminded him.

                     “Yeah, but our schedules are so different, we rarely get the same shifts. Besides, we both stay busy, so it’s not like we get a lot of time to hang out.”

                     That was true. Supper with Supers was a far more successful restaurant than any of the young students had realized. It had never made it onto their radar, but for many families, it was a delightful place to bring their children. It had even drawn some people Vince and Camille’s own age, young men and women still captivated by all things related to Heroes. Had things gone differently, they might have been among that group, but being in the HCP had taken some of the shine off the caped apple. They were being taught every day how Heroes were weighed down with far more than whimsical catchphrases and primary colors.

                     “How do you like the waiting job, anyway?”

                     “It’s pretty fun,” Vince said. “Compared to our normal schedule, it’s low-stress. Plus, I get to meet a lot of really nice people. The posing for pictures thing took some getting used to, though, I’ll admit that.”

                     “That’s only families with children, right?”

                     “Mostly,” Vince confirmed. “I guess the kids see a guy in a cape, even if he’s just a waiter playing pretend, and want to take their picture with him. I see the appeal, though. If I’d gone to a place like ours when I was young, I’m sure I’d have gotten a picture too.”

                     Camille nodded and gave him a small smile. She’d seen the children asking to take their picture with Vince, and it wasn’t just because he was a waiter in a cape. Vince treated them with even more patience and kindness than he showed most people, which was saying something. He didn’t seem to realize it, but the other waiters were asked to pose far less often than him. Deep down, she suspected they could see what she already knew: their waiter was an authentic Hero. He just didn’t have the certification yet. That thought filled her with a heartwarming glow.

                     “Although, that doesn’t explain the groups of adults that ask me to pose,” Vince continued.

                     “Groups of adults?” Camille’s warm glow began to dim.

                     “Yeah. Usually during late lunch; mostly women, now that I think about it. They always ask me to flex and stuff. Doesn’t happen often; in fact, I was so surprised the first time that I asked Brenda what our policy was on that. She told me the customer is always right, but she seemed to be giggling a lot when she said it.”

                     Camille’s glow had definitely burned down to cinders now. “Vince, you don’t have to. Those women were . . . they were flirting with you.”

                     “I don’t think so,” Vince told her. “I know it looks that way, even I understand that much, but I think the flirting was just an excuse. Deep down, I think they wanted to feel like those kids do, like they’d really gotten to pose with a Hero. They know I’m just a waiter in the same way that people who wear Santa outfits aren’t the real Santa, but that doesn’t mean you still don’t get a bit of that childhood thrill by pretending. Just for a second.”

                     “That’s a sweet way to look at it,” Camille said, her glow somewhat rekindled. When one fell in love with an oblivious man, they had to take the trials that came with it. “But I think you just raised a point I definitely want to discuss.”

                     “What’s that?” Vince asked.

                     “Was that whole speech your subtle way of telling me that you still go get your picture taken with Santa?”

     89.

                     Nicholas gave the approaching group a lopsided grin as they drew near, lifting his glass to them.

                     “Old friends, I take it?”

                     “Some are, some were just standing around and decided to tag along. Everyone likes making new friends, after all,” Mary told him. The group gathered around Nicholas, who was camped at a large table. Eliza and Jerome were a few seats over, both pretending to talk with one another.

                     “I certainly consider myself in that margin as well. For any who don’t know, my name is Nicholas Campbell, and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

                     A tall man, rippling with muscle that was displayed thanks to his boxer costume, stepped forward and shook Nicholas’s hand. “I’m Roy. Good to see you again. You and I were never that close, but my brother Hershel considers you a good friend.”

                     “Is your brother here?” Nicholas feigned looking around, waiting for someone in the crowd to speak up.

                     “He’ll be around in a bit,” Roy replied, releasing Nicholas’s hand.

                     Angela surprised everyone, especially Chad, by walking up and enveloping Nicholas in a giant hug. She held him there for a few seconds, then pulled slightly away. When she spoke, her voice quivered ever so softly. “Baby, oh my sweet man, do you remember me?”

                     “I . . . no, I don’t.” The expression of shock on Nicholas’s face was quite possibly the first honest expression he’d worn all night.

                     “You don’t? Even after everything we shared, everything we did, everything I let you do . . . . You’ve really forgotten me that quickly? You promised you’d always remember.”

                     Most of the crowd stared in dumbstruck confusion, though Alice’s emotional state was tinged with a bit of bubbling anger; however, Angela’s boyfriend was unaffected by her spectacle. Chad stepped over and set a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder.

                     “This is Angela, and I am Chad. I feel I should tell you that she is . . . I think the term is ‘messing with you.’”

                     “Way to kill the bit,” Angela said, voice back to normal as she released Nicholas from her arms. “Yeah, we never really met or talked, aside from occasional chit-chat. Too bad though, you seemed like a nice kid.” With that, she tucked her arm around Chad and stepped out of the way.

                     “I’m Alex,” the young man in the Captain Mal costume informed Nicholas. “We were pretty good friends.” He wandered off without saying any more than that. To do so would have been pointless; now that he was listening to Nicholas’s mind, he knew the lack of knowledge was a sham. Alex wasn’t going to blow it open, at least not yet, but he didn’t feel particularly obliged to play along either.

                     “And you know me,” Mary said. She and Alice both stepped forward. “This is Alice, my dormmate and best friend.”

                     “Your name is Alice, and you came dressed as Alice,” Nicholas noted.

                     “Your name is Nicholas, and you came dressed as a gay cowboy prostitute,” Alice shot back. “Oh right, you don’t remember, but making fun of each other was kind of our thing.”

                     “I cannot imagine I ever brought myself to insult such a lovely woman,” Nicholas replied.

                     Behind his back, Eliza stuck her finger in her mouth to mime vomiting. Alice noticed and let out a short, sparkling laugh. “I’m guessing these are your friends, and I have to say, I already like the girl.”

                     “Right, these are some old acquaintances: Jerome and Eliza. They are also pursuing a higher education at Lander.” If Nicholas felt any annoyance at being mocked from two sides (which he did), he kept it off his face like the professional he was.

                     Jerome stepped out of his chair first, giving a nod to all of others gathered in the area. “Nice to meet you all. Any friend of Nicholas is a friend of ours.”

                     “What’s the ‘ours’ there? Some of us have more discerning tastes when it comes to picking friends, so I’m not sure I’d give a blanket statement like that.” Eliza paused to regard the HCP students that had come to greet them. “But I guess this lot does seem pretty decent. Way better than your usual crowd, Nicholas. I’m Eliza, by the by.”

                     “She’s spunky,” Angela noted. “Can we keep her?”

                     “If it were in my power, I would happily hand her off to you,” Nicholas replied. This earned him a light elbow in the ribs from Eliza, which he chose not to acknowledge. “Now then, how about we all sit down and catch up a bit. I understand there are topics which cannot be covered, but I’d still love to know more about your lives.”

                     “You guys have fun. I’m going to go take my boy on a ride around the dance floor,” Angela announced, grabbing Chad’s hand and heading off. He gave a weak wave as the duo exited, but no one blamed him for the departure. Trying to stand in the way of Angela DeSoto was like trying to argue with a tsunami: you could use all the words you liked, but in the end, you were still going to get bowled over.

                     “They seem to be a very . . . interesting couple,” Nicholas observed.

                     “It’s a weird match,” Roy agreed, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “But they seem to get along well, so who knows. My mother taught me that you can never really tell from looking outside-in how a relationship works.” Roy neglected to mention that this lesson had been necessary after his father’s departure, both because he didn’t want to dwell on it, and because it seemed impolite to bring up at a festive time.

                     “A keen insight,” Nicholas agreed. “So, Roy you said your name was, you mentioned your brother and I were close friends. I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate on that. Within bounds, of course.”

                     “Not much I’d care to discuss in a place like this, or at a time like now,” Roy said carefully. “When Hershel shows up, he can decide how much to chat with you about. But I’ll say this, whenever you would make the group watch a cheap horror movie, he would groan with the rest of them for show, but deep down, he loved the hell out of those flicks. My brother is all kinds of nerd, and he found it interesting that a guy like you, so different from him in so many ways, shared that same love for bad gore flicks.”

                     “The love of fine cinema is a siren that calls men from all walks of life,” Nicholas replied. “It sounds like your brother and I both had the keen sense of appreciation to enjoy such films.”

                     “Appreciation ain’t exactly what I’d call it, but seeing as we’re in polite company, that will have to do for now.”

     90.

                     The slow song that Vince and Camille were hoping for never came, though a few songs with more choreographed, less tantalizing moves did manage to draw them out onto the dance floor again. In between those infrequent dance excursions, they sat around at one of the empty tables and talked. Nothing of tremendous weight was discussed, but they both felt like it was much needed conversation. Life had grown so heady and serious this year, it was nice to talk about nothing more than bad teachers and tough classes.

                     After the last round of choreographed dancing—a simple melody that even Vince was able to learn within a few iterations—they found a set of empty stools and sat down to rest.

                     “I think that might be it for me,” Camille admitted. Her heavy makeup was smudged at the edges from perspiration. As good as an HCP student’s endurance was, a giant floor packed with moving bodies would put off enough body heat to make anyone sweat. “Nice as it was to try dancing, I feel like I’ve effectively broken out of my bubble enough for one night.”

                     “Ditto,” Vince agreed. “Plus, it would be good to see our friends some more. This is the first time I can remember in ages that the whole night has been simple and relaxed. I mean, it’s like that in Melbrook a lot, but that’s just the five of us.”

                     “What you guys have is something special. I’m jealous; it would be nice to live in a place like that.”

                     “You could have taken over Stella’s room,” Vince reminded her.

                     Camille frowned, a sour expression on her usually sweet face. “I could have, but I didn’t want to live in a constant reminder that she wasn’t around anymore. I miss her so much already. If she could have seen me in this outfit, she would have just died of joy right there on the spot. Stella was always trying to get me to break out, even more than Violet.”

                     “I’m sorry your friend is gone.” Vince patted her gently on the shoulder. Camille suspected his hand lingered for a bit longer than needed, but it was probably just wishful thinking.

                     “No, please. I should say that to you. At least Stella has all the memories of our time together, even if she wouldn’t recognize that I’m the girl she had them with. Losing Nick must have been much worse.”

                     “I don’t think anyone can, or should, rank loss. It just sucks, no matter the details around it. It’s an awful, awful thing.” Vince’s hands trembled, ever so slightly, in a way that only someone truly attentive or truly enraptured would notice.

                     Camille did notice, and put one of her own small hands atop his, giving a slight squeeze. This was a hard topic for him to even brush against. In a different time, in a different place, she might have pressed on, but in a club on Halloween, it seemed like changing the topic was the best course of action.

                     “Hey, Vince, would you grab me a water? I’m pretty parched after all the dancing.”

                     “Huh? Oh, sure.” Vince hopped off the stool immediately, and Camille felt a small smile appear on her face. That was her Vince; the easiest way to redirect him was to give him someone to help.

                     “I’ll stay here and hold the chairs. Seats are filling up pretty quickly.” Camille motioned to the area around them, which did indeed host an abundant lack of open seats.

                     “Are you sure?” His tone was heavier than his words; it was evident the traces of their last topic hadn’t quite faded yet.

                     “I’ll be fine, Vince. I might be small, but in this outfit, I should still be easy to spot when you come back. You never have to worry about losing me.”

                     Vince stared at her for a moment, and Camille felt herself grow tense as he did. She wasn’t sure what he was about to do, whether it was hug her, thank her, or kiss her so hard she fell off the stool. That moment seemed to stretch onward, lasting for hours, even though she could count time in the steady beat of the music from the dance floor.

                     In the end, Vince just gave a sheepish grin and nodded, then went off to get her water. Camille, on the other hand, put a hand to her chest and tried to steady her heart, which had suddenly begun to race.

     *             *             *

                     Mary felt an unexpected kernel of relaxation begin to appear in her stomach, a break in the rock of worry she’d been carrying around ever since she first approached Nicholas. It had been scary— damn scary, really—to reintroduce her former friend to his old acquaintances. But it was necessary, as she saw it. She’d read his mind and knew there was a chink in the fog Professor Stone had thrown across his memories. Nick was still in there, somewhere, and it seemed like his friends were the best path toward getting him out. Of course, dealing with Nicholas was still incredibly dangerous, so the sight of him toeing the line gave her a slight sense of ease—she knew that man’s mind too well to ever truly lower her guard.

                     Still, things were going well. Everyone was talking and joking, neither Nicholas nor his friends had pushed for any HCP secrets, and the tension the group had felt upon first seeing Nicholas was slowly dissipating. It didn’t hurt that Eliza and Jerome were both affable as well—he stoic and polite, while she was rowdy and comical.

                     “Hey, Mary, I’m going to go get a drink. You want to come with me?” Eliza asked. The question seemed out of the blue, unless you’d been listening to her thoughts, which Mary had.

                     “Sure, I could go for a water,” Mary agreed. The two women rose from the table and headed down toward the bar. Had it not been concealed by a red-and-yellow striped hat, they’d have noticed a head topped with spiky silver hair heading in the same direction.

                     “Thanks for coming with,” Eliza said, once they were out of earshot from the others. Her flippant tones had dulled, though not vanished. Unlike with Nick, this seemed to be a genuine part of her personality. “I just wanted to see how we’re doing. Nicholas was pretty insistent we make a good impression. If it’s going bad, Jerome and I can vanish.”

                     “What good would that do?”

                     “Well . . . I mean, if we don’t make the cut and he does, then at least he can still be around his friends.”

                     Mary was surprised by the emotion behind Eliza’s thoughts. “You’re worried about him?”

                     The cat-masked woman shot the small girl a striking glance. “Damn that is inconvenient. Yes, though I’ll deny it to his face. Nicholas and I have known each other since we were sixteen. He’s an ass, always has been, but these last few years, he was . . . less of an ass, I guess. Whatever you people were doing to him, I didn’t loathe being around him as much. So if I’m screwing up his opportunity to get some of that back, I’ll get scarce.”

                     “Even though you’re supposed to watch him?”

                     Eliza grinned, an appropriately cat-like expression. “I’m supposed to watch out for him. If I deem this in his best interest, then that seems like good looking out to me.”

                     “You two really are from the same town,” Mary sighed. They arrived at the bar, still thick with patrons, and began the process of waiting for a drink. “You’re fine. Now that I’ve had time to thoroughly vet you both, I don’t mind if you stay around.”

                     “Thank goodness,” Eliza said. “Does that mean I can lose this stupid mask? The rubber has been biting into my cheek for hours.”

                     Mary giggled softly in spite of herself. “Go ahead. I think you’re safe to show your face.”

                     Eliza peeled the cat mask away, revealing her lovely face and causing her dark, curly hair to cascade as she pulled the mask back through it.

                     The sound of shattering glass filled the air. Both girls glanced in the direction it came from, to find a tall, fit young man in a red-and-yellow striped cap staring at them. At his feet were what had once been two pint-glasses filled with water and ice. He had no eyes for the potential tripping/slicing hazard, though, nor for anything else in the bar.

                     “Vince?” Mary asked, suddenly concerned. He’d lost control a few times before; it was possible something was about to go down.

                     Vince paid her no mind, if he even heard her. His eyes were locked on Eliza, who Mary suddenly realized was staring right back at him. A single word escaped him, as desperate and fierce as a spaceship racing away from a collapsing star.

                     “Thief?”

     91.

                     It has been established previously that, while a fun exercise in thought, there is no such thing as an unstoppable force or an immovable object. However, had one been in attendance at a bar called Dashabout, located near Lander campus on Halloween of a particular year in question, one might be tempted to disagree. While there might not have actually existed such a thing as an unstoppable force, merely forces that were difficult to stop, the difference was purely academic to the people standing between Vince Reynolds and Eliza Tracey.

                     He surged forward like the tide, neither conscious nor concerned with anything that might lie in his path. Vince was at her side in seconds, staring into her twinkling eyes as though they contained the secrets of the universe. For him, perhaps, they did.

                     “Thief . . . is that . . . you’re alive?”

                     Eliza reached up carefully, as if he were a bubble that the sharpest movement might pop, and tenderly brushed aside his red-and-yellow striped knit cap. It fell away, instantly forgotten as the spiky silver hair she knew so well, in her brightest memories and most painful dreams, was exposed. Her breath caught in her throat at that sight, and only years of training kept her from dissolving completely. She pulled her hand down slightly and ran her fingers across his left cheek.

                     “Tights,” she whispered. In such a loud bar, her words were barely audible, yet Vince clung to every word. “Tights, I . . . I’m so sorry.”

     *             *             *

                     “Promise me you’ll be here when I wake up.” Vince’s voice was still weak; the smoke’s damage to his vocal cords would likely have left him with a permanent rasp in other circumstances. His eyes, in contrast, were unyielding, staring up at her with absolute need.

                     She smiled and leaned down, giving him a careful kiss. It was strange that he never saw her apply anything to her lips, yet they still always tasted like cherries and root beer. He never would have imagined that combination before; now, Vince couldn’t picture a world without it. Her dark curls tumbled against one of the burns on his face, and he winced involuntarily, breaking their embrace.

                     “I’ll be here. You think I’m not going to stick around to make sure you’re okay? Give me a little credit here, Tights.”

                     Vince squeezed her hand with as much strength as he had, which was very little. “Thank you. For everything.”

                     “None of that. You’ll be fine, and you can thank me by taking me out on a proper date when you wake up. I’m not letting you get off with just words.” Thief brushed his left cheek, one of the few spots on his face unburned by the explosion. It was the place where she could touch him casually, affectionately, without causing him pain. She stood up carefully, and motioned to the other person in the room.

                     Unlike these two, he did not have stars or love in his eyes. He was a squat man with a round figure and haughty expression. He gazed down at the burned boy in front in him, trying not to focus too much on the scent of cooked flesh that lingered in the room. How this girl could have spent so much time around her crispy companion baffled him. Thankfully, he was not paid to comprehend such matters; his money came from a far easier task. Well, easier for him.

                     The man reached down, touching an exposed patch of skin on the young man—Tights, she kept calling him. Tights winced slightly, but soon, he felt the power flowing into him, and the pain abated. It wouldn’t be long now. The man stood back up and walked toward the doorway. He loathed this smell and yearned for fresh air. Sadly, that was still to be denied to him for some time yet.

                     “I think I’m feeling it,” Tights said, voice still raspy, but now heavier, like he was pulling up his words from the depths of a well.

                     “Good. Let it take you,” Thief said. “When you wake up, you’ll be whole again.”

                     “And then I’ll thank you with a proper date.”

                     “You damn well better.” She leaned over him one last time, kissing him so softly he might have thought he was already dreaming, if not for the lingering taste of cherries and root beer.

                     Tights fell away from the conscious world, swimming in a sea of dreams that were half memory and half hallucination. He saw lots of times with his father, and those made him happy. But he also saw the explosion that had taken his father, his only family, away from him. That played countless times, when even once would have served as a living hell. He also saw the explosion that had gotten him into this mess: the fire surrounding the propane tanks, the inevitability of death, pushing Thief out of the shack just in time. Then . . . the pain. He’d thought that, when he slept, there would finally be relief, but it wasn’t so. The pain followed him into his dreams, fresh and sharp, while lingering and stale at the same time. It was impossible to say how long he lay in that state; he’d been told it would take a day, yet it seemed to last millennia. But, like all things, good or bad, it eventually came to an end.

                     The first thing he noticed upon waking wasn’t a thing at all; it was the lack of a thing. Pain. The pain that had haunted him for days, had driven him half-mad, was gone. His skin was pale and un-charred; even the scars he’d accumulated through childhood had vanished. He was whole again: amazingly, impossibly whole.

                     The second thing he noticed was also an absence, but this one was far less joyous. Thief was gone, as was the man who’d healed him. Tights got up slowly, unsure of this body that was familiar and foreign simultaneously. He poked his head out of the small shed, taking in the brisk morning air that permeated the forest. The sounds of nature filled the woods, and he walked around the perimeter slowly, amazed at how good it felt to touch cold ground with his own feet. He ran a hand through his silver hair, always spiking in whatever direction it felt like, and continued searching.

                     After an hour, he came back to the shed. Looking around, he found a fresh set of clothes, boots in his size, and a backpack filled with packaged food. There was nothing of Thief, though. Not a brush, not a note, not even her scent remained behind. For the first time, he truly let it sink in that she was gone.

                     The silver-haired young man set his face in his hands and began to weep. His body was whole, but the pain wasn’t gone. It had only been traded. This pain, he feared, would take far more than a healer than remove.

     *             *             *

                     “Tights, I . . . I’m so sorry.” She’d imagined this meeting hundreds upon thousands of times, seeing him, knowing he was safe and alive and happy. All of her fantasies, though, even the most hopeful ones, ended in his hatred. Eliza did not have Vince’s optimism or determined naiveté. She’d seen too much of human nature. What she’d done to him, it was impossible to forgive; even in her own fantasies.

                     “You’re alive.”

                     Eliza braced for whatever came next: cursing, yelling, even violence. She would take whatever he deemed fit. The time had finally come for her penance.

                     Vince wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up, so that, for a slim moment, she could nearly see the entirety of the club. He stared up at her wordlessly, and she realized he was crying. She wondered if he’d even noticed it yet.

                     “Thank God . . . I was so scared. You’re alive.” Then they were kissing, though who started it would be impossible to say. It was inevitable; it was gravity. They kissed, both crying freely now, as a very confused crowd that had just been trying to get some beers looked on.

                     “Halloween, you son of a bitch,” Mary muttered under her breath. The telepath knew, more so than even the lovers themselves, that things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

     92.

                    “I think you two should go grab coffee or something,” Mary suggested. She’d remained silent during their first bout of reconnected-at-last kissing, but the longer she mulled the situation over, the more she saw the necessity for compartmentalizing problems. First off, Vince was in no state to deal with Nicholas tonight, so she needed to get him clear of the bar. Next up, she’d have to explain her friend’s sudden absence, as well as why Eliza went with him. Then, unfortunately, she’d have to deal with Camille. That was not a duty she was looking forward to.

                     “Huh?” Vince finally looked away from the girl he had clutched in his arms, staring at Mary for a few moments before finally seeming to come back to himself. As he did, it dawned on him that he’d been making out with a woman in the middle of a bar, for all to see. The tips of his ears burned as if they were about to release fire, and Vince slowly set Eliza down onto the floor. His only stroke of luck was that, since the club was so packed with people, they'd only drawn attention from those immediately around them.

                     “Coffee. So, you can go talk and catch-up. Since you seem to have history.”

                     “We do have history . . .” Vince’s mind was slowly clicking back into action.

                     “But it’s not the kind that can be dealt with over a cup of coffee,” Eliza finished. She caressed his hair one more time, then the softness faded from her face, leaving the sort of hard expression Mary had expected to see on an associate of Nicholas’s. “Tights, I need a little time to regroup. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. We can meet up and talk, just not tonight. I’d make you a promise, but you have too good a reason not to trust me at my word.”

                     Vince stood there, impassive. He wanted to believe her, yet the idea of letting her out of his sight again, of risking that she might vanish, and he’d be left without answers . . . it was torture to imagine. He’d have to be a damned fool to fall for the same trick twice.

                     He licked his lips nervously, realizing the taste of cherries and root beer still lingered on them.

                     “One condition,” Vince said at last. “Tell me your name. I’d like to know you as something other than Thief, if I’m going to trust you.”

                     A bit of warmth ran across Eliza’s face as she heard his demand. “Eliza. Eliza Tracey.”

                     “Nice to meet you, finally, Eliza. I’m Vince Reynolds.”

                     “Vince, huh? I like that. You look like a Vince.” She leaned in and kissed him once more, this time gently on his cheek. “Okay, Vince, I’ll be in touch soon.”

                     “How are you going to find me?”

                     “I’ve got my ways. And if I take too long, Mary over there knows how to get in touch with me.”

                     Vince glanced at Mary, who nodded. The idea of helping them wasn’t exactly something that made her jump with joy, but it was better than having the whole thing come crashing down right now.

                     “See you soon.” Vince released her from his arms at last, an action that seemed to sadden her almost as much as him.

                     She dissolved back into the crowd, only her thoughts telling Mary that she was heading around to scoop up Nicholas and Jerome. The small telepath wasn’t certain how Eliza would get her friends to leave so quickly, and truthfully, she didn’t care. The waves of confusion and sorrow billowing off Vince were a far more pressing concern.

                     “Do you want to talk about it?” Mary asked.

                     “I really, really don’t,” Vince said. “In fact, I need to ask you a favor. Can you tell Camille I had to leave? She’s across the bar, waiting for me to bring waters, and I’m afraid if I see her right now, I’ll break down and spill everything.”

                     “Is that such a bad thing? You need to let it out, Vince. That much is obvious.”

                     “I know I do, but not like that. Not to her. I know she . . . cares about me. If I go over and start talking, she’ll listen without objection. She’ll spend the entire night trying to make me feel better while I drone on about a lost first love, ignoring her own feelings and pain. I can’t do that. I won’t, not to Camille.”

                     Mary gently put her hand on Vince’s arm and squeezed. “Fine, I’ll do it, but only if you tell me you’re going to go do something to let all this out. Bottling is dangerous, and not just for you.” She didn’t need to elaborate; Vince remembered all too well the fires that had come blazing out of him last time he lost control of his emotions.

                     “I’m going to run all the way back to campus for a start,” Vince replied. “Then I’m going down to the gym.”

                     “That’s not the healthiest method for dealing with things.”

                     “It’ll get me through the night.” Vince covered the hand she was resting on his arm with his own fingers. “Trust me, Mary, the best thing for me right now is to go wear myself out, and I can only do that if I know you’re handling things back here.”

                     “Fine, but you should talk to Dr. Moran in the morning. At least try to make an appointment.”

                     “Deal,” Vince said. He released her hand and headed straight for the exit.

                     She listened to his thoughts as he went, heard him pick up speed once he was outside, and then began sprinting for all he was worth down the paved, blacktop roads. She didn’t envy the gym equipment when he was done for the evening. Then again, she didn’t envy herself and the duty awaiting her, either.

                     Pausing only to grab a glass of water, Mary made her away around the bar to where Camille sat, angrily glaring at anyone who so much as dared glance at the open stool next to her. Setting the glass down first, then pushing her red cloak back so she wouldn’t sit on it, Mary plopped down on the seat.

                     “How’s the night going?” Camille asked. She was flushed and a bit sweaty from all the dancing, but the girl practically beamed after spending an evening chatting with Vince.

                     Mary took a deep breath, firmed her resolve, and cursed whatever gods or chance had saddled her with the job of den mother to her friends.

                     “It’s been . . . complicated.”

     93.

     Sweat dripped from Vince like it believed some sort of perspiration paradise awaited all droplets brave enough to journey to the floor. He was shirtless, having only taken the time to change from his costume into a pair of sweatpants, and every bit of his visible body was coated in a shiny layer of moisture. He paid no heed to this as he drove his fists into the punching bag over and over, just as he ignored the stiffness in his arms and the sound of footsteps slowly approaching. Vince had no concept of time; he didn’t know if he’d been down in the gym for hours or days. All he knew is that he wasn’t ready to sleep yet. If he closed his eyes, it would all come bubbling up. He needed to be further gone, more exhausted, so he continued punching.

                     “By my estimates, you’ve done enough damage to your arms that you’ll require healing, or you will find them almost unusable for the next three to four days.”

                     Vince glanced away from the bag to find Roy and Chad standing at the gym’s entrance, both having taken the time to change into proper training clothing.

                     “I can live with that,” Vince replied. He continued his striking session.

                     “Figured you’d say something around those lines,” Roy noted. “Mary told us you had quite a surprise from your past at the bar. Gotta wonder, how many more of those you think you’ve got waiting for you?” In the case of at least one more—Nick’s return—everyone had been firmly instructed by the tiny telepath to remain silent. They’d agreed that it seemed unwise to mentally dog-pile Vince in his current state.

                     “Unless my birth parents turn out to be international criminals or gods or Heroes, I think this should be the last one,” Vince said. He finally paused his hitting long enough to step away from the bag. “But what the hell do I know? I never expected to see her again. Maybe that’s my real superpower, being blind to everything about the people around me.”

                     “Nah, Vince, I think you’ve got it backward,” Roy said. He walked over to the gym section that housed hyper-dense free-weights and grabbed half of a literal ton in each hand. “You have a real knack for seeing to the core of people. The problem is, not many people can see the truth in themselves so easily. If anything, you see people too well.”

                     “I’m inclined to agree,” Chad said. “Would you like to talk about what happened tonight?”

                     “Please, no. I just want to wear myself out enough so that I can fall asleep.”

                     “Well, if you need anything, like a spot or a weight re-rack, we’ll be here,” Roy said. He let the implication stand on its own. Vince might be slow with subtlety, but even he could catch a softball like that.

                     “Thank you.” Vince wished he could have said more, but his mind was already simmering with thoughts about the evening, and he needed to keep those at bay. He handled them the best way he knew how—by narrowing his focus onto a single task: knocking the hell out of the punching bag.

                     It would be several more hours before he finally exhausted himself successfully.

     *              *              *

                     Despite what one might have expected from her timid nature and soft-spoken countenance, Camille was not a crier. She had been, once upon a time in her childhood, but she’d left that habit behind when she set her sights on the goal of being a Hero. So, as she sat in the Melbrook girls’ lounge with Alice and Mary, Camille was not tearfully losing herself in a box of tissues. Instead, she was working on a fourth slice of Meatsplosion pizza with double bacon. Greasy food was a rare vice she indulged in, but tonight felt justified.

                     “I can’t believe I actually liked that bitch,” Alice muttered. All three girls were resting on a couch, a mindless late-night comedy that they weren’t really watching on the television screen. Everyone was in some form of pajamas; Alice’s being a coordinated silk set, while Mary and Camille wore shorts and t-shirts. Thankfully, Mary and Camille were of similar size, because Camille had neither wanted to be alone, nor spend the entire night in her costume.

                     “She’s not a bitch,” Camille sighed. “She’s just a girl from Vince’s past. Who obviously means a lot to him. And who he totally recognized as soon as he saw, not taking two years to piece together her identity. Then who he immediately kissed, and you know what she might be just a little bit of a bitch, I mean, I don’t know her or anything.” She sank her teeth into the meat laden pizza as a way of stopping her endless sentence.

                     “All we really know is that she’s a girl Vince met a long time ago, and that she works for the same organization as Nicholas. Beyond that, we’ll have to wait and see,” Mary said.

                     “Oh come on, surely you can snoop through their thoughts a bit. With your range, no one would even have to know you were doing it,” Alice urged.

                     “Forget it. People need to talk their way through these things. Vince and Eliza will talk, Vince and Camille will talk, and you and I will stay out of the way unless we’re requested,” Mary replied.

                     “I’m very glad for that policy, because I definitely needed you both tonight,” Camille said.

                     “Of course. You’re one of us. Never forget that.” Alice wrapped her long arms around Camille and pulled the small girl in close for a hug. It was a sweet, tender gesture that nearly allowed the emotions welling inside Camille to break forth. Almost, but not quite.

                     Camille Belden wasn’t a crier anymore. She was a doer. All that remained was to figure out exactly what it was that she wanted to do.

     *              *              *

                     “How is this possible?” Nicholas paced up and down the floor, wearing a rut into the tasteful carpeting. “How did we never know you two had a past?”

                     “I didn’t know his name, so you saying ‘Vince’ didn’t exactly ring any bells. Besides, how was I supposed to know he was at this school? When we met, he was a homeless Powered, and I didn’t even find out about your status change until this year. I thought you were just off at college, and that’s not the sort of place he’d be hanging around.” Eliza’s tone was even, but forceful. After pulling Nicholas and Jerome out of the club, she’d given them the break-down of what happened on the trip home. That had only covered the basics, however. She had no intention of telling them the story of how she and Tights, Vince, had met.

                     “What about the fake IDs I had commissioned?”

                     “I was just the delivery girl, you know that’s not the type of forging I do. Now calm the hell down, this isn’t that big of a deal.”

                     “Not that big of a deal?” Nicholas turned to her and glared. “Not that big of a deal? We are in a very delicate situation here. I am trying to investigate these people, reconstruct lost knowledge, fend off attacks from Nathaniel, all while courting them as allies, and you don’t think discovering one of my people has a pre-existing relationship with one of the strongest among them is a big deal? Forget it, Eliza. I’m neutralizing this right now. You’re going back to Vegas.”

                     “Ms. Pips—”

                     “Ms. Pips can talk to me about her objections. I will bear her wrath and make my case,” Nicholas replied. “Besides, Jerome can remain behind until a suitable replacement is found. You’re leaving, first thing in the morning.”

                     “I won’t.” Eliza stood from the soft chair and strode across the room. “I promised Vince I’d talk with him, that I wouldn’t disappear. I’m not breaking that promise.”

                     “You’d defy the chain of command?”

                     “My orders came from Ms. Pips directly, so if you want me gone, then you go get them rescinded from her. Until she gives the nod, I don’t have to leave, and I won’t.”

                     “This is very unlike you, Eliza,” Nicholas noted. “You’re one to play with the rules, but this smacks of true insubordination. What did Vince do that left such an impression?”

                     “None of your goddamned business. Besides, it’s not what he did that’s keeping me here; it’s what I did to him. So run it up the chain, or let it lie, because there is no version of this where I just meekly tuck my tail between my legs and run home.”

                     Eliza walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her. Nicholas stared at it for a few seconds, then walked over to his couch and flopped into a half-laying position.

                     “Damn you, Vince. You always make everything more complicated.” Nicholas had no idea why, but the overpowering urge to smile struck him as he spoke.

     94.

                     When Nicholas woke in the fog-covered field, he didn’t even bother muttering a complaint. It seemed it was what it was, and no amount of protest would change it. Instead, he rose to his feet, scanned the area, and located Nick. His sunglasses-clad doppelganger was sitting in front of a medium-sized table, bright red cards dancing through his hands as he shuffled. The grin on his face said more than any greeting could.

                     “At least this time, it looks like we’ll play a proper game.” Nicholas took the other chair, sitting directly across from Nick. As he did, a small mound of chips shimmered into place. They were identical to the ones used in Ms. Pips’s casino, so Nicholas could tell from glancing at the colors that roughly a thousand dollars now sat before him.

                     “Texas Hold 'Em,” Nick replied. He set the cards down in the center of the table and motioned for Nicholas to cut.

                     “How touristy.” Nicholas cut the deck a little more than halfway through. He was tempted to palm a few cards, but Nick would probably catch him. Nothing was worse than being called out on cheating, even if it was by one’s own self.

                     “Don’t blame me.” Nick scooped up the deck and began to deal.

                     “Then who shall I blame?”

                     “Roy and Hershel.” Nick finished his deft dealing, two cards in front of him and Nicholas, with five face-down cards in the table’s center. “Roy loves this game. Every now and then, we’d play a few hands in the boys’ lounge.” He threw in the small blind, to which Nicholas countered with the necessary big blind.

                     “So your notes indicated.” Nicholas checked his hand, then looked across to Nick. “I realize the futility of who I’m saying this to, but I don’t suppose there’s any way you’d level with me and tell me what all this is about? You pop up every few weeks, give me cryptic sass, then leave me with a memory that I shouldn’t be able to access. It’s very annoying.”

                     “I know, right? No wonder no one really likes us; we’re kind of a pain in the ass.” Nick looked at his own cards, keeping the smile he’d been wearing fixed firmly in place. No need to give Nicholas any clues to what he was facing. “And honestly, I don’t know a whole lot more than you do.”

                     “Not a lot is still some,” Nicholas pointed out.

                     “Most of it is only theory at this point,” Nick warned. “But I think, right now, we’re essentially opening a combination lock in our head. These dreams? They’re clicks of the tumblers falling into place.” Nick threw a few chips into the center, which Nicholas quickly matched. That done, Nick turned the first three flop cards over.

                     “That theory raises an abundance of questions. Why is it here, what purpose does it serve, and most importantly: do we even want it opened?”

                     “Come on now, this isn’t that hard,” Nick said, shaking his head. “We know who did it: Professor Stone. Now, since she has no reason for doing such a thing, we look a step beyond that. Dean Blaine is the one who calls the shots. He’s known about my prodigious mind since freshman year, and he’s one of the few people who doesn’t underestimate me. The smart guess is that he saw all the effort I went through to get my brain purged and assumed I might be trying to bury something he’d want to know.”

                     “An assumption that was wholly correct,” Nicholas added. He threw in a single chip to raise the pot.

                     “Like I’ve said before, the staff down there is pretty quick. Anyway, that’s the ‘why’ of the lock. As for the purpose, it seems like they wanted me to have my brain back, but not automatically. I’ve got to earn it.” Nick matched the bet and raised a few chips of his own.

                     “Reconnecting with your old friends seems to be the current key to the system,” Nicholas noted. “Each time I meet a new one, these dreams occur.” He matched the new bet, but didn’t raise.

                     “Obviously. Right now, it looks like you have to get the others to trust you enough to speak with you face to face. Them caring enough to put their HCP positions on the line shows strong friendship. But we’d be idiots to assume that’s all it will take; it’s too easy. My guess is that after you meet Vince, the next phase begins. And I doubt it will be as simple.” Nick flipped the turn, leaving only the river card still face-down.

                     “I’ll acquiesce that your assessment seems plausible, however, you’ve left out one aspect of my question. Do we want to undo this lock in the first place? You clearly had good reason for enacting it, and just because we have the opportunity to unmake it, doesn’t mean we should.”

                     Nick pressed the edges of his card into his thumb, ever so lightly, feeling the tension of the force against his skin as well as the slight tingle of pain. “When you aren’t here, I don’t have form or substance. Not really. I thought the mind-wipe would be a complete reset, turning me back into the person I was before Lander, before those hopelessly wonderful idiots I call my friends, before I actually had an idea of what friendship was. I thought I could turn it all back, make myself into the old me and go back to my old life.”

                     “It worked,” Nicholas reminded him. “I sit here before you, everything you wanted to be.”

                     “No, it didn’t work at all. Don’t you get that? I’m still here, Nicholas. I can still be conjured from the depths of your psyche. That means I exist somewhere within you. Only now I’m trapped, lost in the ether of our mind. I know you still feel twinges of me leaking through. You’re an incomplete reset, burdened with my emotional predilections, but not gifted by the insights they provided. And honestly, seeing you objectively like this, instead of through the pride-tinted lenses of memory, I realize how stupid an idea it was to try going backward in the first place.”

                     “You want to come back.”

                     “I do. Whatever awful thing I uncovered, those morons are better off facing it with me at their side, not stuck in a mind-prison of my own engineering.”

                     “And what if I don’t want you back?” Nicholas asked. “Perhaps I see things more clearly, and realize that you made the right call in creating me.”

                     “That’s certainly your prerogative,” Nick conceded. “But once I win this game, you’re getting another memory, and I’m getting one step closer to breaking out of here. As always in our world, it’s the victors who make the rules.”

                     “You overlook something. I can wake up, pack my things, and drive back to Vegas. No meeting with Vince, no setting off the next key in the lock; I could halt the entire process, and you couldn’t do a thing to stop me.”

                     “Except that running home without finishing the job would make it look like you were running from Nathaniel,” Nick said. “Ms. Pips might not have liked the idea of us coming out here, but there is no way in hell she’d tolerate you taking a coward’s action. Besides, even if you really could go home, it wouldn’t make a difference.”

                     “How do you figure?”

                     “Because now other people know you’re here, and sooner or later, one of them will tell Vince. The only thing that kept him away was me asking him as a friend to respect my choice. As soon as he learns you were reaching out to old friends, nothing short of the gods themselves will stop Vince Reynolds, and even then, I’d give him decent odds.”

                     “You have a lot of faith in him,” Nicholas said.

                     “You’ll learn a bit of why when you lose. The memory I’ve got is mostly Roy and Hershel, but Vince makes some appearances too.” Nick tapped the table twice, creating a deep sound that echoed out into the foggy world. “Now, hurry up and make your bets. We’ve got a lot of poker ahead, and I want to enjoy beating you.”

                     Nicholas threw in a few more chips, then glared at the man whose eyes were hidden by gaudy sunglasses.

                     “Let’s play.”

     95.

                     November’s first class found an unknown, but quite pretty woman waiting with Dean Blaine when the juniors showed up for gym. After Shutterbug’s speech, they quickly figured out what was going on and lined up in a half-circle around them. Once everyone was in place, Dean Blaine addressed them.

                     “Everyone, I would like you to meet Clarissa,” Dean Blaine said. “I will not be telling you what name she went by when she was a Hero, but you can take my word that she was an outstanding one. Clarissa has retired from Hero work and gone into private enterprise. She’s graciously agreed to come speak with you today on what life can be like after the costume is put away.”

                     Clarissa stepped forward as Dean Blaine stepped back, greeting the class with a shy smile. “You know, I still remember when I was standing where you are, and I know exactly what I was thinking when the person giving my speech visited us: ‘who cares about what comes after? Hero-work is all I want to learn more about.’ Maybe I was just a bad student, but I think it’s more likely that a few of you are having similar thoughts right now.”

                     No one was so disrespectful as to agree, or even nod; however, inwardly, more than a few students felt her sentiments echoed their own.

                     “The thing about retirement is: no Hero ever likes to think about it. We get on good terms with death real quick when you do what we do; you have to make peace with your mortality. But retirement, that’s a whole different monster. The idea of waking up and not putting on the mask, not going to save lives, not living in that world . . . it’s terrifying to most of us. Some are so scared that they stay active long past when they should, knowing full well what the inevitable outcome will be. They’d rather die with their cape on than live without it. We spend our whole lives doing this one thing; is it so surprising that we don’t know what to do when it’s gone? You’ve only been at this for two and a half years, but I bet, if you all became regular students tomorrow, you’d have no idea what to do with yourselves.”

                     This time, there were nods. Normality was a notion abandoned long ago. To be outside the HCP would be like finding themselves stuck treading open water without land in sight. It occurred to Mary for the first time that this might be part of why mind-wipes were HCP standard procedure for exiting students: you can’t miss what you don’t remember.

                     “Luckily, retirement doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom,” Clarissa continued. “If you start laying some groundwork during your Hero days, you can make a smooth transition. Plenty of private industries employ Supers of all types. Or, if you can’t stand giving up the chance to help people, there are ample non-profits that use us as well. Former Heroes are big gets for them, since we can still don the old costumes and make appearances. For example: Hero-Aid puts together big appearances that raise money for various causes, and DreamGranters organizes hundreds of Hero visits to dying children. Both of these companies are staffed with management consisting largely of former Heroes.”

                     Clarissa paused for a moment, eyes scanning the various faces of the students before her. It seemed, for the barest of moments, as if she were looking for someone. Then it was over, and she resumed her speech.

                     “Alternatively, lots of Heroes go into business for themselves. They use their unique abilities to offer specialized services. Since I’m at Lander, I’ll use one of your biggest alumni as an example. Hallow is a graduate from The Class of Legends with unprecedented healing abilities. He started out as one of the only Supers capable of healing someone without physical contact—an incredibly rare, and useful gift. As he grew older, he discovered his healing was so potent it could actually repair the damage caused by something as mundane as aging. These days, he runs his own business turning back the clock for people with adequate means.”

                     “Someone can heal . . . age?” Alex’s mouth was half open, clearly in shock at such a concept.

                     “Our guest has not yet begun accepting questions. Please remain silent until she is done speaking,” Dean Blaine warned.

                     “No, it’s fine. I was about to open the floor anyway,” Clarissa said. “I’m not one for long speeches. And yes, Hallow can effectively restore someone to their peak age. I believe he’s officially the only Super in known history to manifest healing at such a high level, so you can believe he’s in pretty high demand. Now then, if anyone else has a question, feel free to raise your hands. A warning though, I won’t talk about my own powers, or my Hero days. I like living in anonymity.”

                     Several hands went up, and Clarissa pointed to the one she thought had gone up the fastest.

                     “Do all Heroes work after they quit, or do some take a true retirement?” Rich asked.

                     “The vast majority do some kind of work, even if it’s volunteer,” Clarissa said. “Being a Hero is a chaotic and active lifestyle; if you’re not suited to it, then you burn out quick. For the same reason we were able to cope with being Heroes, we’re not the sort who can lounge around and do nothing.”

                     Clarissa pointed to another hand, this one belonging to a girl.

                     “I wanted to know more about private companies that recruit former Heroes,” Selena said. “Do they just look for stuff like healing and teleportation, or do some of the more unique powers get courted too?”

                     “Pretty much any power can be useful to someone, at least if it’s Hero-grade,” Clarisse replied. “The Super Athletics Association is a place where lots of people end up, even if it’s in a coaching capacity, but Blaine told me you’ve got a real specialist in the field coming to talk later in the year, so I’ll leave that to him. Some of us go on retainer for various corporations; they love collecting unique skills in case they ever need them. There’s never a shortage of work for HCP grads. That much I can promise you.”

                     Clarissa pointed to a new hand. The owner was a male with spiky silver hair. She empathized with the kid; off-colored hair was a trait that had to be hard to hide.

                     “What about emergency response?” Vince asked. “It seems like a lot of us could be useful in non-combat scenarios, when there are natural disasters and the like. Do many former Heroes get jobs like that?”

                     As soon as he spoke, she knew. Maybe it was the straightforward look in his eyes, maybe it was how his question was about staying in the fray and helping people . . . maybe she just saw his father in the way he held himself. Whatever it was, Clarissa knew this was the kid, as clearly as if Phil himself had been asking the question. It was a testament to her training that she held herself together as well as she did.

                     “Lots of former Heroes sign on with various response agencies, becoming firefighters or EMTs on a local level, pitching in when big things go wrong. A few work as consultants or liaisons with teams of corp—, um, Privately Employed Emergency Response Supers, the people who wear corporate logos and do promos while helping. That’s pretty rare, though; there’s a stigma attached and most avoid it. But have no fear, when your Hero days end, you can still make a lot of difference in the world.”

                     “That’s really good to know,” Vince replied.

                     Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she forced herself to turn away. Clarissa fielded a few more questions, but her answers were half-assed. Her mind was stuck on the young man with the silver hair: Globe’s . . . Phil’s . . . son.

     96.

                    Vince was halfway out the gym door when he felt a soft grip on his arm. Before he even turned around, he knew who it was. How could he not? He’d spent so much time with her, grown so accustomed to her presence. Even now, as messed up as he was inside, the idea of letting go and telling her everything was almost impossible to resist.

                     Almost.

                     “Hey.” Camille released her grip on him, content that he’d stopped. “I wanted to check on you. Mary said you seemed conflicted when you left the bar on Saturday.”

                     “I . . . it’s just a weird situation. I’ll be okay.” He felt there was truth in that. He would be okay, one day, when he’d managed to work through the swirling miasma of uncertainty inside.

                     “An ex-girlfriend suddenly springing back into your life sounds like more than just weird.” Camille tried to add a laugh at the end of her sentence, but it came out dry and hard. “Look, you know if you need to talk, I’m always here.”

                     “I know. Thank you, Camille. I really do appreciate it, but right now, I need to go.” Vince resumed his brisk gait.

                     “Okay.” She knew his class wasn’t for a while; they often walked together after gym. But she said nothing as he hurried away, merely watching until he took a turn, and his silver hair vanished from sight. Only then did she let out the sigh she’d been holding, binding it down in case it turned into a sob on the way up.

                     “I’m jealous of you.”

                     The voice came from behind, causing Camille to jump in surprise. She spun around to find Clarissa standing there. The former Hero must move like a ninja-cat to have exited the gym so quietly. Only after her heart rate slowed down did Camille register what the older woman had actually said.

                     “I’m sorry, jealous?”

                     “Yeah, jealous. At least yours is willing to consider things like romance and what they want. Most of his type are so caught up in the job that they never actually stop to think about the world beyond it. Self-denial through self-imposed ignorance, and woe to the poor girl who has lost her heart to him.”

                     “Vince is just my friend. He’s going through a rough patch, and I want to help.”

                     Clarissa stepped forward a few steps and stared down at the shorter woman with an expression of knowing sorrow. “Darling girl, I’ve been where you’ve been, and I’ve said those same lies, to myself as well as others. Trust me, if it is at all possible to turn your heart away from him, then do so. Find a simple, decent man who doesn’t walk with the weight of the world on his shoulders. It might not be a happy life, but it will be a content one.”

                     For a moment, Camille shuddered, and she feared she was finally going to break and cry. But Camille was harder than her size and gentleness indicated; there was strength in her yet, and she pushed back the wave of emotion before it drowned her.

                     “And what if I can’t? What if it’s too late?”

                     “Then get your ass off the sidelines and fight,” Clarissa said, her voice suddenly forceful. “Break through that damned thick skull and make him see what you mean to him. Stop pretending this is enough, and go after the thing you really want. The lives of Heroes are measured in minutes, not years. Time is your enemy; do not give it more ground than is necessary.”

                     Camille stared up at the beautiful, dazzling, fierce woman, and wondered what man on earth could have possibly resisted her. Then she wondered how hopeless her cause was if a woman like this had been unable to capture her heart’s desire.

                     “Did he . . . did yours ever come around?”

                     “He was beginning to,” Clarissa said, an unexpectedly gentle smile on her face. It faded in less than a second. “But things went awry in the worst way possible. That’s why I’m telling you to run or act now. You don’t know how long you’ll get. Don’t let these years slip through your fingers.”

     *              *              *

                     Dr. Moran was reading through a batch of files on the freshmen, flagging any high-risk cases for burnout, when the sharp rapping of a fist fell on her door. She affixed a sticky note to the file as an impromptu bookmark, then shut the manila folders and tossed them in a drawer.

                     “Come in.”

                     Vince Reynolds all but burst through the door. Immediately, she knew something was amiss. Vince usually held himself together quite well, but today, he was pale and fidgety. There were bags under his eyes, signifying that he’d gotten little sleep as of late. Even the way he’d entered was uncharacteristic; he often called his name before opening a door.

                     “Vince, what happened?”

                     “I need to schedule a session with you, if possible, please.” He was half-stumbling over his words, manners doing battle with desperation. “I know we usually do Fridays, but something happened this weekend that I’d like to talk about.”

                     Dr. Moran mentally reviewed her calendar for the day. She had plenty of menial tasks, but those could be shifted around. Later in the day, there were other counseling sessions, but that left a sizable window where she could cut out some time for Vince.

                     “While I do usually prefer to schedule these things with a bit more warning, today, I happen to have some free time. Why don’t you take a seat, and we can talk.”

                     Vince nodded, heading over to his usual chair and settling in. He already seemed to be calming down, the prospect of being able to talk permitting some sense of relief. After a few deep breaths, he was several steps closer to being normal Vince.

                     “Now then, why don’t you tell me about what happened,” Dr. Moran urged.

                     “It’s about the thing I was hiding from you before, trying not to talk about. I didn’t hide it because it was something I was ashamed of, it was just . . . too hard to talk about. It hurt too much.”

                     “And now?”

                     “And now, I’m scared that if I don’t talk about it, I’m going to lose my mind.”

     97.

                    “Today, we’re going to talk about the end of semester exam.” Professor Pendleton felt a strange glee in watching the confusion ripple across his student’s faces. It was only the first Monday in November; the test wouldn’t be for nearly two months, so they were understandably uncertain about what his announcement could signify.

                     “Let’s get a few things out of the way first. No, I’m not telling you what it is; not exactly. Yes, your coursework for it begins today. And no, there will not be an abundance to go on. That should take care of the immediate thoughts bouncing about in your little heads. Now, on to what I actually need you to know.”

                     Professor Pendleton slid around his desk with a thick manila envelope in hand. He could sense their darting glances resting on it, wondering what tidbits of information were contained inside.

                     “To start with, everyone will be taking the same exam. Each and every junior-year student will get the same task. Ah, but how can that be, when you each have two disciplines to be tested in, I can hear you wondering. That is because this exam will look at not only if you can complete the objective set before you, but how you do so. There isn’t technically a wrong way to succeed; the tactics you use will reflect which skills you trust most when shit hits the fan.”

                     He wondered how many would actually get points in Subtlety for this exam. He had high hopes for Will and Britney, though some, like Rich Weaver, could be surprising, and of course, Alice was annoyingly persistent about keeping above water in this subject. It would be quite entertaining, that much was certain.

                     “So, how can Subtlety be of help to you in the coming test? We know it’s going to be martial; the other disciplines would be lost without some fighting to do. That means Subtlety is right out the window, doesn’t it? Not entirely. In this exam, as in the field, sometimes victory goes not to he who has the most muscles, but to he who has the most knowledge.”

                     Professor Pendleton popped open the envelope in his hand and pulled out a sheet of paper that looked as though it had been thrown up on by a calculator. Numbers were scattered all over the page, appearing in random spots and sometimes right on top of one another.

                     “Congratulations. As Subtlety Heroes, you were able to intercept a coded transfer from a criminal syndicate. You know it relates to something they’ve got planned in about a month and a half, and you’ve got this.” Professor Pendleton set the page on Will’s desk, then produced another to give to Britney.

                     “This is your Subtlety exam, the first clue down a trail that will lead you to useful information. Crack it however you can, save for using the skills of someone other than yourself. You’d think that would be implied, but evidently, I have to spell it out for a few of you.”

                     If Alice felt any shame at his not-so-hidden barb, she kept it to herself as she accepted her piece of paper. At first glance, it was clear that she had no damn idea what this thing was. Oddly, this didn’t rattle her. Alice had long ago learned that the tasks in Subtlety didn’t come as easily to her as they did to Nick and Will, but she was still able to pass most of them through sheer concentrated effort. Even if it took all of November, she would crack this son of a bitch.

                     “And if anyone thinks it’s unfair of me to base your whole exam on a single cipher when we cover so much else in this class, trust that I meant it when I said this is the first step toward knowledge. There will be far more tasks ahead before you can claim your prize.”

                     Alice’s stomach sank a bit as she realized she might not have quite as much time as she’d hoped for.

                     “That takes care of the preamble,” Professor Pendleton said, laying the last sheet down. “Now then, let’s move on to the part where you ask me questions, and I have to decline to answer most of them.”

                     Will Murray’s hand went up, the only one in the room to do so.

                     “Mr. Murray, what question do you have?”

                     “I wanted to know the bounds, sir.”

                     “The bounds?” Professor Pendleton’s voice was neutral, but the beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips.

                     “What we can, and can’t do to accomplish our tasks. For example, I could build a machine that tapped into the FBI’s computers and used their resources to crack this message, but I feel like that might be frowned upon.”

                     “Are you asking for a professor of the HCP, a group overseen by the Department of Variant Human Affairs, to give you the blessing to hack secured government computers?”

                     “No, sir. I’m asking if, theoretically, I did something like that, it’s the kind of thing I should just keep to myself, or if I had to report it.” Will’s face was placid and unreadable, a stark contrast to the shocked looks most of the class was giving him. “You’ve emphasized countless times that Subtlety Heroes often have to use whatever resources they can to accomplish their goals, putting the importance of the mission first. I suppose I’m asking if we’re addressing this task as we would a real one in the Subtlety Hero world.”

                     “That is, surprisingly, a very fair question to ask,” Professor Pendleton replied. “Mr. Murray is correct; we frequently do things like hacking or breaking-and-entering. As often as possible, we try to go through proper channels and respect the law, but sometimes, there isn’t time to do so. In those cases, we have to file pain-in-the-ass after-action reports justifying what we did. So there’s your answer, Mr. Murray. If you break a law, I expect you to report it and fill out the proper documentation just like any other Subtlety Hero would.”

                     “Yes, sir.”

                     “That goes for the rest of you too. Don’t hurt anyone, obviously, but if it comes down to it, and you think you can make a case for why law-breaking was necessary, it’s your call.”

                     Several of the students shifted in their seats, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of deviating from the safety of the law. That was good; most Heroes shouldn’t be so willing to break the rules. They needed to be paragons, symbols of respect and virtue. It was heartening to see so many of his students ill-at-ease with the idea of ignoring laws for their own tasks.

                     It was somewhat less heartening when Professor Pendleton realized Alice Adair showed no discomfort toward the idea at all.

     98.

                    “. . . and when I woke up, she was gone. I looked all over for her, searched as hard as a homeless Powered with no money or Internet could, but eventually, I had to leave that town too. I never knew if she was hurt, or killed, or just didn’t want to be there when I woke up. Seeing her at the club that night . . . I guess I should have been a little angrier, since it’s now obvious that she bailed on me. I was just too overjoyed to feel upset.”

                     Vince wiped his eyes with some tissues; they’d spilled over once or twice during his story, yet he had continued to push through and tell it. Now that it was done, he felt more settled. The wildfire that had been burning through his veins began to flicker out at last.

                     “That is quite an experience,” Dr. Moran said. “Sixteen, your first love, first sexual partner, and then to lose her so soon after your father left your life; it’s no surprise this left such an impression on you.”

                     “I sort of feel like Thie—Eliza has been haunting me. When I was with Sasha, I kept drifting off and thinking about her. I’ve avoided any new relationships until I could get that under control, but I never expected to actually see her again.”

                     “It is funny how people come back to us in the most unexpected ways.” Dr. Moran paused, considering how much she should say to Vince in his fragile state. Generally, it was best to let patients come to their own conclusions; however, Vince was far from emotionally actualized and would require at least some degree of prompting.

                     “Let me ask you, Vince, what are you going to do now?”

                     “I have no idea. I need to see her again, to make sure she’s real. Maybe I can get some answers out of her about why she left. After that, I’m totally clueless.” Vince crumpled the used tissues in his hand and dropped them into the wastebasket at his side.

                     “Then let’s explore the possible results of what you know you will do. You’re going to talk to her, assuming she keeps her word and contacts you. When that happens, you will try and get answers. The possible outcomes are that she refuses to give you any, she gives you ones that completely explain away her absence, or she tells you ones that still indicate she abandoned you,” Dr. Moran said. There were, of course, countless more scenarios than that, but for Vince, keeping things finite and simple worked best. “Walk me through each of those situations. How do you feel you’ll react?”

                     “Truthfully, I still don’t know. I’d like to say that if she has a perfect reason, I’ll be overjoyed and can just pick things up where they left off, but I’m not certain that’s what I want anymore.”

                     “Oh? You indicated Eliza had stayed on your mind ever since her disappearance.”

                     “She has, just not always in a good way. What I wanted, what I was working toward, was letting her go. I didn’t want to be haunted anymore. I was trying to . . . move on.”

                     “I see,” Dr. Moran noted. “Perhaps there was someone else working their way into your heart, someone you wanted to make room for?”

                     Vince stayed silent for a long moment, so long that Dr. Moran began to fear he had shut down and would refuse to talk anymore.

                     “Last year, when Rich put me under, I was supposed to protect the person I was in love with. That’s the suggestion Nick told him to give. My memories of that hallucination have always been muddy, but there is one part that sticks out perfectly clearly. I was talking to a girl, and she had dark, curly hair, like Eliza. Then, when a lock fell from her face, it was pale-blonde and straight. I still can’t remember her face, but the hair is unforgettable. It took me months to realize what that meant.”

                     “If you’re willing to share, I’d love to hear it.” Dr. Moran was already quite certain of the meaning; she just needed Vince to say it out loud.

                     “I think, I mean I’m pretty sure, it meant that I was in love with Eliza and . . . someone else.”

                     “Someone with pale-blonde hair, I assume.”

                     “Yeah.” Vince didn’t know why he couldn’t say her name. Dr. Moran ran the healing department; there was no way she didn’t understand who he was talking about. Yet, try as he might, it just wasn’t something he was ready to hear pass his lips.

                     “That seems a very astute assessment,” Dr. Moran agreed. “Had Eliza remained a phantom of the past, you might very well have succeeded in letting her go. Unfortunately, we do not live in a world of might-have-been; we reside in one where she has resurfaced and must be dealt with, in one way or another.”

                     “You make it sound like I have to fight her.” Vince allowed himself a small laugh at that idea.

                     “If only it were that easy to deal with problems. You lot would put me out of a job.” Dr. Moran gave him a small, yet warm smile. “No, what I mean is that you have to deal with her reappearance. You can seek answers from her, try to rekindle your relationship, or opt to never see her again. Yes, cutting her out of your life is still a method of dealing with her, because it means you’ve committed to sticking her in the past. Like it or not, meeting her again happened, and now, only you can determine what the right path forward is.”

                     “At least the first step is easy,” Vince said. “I have to talk to her. Where I go from there will depend on what she says. But if I don’t go, then I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put her behind me. The wonder of what she might have said or what could have happened will stay with me forever.”

                     “There is one other possibility we haven’t discussed, Vince. Eliza abandoned you once before. It could happen again.”

                     “Then that’s the kind of person she is. Actually, that might be the easiest one to make peace with. If she’s the kind of girl who breaks promises and bails like this, I think I could finally be done with her.”

                     Dr. Moran didn’t say it, but she hoped that was exactly what happened. Vince was fragile in his own way; this girl could do serious harm if she wanted to. As his therapist, the last thing she wanted was to see him take drastic steps backward.

                     And, as an HCP official, the last thing she wanted was a Super of his level and meltdown history losing control. Again.

     99.

                    “So, how does it feel, being back at your Alma Mater?” Professor Sean Pendleton asked. After his class had ended, he’d joined up with Blaine and Clarissa, who were chatting in the dean’s office. The tall man breezed through the door and settled into one of the more comfortable chairs, unapologetically interrupting the conversation they’d already been having.

                     “Odd, nostalgic, sad, fun, and quite a bit daring,” Clarissa replied.

                     “Daring?” Blaine asked his question without turning his head; he was currently busy filling up water glasses for all of them.

                     “Certainly. I am sitting in the dean’s office, after all. Remember how many times Victor tried to goad us into breaking in here and toilet papering the place as a senior prank?”

                     “Oh Victor, so much muscle, so little forethought,” Sean recalled. “Dean Merrick would have shit a chicken if we’d actually done that.”

                     “As acting dean, I’ve seen a few students try to gain unauthorized entry, but I can say that it is not procedure to excrete any kind of fowl as a reaction.”

                     “Then tell us, Blaine, what do you do to them?” Clarissa asked.

                     “Depends on the student. Most are talked into it by someone more persuasive or confident than themselves. They get a week of supplemental gym training.”

                     Sean shivered involuntarily. He’d been on the receiving end of that sentence more than a few times in his Lander days. The professors had worn him down until even walking back to the dorms had required the assistance of his stronger classmates. Occasionally, he’d have nightmares of being back here and getting handed that punishment, even all these decades later.

                     “What about the ringleader?” Sean asked.

                     “They get some punishment too, but I also tend to write them letters of recommendation if they haven’t taken an internship yet.” Blaine set a glass down in front of each guest and kept one for himself. Usually, he preferred bourbon when entertaining; however, he and Sean still had a day of work ahead of them.

                     “A letter of recommendation . . . actually, I can see that,” Clarissa said. “It takes serious leadership skills to get seniors to do something that dumb. Victor could never pull it off, not even when he got Sean on his side. The only ones who might have been able to talk us into it were Joshua and Phil.”

                     The words slipped off her tongue before Clarissa could catch them in her lips, lingering in the air like a rotten stench. Phil was something she tried not to talk about, especially not with other members of her graduating class. It was just too much, too dangerous. Thankfully, Sean plowed right over it in his usual cavalier way.

                     “I’ll give you those two, sure, but I think you might have been able to organize a successful raid too. The way Victor and Casper both mooned over you, it would have been pretty easy to pull off.”

                     “They weren’t that bad,” Clarissa said.

                     “I’m with Sean on this one,” Blaine added. “Victor’s torch burned for you even after graduation. Or did you never notice how Bullrush always seemed to need lots of transport when Shimmerpath was doing the coordination?”

                     “By willful ignorance, I chose to believe that was just a coincidence.” Clarissa set her water down on the desk, gathering her composure. “Perhaps I should have kept that skill sharp; it might have kept me from seeing things today. It’s the boy with the silver hair, right?”

                     “That obvious?” Blaine asked.

                     “Not unless you’re looking for it, no. But once you are, it’s impossible to miss. His movements, his demeanor . . . the boy must have absolutely idolized Phil to have imitated him to such an extent.”

                     “Phil was the first person to ever give Vince a family. He took him in, raised him by himself, taught the kid everything he knows about how to live,” Sean said. “What child wouldn’t idolize a person like that?”

                     “Unfortunately, that very idolization is what’s now causing Vince trouble,” Blaine added. “His association with the criminal known as Globe has put him under exceptional scrutiny. There are people searching for any reason they can find to bar him from the title of Hero.”

                     “Fucking DVA lackeys,” Clarissa spat. “I got so sick of their bullshit toward the end; that’s why I went off the Hero-grid so completely. No one would leave me alone after the Globe fiasco, and I didn’t have Charles’s connections to make them back off. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for Vince. No one should have to deal with those pricks, especially not a kid.”

                     “There actually might be something you can do,” Blaine said slowly. “A small side-project that may come to fruition, and if it does, then someone with your abilities would be priceless to have.”

                     “This is news to me,” Sean said.

                     “I’m keeping it quiet until I see if it actually goes anywhere. Until then, all I can say is that you, Clarissa, and you as well, Sean, would make a great difference to have on hand.”

                     “Blaine, one question,” Clarissa replied. “Was this whole thing, bringing me out to speak to the kids, just a set-up for asking me to help on your hush-hush project?”

                     “Of course not,” Blaine said. “The split was forty to sixty, at most.”

                     “Which side was forty?”

                     “You said only one question,” Blaine reminded her.

                     “You’re a real ass, you know that?” Clarissa said. “All right, you win. Count me in for whatever shenanigans you’ve got planned. Whatever it is, I trust that you’ve got the kids’ best interests at heart.”

     *              *              *

                     Ralph Chapman put the pictures down and slid them back across the table. “What do we know so far?”

                     “She lives in an apartment with a large Asian man just off-campus.” The speaker was an unassuming man, almost completely unremarkable except for the dark, bushy mustache perched atop his lip. “As you can see from the photographs, there’s clearly a pre-existing relationship with Reynolds. Right after the kissing broke up, she fled the club with her roommate and the young man who lives next door to them.”

                     Another picture was handed to Ralph, who looked it over. “He’s wearing a mask.”

                     “It was Halloween.”

                     “You’re being paid to find answers, Smitt, not excuses.”

                     “Which is why I jimmied open his mailbox, grabbed some letters, and looked at his name,” Smitt replied. “It was Dig Bixby. Obviously fake. The girl’s mail identified her as Eloise Toggle, which is presumably not real either. I couldn’t find any information on a girl with that name fitting her age and description. I can keep digging, but it will take me away from watching Reynolds, and I know he’s your first priority.”

                     Ralph Chapman drummed his fingers on the worn table. Smitt’s office was small and dark, the sort of place that was easy to overlook. It suited him perfectly, but Ralph was feeling stifled.

                     “I want everything you can find on this girl,” Ralph finally decided. “We haven’t found any avenues of information on Vince Reynolds so far; Blaine and the others have clearly covered up everything. This girl seems to have surprised him, though. Perhaps she can give us the real scoop on the son of Globe.”

                     “You’re the boss,” Smitt replied. “I’ll get to work tonight.”

                     “Good. Call me the minute you find something. I can’t wait to tear down the web of lies the Lander HCP has spun.”

     100.

                     The sensation wasn’t quite pressure, but it was akin to pressure. It felt more like something had accidentally brushed up against her, yet when she turned to look for it, there was nothing to be seen. It came again, firmer this time. There was no space, no world, nothing aside from the tame yet chaotic swirling of thoughts in her mind. The brushing came once more, insistent, continuing to increase until it seemed like something was trying to break through the outer membrane that encompassed her thoughts. It was surreal, and slightly scary. That fear caused her to tighten her mental defenses, and suddenly, the intruding sensation vanished.

                     “Damn it,” Alice swore, opening her eyes. “Sorry about that. It’s hard not to push back when I feel your presence.”

                     “Don’t worry, this is still great practice,” Mary assured her. “Pretty soon, I want to try it again when you’re asleep.”

                     The two girls were sitting cross-legged in Mary’s room, the faint scent of incense burning and a soundtrack of ocean noises filling the room with a sense of relaxation. Mary was clad in a gray t-shirt and sweats, while Alice sported a pink tank-top and black yoga pants. They’d positioned themselves in a way that left their feet pressed against one another’s. All attempts at holding hands had resulted in discomfort and loss of the clear-mind state they were trying to achieve.

                     “You’ve gotten a lot better. When we first started, I couldn’t even tell when you were trying to make contact.”

                     “That’s probably at least partly because of how rarely I even managed to find your mind,” Mary admitted. “But you’ve gotten better too. The calmer your mind is, the easier it is for me to locate it and try to come in; probably why my power works best on people in dreams and trances. Anyway, for the last month, you’ve managed to make it a lot easier on me, so thanks.”

                     “Glad to help. It’s nice to be useful for at least one thing.” Alice leaned back slightly, stretching some of the muscles in her hips that were beginning to grow sore. “This damn Subtlety project will be the death of me. Three days in, and I’ve barely made any progress at all.”

                     “You’ve got a month and a half, that’s plenty of time.”

                     “For one cipher? Sure, but supposedly, there are a lot more steps, and who knows how long each of those will take.”

                     “Alice, your power has grown tremendously since last year. Honestly, I’m not sure if even I could beat you anymore. Whatever our test is, you’ll pass.”

                     “Maybe so, but I want to pass using Subtlety,” Alice said. She shifted back into proper position, pausing to pull a few loose hairs from her face by remaking her ponytail.

                     “Why? You’re a lock for Control.”

                     “I don’t have a great reason why. Probably because I feel like Professor Pendleton doesn’t think I’ve got it in me to do it, and that makes me want to show him that I can.”

                     Mary had her own theory about why Alice was clinging to Subtlety so hard, a theory that revolved around memories of a Nick that no longer was, and the class he and Alice had shared. Thankfully, Alice was not the telepathic one, so she wasn’t privy to the hypothesis being formed in Mary’s head.

                     “You’ve always found a way before. I’m sure you’ll think of something this time as well,” Mary said. “I’m sort of envious. I wish we had a way to prepare for the exam besides the usual classes and training. It would be nice not to be going in totally blind for a change.”

                     “I’m always surprised you don’t get any hints. None of the professors let their thoughts slip?”

                     “They might, on occasion, but there are a lot of people, and I can’t pay attention to all of them all the time. Plus, as far as I’ve seen, our instructors are all skilled at keeping their surface thoughts controlled. Probably part of the HCP training we haven’t gotten to yet.” Mary paused for a moment, debating on whether or not to broach the next topic with Alice. She tried to respect her friend’s boundaries; however, one of the perks of friendship was being permitted to step across them when occasion demanded.

                     “Speaking of mind-reading, are you going to reschedule with Professor Stone sometime soon? Your meditation skills have definitely improved enough that she should be able to pull up the memory this time.”

                     “I’ve thought about it, and I was actually leaning toward doing exactly that, but for right now, I think I’m going to hold off,” Alice replied. “Professor Pendleton’s exam already has me mentally consumed. Once I dig up the memory, I might find something useful, or I might get something that just torments me and makes me spin my wheels. If I knew for certain it would help lead me to my mother, I’d be there as fast as I could fly. But my life just isn’t that damn easy. So since I don’t know for sure, I want to put my energy toward the thing I know I can affect: my exam. Once it’s over, then I can roll the dice with memory scavenging.”

                     “Boy, you really do not like people underestimating you,” Mary said, shaking her head at her friend’s unruly determination.

                     “Damn straight. The last guy who did it got tossed in the air and dropped in a dumpster. And he got off easy. If I hadn’t been wearing a dress I liked, I might have gotten rough with him.”

                     “Why am I wholly unsurprised that fashion is the only thing which can restrain the mighty Alice Adair?”

                     “Fashion, and Subtlety assignments,” Alice corrected.

                     “I think I’ll hold off my judgment until we actually make it to test-time. You have a knack for pulling these things out at the last minute.”

                     “Last year was different. I had Nick to lean on.”

                     Mary reached over and poked Alice forcefully in the stomach. “None of that. Nick didn’t help you in the tailing assignment, you found the professor on your own. And for that matter, Nick didn’t even help you get to that point. You’re the one who out-foxed him. If that doesn’t speak to talent in Subtlety, then I don’t know what does.”

                     “You have bony fingers,” Alice said, rubbing her stomach where Mary had jabbed her. “And maybe good points. But I’ve never been good at this cipher stuff; it takes me ages more than everyone else. All I’ve been good at is tricking people.”

                     Mary gave a shrug, causing ripples to flow down the loose gray fabric of her shirt. “Is there a way you can just do more of that?”

                     “Probably. Actually, I’m sure there is. I even had a few ideas. But I want to do this one the proper way. If I ever do become a Subtlety Hero, however unlikely that is, it’s the sort of thing others would lean on me for. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to show Professor Pendleton that I can pass his tests even without putting my own spin on things.”

                     “I’ve got no doubt you’ll figure something out, but there is no way you’ll convince me that you can do anything without putting your own spin on it.” Mary gave her roommate a reassuring grin, then closed her eyes and began to let the thoughts flow out of her mind once more.

     101.

                     These kids definitely weren’t normal. They ran tighter security than Smitt had ever seen outside a military installation. He’d done some illegal checking of the power-grid, and both apartments had several devices drawing the right amount of constant juice to signify alarms and cameras. Before he’d even gotten the chance to place a bug, Smitt had noticed them sweeping for listening devices three times daily. He’d never have realized it if the girl didn’t always come out and run her hands under the railing just outside their apartments.

                     Even watching them from afar held a certain amount of risk, as the well-muscled Asian one ran perimeter checks with the girl at unpredictable hours. They seemed to take orders from the young man who’d worn a mask on Halloween, known by his mail as Dig Bixby. That one at least had a class schedule he followed. Smitt had jotted down some of it, but Dig had proven slippery to tail. Either he knew he was being watched, or he took those kinds of precautions just because. Smitt was hoping it was the former; if this kid was already so careful out of habit, then he’d almost certainly become a ghost if he realized Smitt was watching.

                     Thus far, he hadn’t been able to get anything on these three—not their real names, not their reason for being here, and not their connection to Vince Reynolds. It was that last element Chapman cared about. He’d never deigned to tell Smitt why he wanted dirt on the silver-haired student so badly, and Smitt hadn’t asked questions. Getting paid in envelopes full of cash had that sort of effect on his curiosity. The bonus waiting for him if he actually found something solid on Reynolds would make his daily rate pale in comparison. That’s why he was sticking with this strange trio. Whoever they were, they were clearly up to something. If he could find a way to uncover it and link them with Reynolds, that cash was as good as his.

                     Smitt watched the girl walk up the stairs, finishing her sweep. She gave a quick glance around, then entered the apartment registered to Dig Bixby. Getting closer would require some risk. Luckily, Smitt was an old pro. These kids could take all the precautions they wanted.

                     Nothing stopped Smitt when he was on a trail.

     *             *             *

                     Nicholas was on the phone when Eliza walked in from her sweep, lying on the couch with his cell pressed to his ear.

                     “Take your time circling back. Eliza and I will wait for you before we get dinner.” He pressed a button on the phone’s side, ending the call.

                     “Everything go okay?”

                     “Perfect.” Nicholas rose from his sprawled out position, giving a mighty stretch. “You held his attention long enough for Jerome to slip the tracker on his car.”

                     “It wasn’t like it was hard. This guy might not be bad by California standards, but his thumbs would have been broken years ago if he tried this shit in Vegas.” Eliza went to the kitchen, withdrew a soda, and slumped into one of the chairs. “Do you really think there’s any chance he’ll lead us to Nathaniel?”

                     “No, it seems highly unlikely,” Nicholas replied. His eyes were focused out the window, looking at the Lander campus that lay only a few streets away. “The agents Nathaniel has employed were skilled, so much so that they managed to get the jump on us. This gentleman is far too low-brow for someone with our level of connections to utilize.”

                     “Could be a decoy; get us occupied with chasing the target we can see, while someone else slips by.”

                     “That has occurred to me, hence why we’ve doubled down on security; however, it still seems unlikely. Nathaniel is rarely the type to use convoluted methods; such is really more my style than his. It’s possible he’s learned new tricks, and I refuse to underestimate him again, but the probable explanation is that this gentleman is pursuing us for his own reasons.”

                     “Why bother?” Eliza kicked her feet onto the table and sipped her soda. She looked cheerfully unconcerned about the fact that someone was doing his best to spy on them. “Officially speaking, we’re nothing more than college juniors here to get an education. If he’s not connected with someone from Vegas, then what about us is worth looking in on?”

                     “Perhaps he isn’t interested in us at all; only in the company we keep. My old friends are a subject many people would like to learn more on.”

                     The jovial look fell right off Eliza’s face. “Are you saying he might be after Vince?”

                     “Vince, or any of the others,” Nicholas corrected. “It was Mary, after all, who was targeted in our freshman year. Until we know more, I think it’s best if we minimize contact with them.”

                     “Look, I know you’re not thrilled about me and Vince—”

                     “Eliza, I allowed you to stay, did I not? How you and a former friend of mine have fornicated isn’t really any of my business. What I am concerned with is keeping my investment safe. Those people represent a tremendous resource if I can make them allies, to say nothing of their usefulness in uncovering my lost-self’s findings. Keeping away from them right now is the smart call, for all of us.”

                     Her nimble fingers curled against the soft aluminum of the half-full can. She hated him for it, but Nicholas was right. Vince had already endured so much because of her; she couldn’t bear to do something that would make his life even worse. However, that didn’t mean she had to sit in this apartment with a thumb up her ass.

                     “Get me some bugs, decent ones,” she demanded, setting her drink on the counter. “I’m going on the offensive. When we find out where this dick sleeps, I’ll get us wired for sound.”

                     “Clumsy as he is, the man has still almost certainly taken countermeasures against just that. I’d be shocked if he doesn’t do his own sweep every night.”

                     “Then I guess I’ll just have to hide them in a place he won’t look, and while I’m at it, I’ll see what kind of information he’s got squirreled away.” Eliza stood from the couch and walked over to Nicholas. “I can do this. Let me do this. You’ve been gone a long time, and I’ve gotten a whole lot better. Ms. Pips wouldn’t have sent me down if that weren’t true.”

                     Nicholas considered the proposal carefully. He did loathe operating in the dark with a new enemy, and Eliza was correct that Ms. Pips had significant faith in the girl’s skills. Still, this man was a loose thread who could easily be cut off if he caused something to start unraveling. A mistake might cost them this lead, and there was no guarantee the next one would be so easy to spot.

                     “I’ll give you what you need, but it’s on you. Win the glory, or shoulder the blame.”

                     “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Eliza said. She needn’t have bothered speaking; the wild grin that sliced across her face conveyed the sentiment far more effectively.

     102.

                     “Bring on the fashion show!” Violet had made a bag of popcorn, which she now scooped a handful out of and hurled at the bathroom door. Since it was her room she was throwing popcorn in, no one could reasonably object to the mess. “Come on, we want to seeeeeeeee.”

                     “I’d really feel more comfortable doing this alone.” Camille had to raise her voice to be heard outside the bathroom, but it still managed to maintain its usual soft tones.

                     “Look, I did my best to sew the fabric that Will made, but I’m not so damn good that I think I got it perfect,” Jill replied, stealing a few bites of Violet’s popcorn. “So get out here, and let me see if I need to make alterations.”

                     “It appears fine,” Camille said.

                     “That’s nice, but the fabric isn’t all that stretchy. If I made a mistake, you might pop a seam when you get all active during a fight. And I’m pretty sure you don’t want that to happen, do you?”

                     The bathroom door opened, and Camille sullenly emerged in her new battle outfit. The color was a dark navy, while the style looked as if someone had sewn a t-shirt and bike shorts together into a onesie. It was extremely tight; however, Jill had managed to pad the fabric a bit in some of the places she knew Camille would want modesty. It made those spots ineffective for power use, but it was a fair trade-off in that it allowed the damage absorber to deal with actually being seen in the garment.

                     “Damn girl, you look good.” Violet showed her ultimate sign of fashion approval by not throwing popcorn. “And it’s not even that slutty. If anything, it looks like an extra-covering swimsuit.”

                     “I don’t like parading around in a swimsuit,” Camille reminded her friend.

                     “You won’t be parading in this either,” Jill said. “It’s for use in combat, meaning worst-case scenario is that your opponent gets caught up in ogling, and you can get in a surprise attack. Now, come over here so I can check the stitches.”

                     Camille obeyed, walking over to her friend and putting up her arms, allowing for thorough examination.

                     “How did Will ever crack this thing, anyway? To me, that looks like regular fabric,” Violet said.

                     “I didn’t entirely understand, either, to be honest. He said that, along with especially conductive materials, it had something to do with making the fabric super-porous, so that, even though it looks solid, there’s still flesh on flesh contact,” Camille said.

                     Jill turned the smaller girl around, examining the seams along the shoulders and armpits, places most likely to give out due to stretching or acrobatics. While Will handled the tech of Jill's suit, she’d been the one who had to learn to sew everything together. “Lift your arms higher, all the way over your head.”

                     As Camille obliged, Violet took one of her fingernails and scraped it carefully down her own forearm. She had to shift the density a bit, but soon, it began to leave the faintest trail of blood across her skin. That done, she reached over with a hand still coated in popcorn butter and carefully pushed an index finger against Camille’s ribcage.

                     “Feels like solid cloth to me. Let’s give it a test run.”

                     The small girl closed her eyes, a bit grateful to slip into her mind amidst all the poking and prodding. She could feel the connection to Violet, not as vibrant as it would be with pure skin-on-skin contact, but there all the same. With a push of willpower Camille drew the recent injury into herself, casting it into the well of suffering that housed all the other broken bones and torn flesh she’d accumulated throughout the years.

                     A quick flick of light raced across Violet’s arm, and the scratch was gone. She pulled her hand away from Camille and used it to scoop more popcorn. “Yup, still works.”

                     “My brother might be a stick in the mud, but you can always count on his inventions to work. Well, at least the ones he’s willing to show other people.” Jill finished her examination, gently pushing Camille’s arms down to a resting position. “It seems like everything will hold; I got the measurements spot-on. That said, there’s no real way to be certain until you test it out under extreme conditions.”

                     “Do you need me to do some stretching or something?”

                     Jill shook her head. “You’re way more active when you fight; you rely a lot on size and maneuverability.  If we want to be sure you won’t pop something loose and accidentally put on a show, then we need to check how it holds up in a real battle.”

                     “I’ll take her on,” Violet offered. “Even if it does get shredded, she doesn’t have anything I haven’t seen on myself. At least, I hope not. Camille seems like the type who might be hiding a vestigial tail or something.”

                     “If I were, you’d definitely see it in this thing,” Camille replied. She appreciated the padding Jill had built in; there was just no way around leaving most of the ensemble skintight. Not if she wanted to use her power through it.

                     “Then maybe it’s weird birthmarks, or scars. Oh, oh, I know! Tattoos. I bet under that pristine act, you’re inked like the Sunday paper,” Violet said.

                     “You caught me: I’ve got seven lower-back tattoos. They stack all the way to my ribcage.”

                     “See, I know that’s a lie, because I saw you in the sports bra and shorts,” Violet countered.

                     “Following a conversation with you two is exhausting,” Jill said. “And as a heads-up, I’ll be in the sparring match as well. Violet can hit you up close, and I’ll stick to ranged attacks. We want to see as full a spectrum of motion as possible.”

                     “I figured you’d be there anyway, since you’re the one who has to see what breaks and what causes it,” Camille said.

                     “Glad we’re all on the same page. Combat cells should be empty this evening, so give me a minute to go grab my suit, and we can head over to a lift location.”

                     “Do you ever wonder what normal girls do on weeknights?” Violet asked, finishing off her bowl of popcorn. “I can’t imagine they gear up to try and knock the crap out of one another.”

                     “No, I suppose they probably don’t,” Jill agreed, briefly pausing her walk to the door.

                     “Sounds like their loss.” Camille treated her friend to a rare expression of confidence, even going so far as to try and pop her knuckles the way she’d seen Roy do countless times. It failed miserably, but the sentiment was still appreciated. “Normal has got nothing on us.”

     103.

                     Smitt’s security was good, better than his tailing work by far. Had Eliza been enrolled in Professor Pendleton’s course, he’d have complimented the patience she showed in doing her research before busting in. Many would have gauged the man by a single aspect of his skill set, mistakenly forgetting that people are oddly-designed creatures who may show more talent in some facets of life than others. She had done no such thing.

                     The initial alarms hadn’t been difficult to circumvent, nor had the various cameras that were set up along the apartment’s hallways. To a girl who’d spent the last five years in Vegas, avoiding a set of only two cameras was child’s play. It was equally easy for her to pick the deadbolts barring Smitt’s door. The tricky part was the electronic lock, which had no keyhole; instead, it responded to a clicker on Smitt’s keychain, only unlocking when it received the appropriate electronic signal. Eliza gave a mental tip of her hat to him for coming up with such an effective countermeasure; however, it was far from the sort of thing that would stop her.

                     One of the reasons no one in Vegas employed such means was because that sort of tech could easily be monitored. Grabbing a scanner from their equipment stash had been easy; the tough part was waiting in the bushes until Smitt came home and used his clicker.

                     As she twirled open the deadbolts and deactivated the electronic lock with her pirated signal, Eliza wondered for the umpteenth time who really had the better tech: Heroes, or criminals. Sure, the Heroes had the ostentatious stuff, but in her time working under Ms. Pips’ organization she’d yet to see a technological hurdle that they couldn’t clear. Perhaps it was all a matter of controlling people’s perceptions. Heroes flaunted the gadgets and gear their tech-geniuses provided, but the smart criminals hid theirs away like a murderer in the family. No one wanted to advertise having a tech-Super on the payroll; all it did was put you on the wrong people’s radar.

                     Eliza moved carefully into the foyer, eyes sweeping a familiar scene. She’d watched Smitt for days, observing everything he did when walking in. From what she could tell, there was only one trap that required immediate deactivation. Moving at a brisk stroll, she stepped into the living room and flipped up the head of a stuffed crow that sat on Smitt’s mantle. It moved easily, the hidden hinge letting the bird’s skull swing upward to reveal a keypad. With nimble fingers, she punched in the code Smitt used every night, deactivating whatever alarm or trap would spring without it. It had taken her days to find the right angle of observation through his window to see the code, but like most things, it had just boiled down to patience and determination.

                     Now safe, Eliza turned her attention to the real task at hand: finding out who Smitt was, and what he wanted. To some, the latter might seem the more important task, but Eliza had been trained by Ms. Pips. She knew the value of understanding a person, of learning what they wanted, what they feared. What they loved. These were strings a skilled player could strum, leading to any outcome they might desire. Those tasks she left to people like Nicholas; they required an amount of ruthlessness that she hadn’t yet achieved. That she, in her deepest heart, hoped she never would achieve.

                     Smitt’s computer was the easiest part; Eliza merely popped a jump-drive into his desktop and let the programs installed do their work. These would first install key-logging software, as well as put any camera or microphone hardware under their control. After that, they would begin gathering up all of the files stored in the hard drive. There would almost certainly be nothing of value on it—only a fool kept things in such an easily breached location—but it never hurt to roll the dice that he might be stupid.

                     While the computer was being scanned, Eliza did a sweep over the rest of the apartment. She found no pictures, notes, or even mementos that seemed personal. Smitt was either truly dedicated to the lonely life his job necessitated, or he was a master of keeping things buried. Eliza kept digging, going through all of the standard hiding spots she knew to check, hoping to find something useful. Along the way, she slipped in the occasional listening device. They wouldn’t go undiscovered for long, Smitt kept his home too bare and easy to sweep, but hopefully, they’d get what they needed quickly.

                     It was in one of the last spots that she finally came up aces. Smitt had an older model television, the type that wasn’t compressed into a perfectly flat screen. Eliza might have overlooked it, had the screws on the back not shown signs of their paint being stripped away. With great care, she removed the rear portion, pulling it off to reveal a set of files and a portable hard drive taped to an out-of-the-way section.

                     “Hello there.” Eliza’s voice was practically a purr as she delicately touched the two objects. The air around her other hand shimmered for a moment, and then a duplicate set of items appeared clutched in her fingers. Eliza set those down and went about re-attaching the television’s rear. The last thing she needed was to tip off Smitt that she’d found his hidey-hole.

                     The objects she’d created would last three days, or until she dismissed them. Unlike many duplicators, Eliza’s copies were perfect. They could be altered, tested, even broken into pieces, yet each would still refuse to dissolve. Even the data on the hard drive would be identical to its originator. This talent, along with the fact that her copies didn’t need to stay in proximity to her, were what made Eliza such a valued asset in Ms. Pips’ organization. No one could create a forgery like Eliza Tracey, because hers were effectively the real deal.

                     When the television was whole, Eliza checked her watch. She still had plenty of time before Smitt would come back, but the sooner she got out of there, the better. A quick glance told her the jump drive had finished its work, since it was now flashing green. Still, despite the inclination to go while time was on her side, Eliza couldn’t resist opening one of the files she’d duplicated. Perhaps she was hoping to gain some perspective on this man called Smitt; perhaps it was sheer curiosity.

                     As soon as she flipped to the first page, Eliza’s heart began to pound. Vince’s face stared back at her, a picture of him taken as he walked between classes. Her fingers danced through the file’s contents, unveiling notes tracking his daily activities. Observations, schedules, pictures; all of it centered around one silver-haired student. Nicholas had been right. Smitt didn’t care about them. He was after Vince.

                     Eliza slammed the file shut, stuffing it and the hard drive into her backpack. She hurried over and grabbed the jump drive, all the while desperately working against the sudden desire to torch everything this man owned. That was not the way they did things. That was not the way she’d been trained. Bouts of impulse and anger were fleeting; they led to temporary solutions. He wasn’t going to get off with something as simple as an apartment fire. When they took down Smitt, it would be in a way that he could never come back from.

                     And when that day came, Eliza no longer had any inclination to let Nicholas be the one turning the screws.

     104.

                    The sudden pounding on the front door of Melbrook made everyone except Chad jump. Alice, Hershel, and Vince all exchanged glances, each mentally preparing for whatever insane task or problem was going to burst through their door next.

                     “Guys, it's Alex,” Mary informed them, not even looking up from the book she was reading as she sat on the couch.

                     “Is something wrong?” Vince asked.

                     “No. Now go let him in before he kicks the door down.”

                     Hershel obliged, leaving the room and returning with Alex, who was nearly vibrating with excitement. The shaggy-haired young man was hopping excitedly from foot to foot, scarcely able to contain his evident joy.

                     “Did you guys see? Did you see it yet?”

                     “See what? Is there an announcement about the upcoming test?” Chad’s interest perked up at the possibility of HCP information.

                     “What? No, who cares about that? The new Star Puncher trailer just got released online! It’s coming out in February, which means we only have like three months to prepare.” Alex’s voice nearly sparked with energy as he spoke.

                     Most of the dorm greeted this news with disinterest or confusion, but one Melbrook resident nearly lost his ability to stand upon hearing Alex’s words.

                     “No. Freaking. Way.” Hershel's eyes were wide, and his words filled with awe. “Are you sure this isn’t another hoax? We had that fake trailer three years ago.”

                     Alex shook his head so quickly that there was no way he didn’t give himself a headache. “That was my first thought too, so I went right to the studio’s site. They had the trailer loaded up, as well as information about the release. This is the real damn deal, no question about it.”

                     “Excuse me,” Vince said, interrupting as politely as he could. “Could someone explain what this Star Puncher thing is? I grew up without seeing most movies and television.”

                     “It’s not just you. I’ve never heard of it either,” Alice added. She’d been curled up in one of the chairs, working on her Subtlety assignment, but it was clear there wouldn’t be a lot of work getting done until Hershel and Alex calmed down.

                     “Ditto, not that I think that surprised anyone.” Mary gave up on trying to read and stuck her finger in the pages to mark her spot.

                     “No one should feel bad. It’s sort of a niche thing,” Hershel told them. “Originally, Star Puncher was a television series in the late sixties. It lasted all of five episodes before going off the air. Then, four years later, it got revived as a movie, and that’s when it really hit its stride.”

                     “It was that good?” Chad asked.

                     “No, that awful,” Alex said. “Cheap props, ham acting, and dialogue that was almost nothing but one-liners. Critics called it the worst sci-fi movie ever made.”

                     “So, naturally, a few years later, it turned into a cult phenomenon,” Hershel continued. “It gained enough odd popularity that, in the early eighties, they released a sequel: Star Puncher and The Nightingale Furies. Same actors, same special effects team, same director, and they knocked it out of the park.”

                     “But by that you mean it was bad, right? This is kind of confusing,” Vince said.

                     “Yes, they mean it was bad; just in a way that was still highly entertaining,” Mary clarified. She deeply loved Hershel after their years together, but this was a passion she’d never found a way to share with him. Instead, she merely did her best not to seem dismissive when he went into these excited frenzies.

                     “It was enjoyable, let’s just put it that way,” Hershel explained. “As was the next one that came out in the early nineties, Star Puncher and the Black Matter Kick-Fighter. That was the last one to be made, though, because the director passed away.”

                     “But rumors have persisted about a fourth one in the making, helmed by the director’s own daughter and with full participation from the cast. It’s been just a myth on message boards for decades, the sort of urban legend that people joke about. That is, until today!” Alex actually jumped in the air and pumped his arm with joy at those last words, his admirable efforts to contain his excitement finally proving to be futile.

                     “Here’s what I don’t get, why do you need months to prepare for a movie coming out?” Chad asked.

                     Hershel and Alex stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded by the madness of such a question.

                     “There’s a ton to do,” Alex said eventually. “Making costumes, finding out which theater has the best release party, searching for leaks online so we’re up to the minute on every detail, and of course, watching the first three over and over to get ourselves psyched up for the big release.”

                     “Is this . . . normal?” Chad asked. “I mean, is it an activity that a lot of people engage in?” Vince shrugged; he was on the verge of asking something similar. Alice pointedly turned her head to avoid making eye-contact; she couldn’t think of an answer that would be both polite and honest. Ultimately, it was Mary who had to offer some perspective.

                     “’Normal’ may not be the best word; it’s just a pastime that some people enjoy. Others may like baseball or making paintings. Our boys here get a kick out of old sci-fi movies. It’s what takes the stress of daily life away from them.”

                     “Ah, I understand.” Chad looked over at the two enthusiastic nerds. “May I join in your activities?”

                     Alice let out a sound somewhere between a cough and a choke, and even Mary blinked in surprise.

                     “You sure you want to do that?” Hershel asked. “Mary was being nice; this is pretty nerdy.”

                     “Perhaps, but I moved here to actively participate more in life. If this film series can excite you to such a degree, it certainly bears experiencing.”

                     “Dude.” Alex jabbed Hershel in the ribs. “He would make a perfect Gelfrak. He’s even got the speech pattern down pat.”

                     “Holy crap, how did I not see that?” Hershel nodded his agreement.

                     “I think I’d like to tag along too,” Vince said. “I could use something a little more light-hearted to think about.”

                     “Well then, you chose wrong, because Star Puncher is a tale of determination, woe, and triumph. There’s nothing light about it,” Alex said.

                     “There was that scene on the planet of giggle-creatures,” Hershel reminded him.

                     “Oh, that is a good point. Wait, why are we sitting around talking about this? There’s an online trailer to watch. To Hershel’s room!” Alex led the charge, heading to the boys’ side, only to wait until Hershel pressed the button on the door to let him past. With that, the males were gone from the room, leaving only Alice and Mary remaining.

                     “Be straight with me here,” Alice said, once the door had shut. “What are the odds they try and rope us into this somehow?”

                     “Technically, your odds are better, since, unlike me, you aren’t dating one of them.”

                     “Why did you say ‘technically’?”

                     “Because,” Mary replied with a somber expression. “I think we both know that if I go down, you’re coming with me.”

                     “Cruel. Very cruel.”

     105.

                    The cipher had actually been three different codes, each buried more deeply than the last within the pattern. Will had spent an extra day combing through for any others that he might have missed, but after that, he reasoned they were either not present or too complex for him to crack. Translating the codes had led him to three separate websites, each tucked away on a near-forgotten server. The sites had been filled with riddles, hints, and codes. From these, Will had been led to various spots around the town, having to solve geometric and logic problems corresponding to his surroundings along each step of the way.

                     At the end of the first code’s path, Will had found himself in a seedy gym near the outskirts of town. For possibly the first time, he was thankful that the HCP had forced such constant conditioning on its students. In high school, he’d have felt impossibly out of place walking into the locker room of an establishment dedicated to personal fitness. Two-and-a-half years of training had gifted him with a body that, while lacking in comparison to some of his classmates, would easily pass unnoticed in such a location.

                     His quick eyes skimmed the room, locating the locker number his last clue had directed him to. As he approached it, Will noticed a silver combination lock resting on the handle. He smiled a touch, feeling the tumblers in his brain click into place. He’d wondered what that last sequence of numbers had been for, and now, he had his answer. Like a desperate man assembling pre-made furniture, he’d discovered where the last piece fit.

                     The numbers danced along the dial as Will put in the combination. With the final click, he pulled the lock free and opened the door. Inside was an empty locker, save only for a single word scratched into the cheap metal backing. Will examined it closely, making meticulous note of every nuance, then took a photo with his phone to be safe. This gave him no direction as to what the test entailed, but unless he’d made a mistake along the way, it definitely marked the end of the first code’s path.

                     Perhaps clarity would come as he unraveled the others, or perhaps it would remain inscrutable. Subtlety was not a discipline in which one grew accustomed to having everything spelled out for them. Often, it was akin to assembling a scenic puzzle with half the pieces missing, as well as a few scattered about from entirely different pictures. It was frustrating, time consuming, and endlessly challenging. Will could easily see why so few Heroes undertook it when they had the option of punching their problems away instead.

                     He did not have that option. What he did have, however, were two more clues to run down. There was only so much time before the exam, and Will intended to come out on top, no matter what it entailed.

     *             *             *

                     “Well?” Eliza stared at him from across the room, her soft shoes wearing down his carpet as she flitted about. Jerome, at least, was more composed, sitting at the kitchen table. They’d just completed the most recent sweep, which meant now was the opportune time to discuss Eliza’s findings.

                     “I don’t think much of this will surprise you,” Nicholas said. In his hands, he held Eliza’s copies of Smitt’s files. They would dissipate soon, so Nicholas had reviewed them thoroughly while also transcribing more traditional copies. The digital files, thankfully, were easy to duplicate. “From what I can tell, Smitt has been keeping tabs on Vince for some time now, watching him as much as he can above ground. Thankfully, he’s been limited in how close he can get.”

                     “Limited how?” Jerome asked.

                     “Melbrook may look like any normal dorm, but keep in mind it was built to house five people with unpredictable and potentially dangerous superhuman abilities. The security there is nearly as good as getting into the HCP, and our—sorry, their, suited overseers are quite capable. Add in the extra attention that surfaced after Globe reappeared, and it makes the place pretty much impenetrable by anyone short of a trained Super.”

                     “That’s something, but why is this guy looking into Vince in the first place? He can’t have done anything wrong; he’s as decent as they come.”

                     Nicholas stared at Eliza and considered her words. She was flushed, concerned, and emotionally involved beyond what was prudent. From Nick’s files, it had been apparent that Vince often had similar effects on those around him, eventually, even beguiling Nick himself. Such a curious ability made part of Nicholas interested in meeting this young man. Of course, it also made another part of him adamant to stay as far away as possible.

                     “We can safely surmise that the investigation is related to his outing as Globe’s son last year. This is exactly the sort of thing my previous incarnation was hoping to avoid entangling us in. Unfortunately, it seems we are in it now, so we may as well press on. That said, the most interesting part is not the why of Smitt’s involvement, but the who.”

                     Nicholas closed the envelope and set it on the table. “While Smitt was careful enough to never directly mention the name of his employer, I was able to find some financial information from his computer. After having our techs do some tracing, they found encoded emails dating back several months. We couldn’t crack them—they are vastly too sophisticated—but it does tell us who Smitt is working for. That sort of encryption is only used by one government agency: The Department of Variant Human Affairs.”

                     “The guys who oversee all the Heroes? Why would they employ a nobody like Smitt?” Eliza asked.

                     “They wouldn’t, not officially. Like all government agencies, they have their own people and protocols for such things,” Nicholas said. “Even if they had, we’d have found financial transactions in his accounts, or a paper-trail of some kind. The DVA has stricter transparency regulations than many other agencies, given the nature of their work. Which means whoever is paying Smitt is doing it under the table. They’re using non-approved resources, in secret, to investigate Vince.”

                     “That means they don’t trust their current channels,” Eliza surmised. “They think they’re getting the run-around and wanted to go outside the system.”

                     “Precisely. Which means they have, to some extent, left the safety of the organization that watches over them,” Nicholas agreed. “And that, my dear friends, means they have wandered into the wild, where we hold domain.”

                     “What do you want us to do?” Jerome asked. He’d known Nicholas for many years, and the wicked glint in his eye made it clear that the time for action was looming.

                     “I want to find out who this backer is, and I want to see what they find so fascinating about Vince. It’s possible they’re trying to prove what a decent guy our friend is. Possible, but highly unlikely. Still, it’s the sort of thing I’d like to ask in person.”

                     “Too bad we don’t have their number,” Eliza said, her own face impassive even as a miasma of worry and rage whipped about inside her. “I guess our friend Smitt will have to tell us what it is.”

                     “Yes, I think he will,” Nicholas agreed.

     106.

                    The world was numbers and letters, swirling and dancing in a dysfunctional ballet where the conductor was madness and the symphony chaos. Amidst this vortex, she floated, eyes half open as she stared into the moving insanity. This was all there was. This was all there had ever been. This was all there would ever be.

                     Except . . . that last part wasn’t entirely true. She could feel something different, something new. It pushed on the edges of her consciousness, like a dull knife skimming across taut plastic. This bothered her. It was wrong. There was supposed to be nothing, only herself and the vortex.

                     Then, without warning, the force pushed through her guards and Alice found herself staring at Mary, who was now beside her. Reality came rushing back in a wave of awareness that surged over her, purging the fog of the dream and leaving her reawakened, despite still being technically asleep.

                     “You did it!” Alice cried, clapping her hands together.

                     “I know! I didn’t think I was going to for a while, but I finally started to . . . feel . . . .” Mary’s words trailed off as she finally took in her surroundings. The letters and numbers whizzed about, filling every visible space, save only for the spot in the center where she and Alice floated. “This is an . . . interesting dream.”

                     “Huh? Oh, yeah, I’ve been having this one for the past week. Probably from all the stress about my Subtlety assignment.”

                     “Didn’t you crack the first part?”

                     “Sure, but tell that to my subconscious.” Alice paused for a moment, pressing a manicured nail gently against her cheek. “On second thought, why I don’t I tell it that myself?” She closed her eyes, and in the span of a blink, the vortex was gone. In its place was a veranda overlooking a sparkling ocean, with a table already set for two guests.

                     “That’s impressive,” Mary said. “Jill didn’t have nearly as much initial control, even after realizing we were in a dream.”

                     “Jill hasn’t spent the last three months doing visualization and meditation exercises,” Alice countered. “Besides, since you gave me the rundown of what to expect, I went in knowing what I was capable of.” She settled down on the ground, nondescript clothing now replaced by a flowing white dress, and took one of the open seats.

                     Mary glanced down at herself and realized she was not, to her surprise, adorned in the clothes her real body was wearing. Instead, she was wearing her HCP uniform. After a moment’s reflection, she realized it did make a certain amount of sense. The uniform was what she was most familiar with, how she most frequently saw herself. When grabbing a mental avatar, this was the logical outfit to dress her in. Logical or not, though, she didn’t like the idea of lounging in her uniform, so with a slight exertion of willpower, she garbed herself in a t-shirt and jeans.

                     “We’re having lunch overlooking a literal dream-view, and you still won’t dress up a bit?”

                     “Not happening.” Mary walked over and took the other free chair. “If I give you encouragement here, you’ll try to dress me like a doll in the real world.”

                     “What on earth would make you suggest such a thing?” Alice pressed her hand to her chest in mock-surprise.

                     “Our years of friendship, the last few weeks with Camille, the number of times you’ve tried, just take your pick.”

                     Alice stuck out her tongue in a very impolite manner. “Spoilsport. Well, since we’re here, do you want some wine or food?” Her own hand now held a crystal glass with a dark red liquid inside. “I don’t have the taste down pat, but it’s not bad.”

                     “I’m good with tea,” Mary replied, holding up the cup that had suddenly appeared in her hand. “This is actually really convenient. With a little practice, dream-diving could be a lot of fun.”

                     “Fun? You could open a business selling whole vacations like this. Think about it: the person is completely aware, has full control over their environment, can go anywhere they can imagine, and can eat or drink anything without counting calories? I’m tempted to book you up for the whole summer.” Alice helped herself to one of the chocolates that were now in the center of the table. “So, you’ve successfully dream-dived while you were conscious, and into a person with high defenses no less. What’s next?”

                     “I’m not really sure. I need to talk to Professor Stone, but it’s possible that this is the end of my experimentation. I mean, I did it. It’s pretty much over now.”

                     “Really? I see ample new grounds for you to explore,” Alice replied. “For example, what if you tried bringing other people with you? Like having four sleeping people touching part of you, and bringing them all together in a single mind.”

                     “There’s no precedent to believe I could do that,” Mary pointed out.

                     “There was no precedent to believe you could do this either, until you did it,” Alice rebutted. “And if you can manage it, think of the usefulness. Group vacations aside, you could hold team meetings so secret that not even telepaths would be able to overhear them.”

                     Mary nodded. That was true. A sleeping mind usually sounded like a soft murmur of static to most telepaths. She could pick up some things, though only in cases of extreme emotion, but, then again, she was also unique in that aspect of her abilities. Professor Stone had enlightened her to the fact that, despite what she’d grown up thinking, very few telepaths could get information from a passed-out mind. Sleep was, in fact, one of the few great defenses against a telepath.

                     “Okay, that might be useful. I guess I could at least pitch the idea to the professor. And maybe I could work on staying in a mind when someone actively tries to force me out, or slipping in without letting them become aware.” Now that she’d looked at the potential for new avenues of her power, Mary felt the ideas bubbling forth. She was nowhere near done experimenting, and that thought filled her with excitement.

                     “Sounds like your schedule is going to get pretty busy soon. As will mine, once I wake up and have to deal with my stupid assignment. But for now, you just completed a big milestone, and we’re celebrating.” Alice put her hand in the air, bringing it back down with an enormous chocolate layer-cake balanced impossibly on her fingers.

                     “You know, you may just have a point about the benefits of dream-vacations,” Mary said, eyeing the tiered dessert hungrily.

     107.

                    When the door opened without so much as a knock or salutation, Dean Blaine could guess who it was without looking up. There were several people who would enter without knocking—a realization that made Blaine wonder if he needed to be tougher on propriety—but they would all announce themselves in some fashion. Only one person authorized to be down here would walk in silently. He looked up anyway, of course, because, while HCP security was some of the best in the world, one never took anything for granted when dealing with Supers. Thankfully, it was precisely the woman he’d expected to see: Professor Stone. She locked the door behind her, took a seat, and arched an eyebrow in unspoken question.

                     “We’re as secure as we can be,” Dean Blaine told her. “It’s possible some new tech has been invented, or that there’s a power my own can’t squash, but so far as is currently possible, this meeting will be private.”

                     Professor Stone gave a curt nod. “I thought you should know that Nicholas Campbell and Ralph Chapman are on paths with a high potential to collide with one another.”

                     “How did he find out about Campbell? The records of those who leave the program are sealed unless one has specific permission.”

                     “Chapman has no idea who Nicholas is,” Professor Stone clarified. “All he knows is that Vince was kissing Eliza Tracey on Halloween, and she’s connected to Nicholas. The investigator keeping tabs on them wasn’t able to discover their identities, but he did tip them off to his existence and put them on Chapman’s trail.”

                     Dean Blaine paused to consider the situation. While Chapman and his fellow DVA counterparts had kept an eye on them since the year’s inception, Esme Stone, legendary telepath and tenured professor, had been keeping watch over Chapman. She’d kept Dean Blaine in the loop regarding Chapman’s deviation from approved resources. Technically speaking, it was enough to get him thrown off their case, but that would just result in getting a Chapman replacement that might not make such easy mistakes. They’d decided to sit back and watch, see if he would hang himself when given enough rope. But tangling with Nicholas Campbell wouldn’t be hanging himself; it would be burning his house down with his family inside. Nick Campbell, perhaps, would have shown more restraint.

                     “What are the odds Nick will make it back before things with Chapman come to a head?”

                     “Fair, at best. It depends on how long they wait to go after the investigator, how long he can hold out for, and how well Chapman has covered his trail. All of this is assuming Nick comes back at all. I didn’t exactly make it easy,” Professor Stone reminded him. “And I’m still not convinced that it was the right thing to do in the first place. He deserved to be expelled; you know that as well as I do. The level of manipulation and immorality he showed with his stunt was staggering.”

                     “It was. Twisted, horrible, and coldly effective, that was Nick Campbell’s final exploit, as well as the one that summarized him so perfectly.”

                     “Then why did you ask me to leave him a path back?” Not for the first time, or even the hundredth, Professor Stone wished she could have just the smallest of peeks into the mind of Blaine Jeffries. They’d worked together long enough that she trusted him, but trust and understanding were very different animals altogether.

                     “To this day, I’m not entirely certain myself,” Dean Blaine said, leaning back a bit in his chair. “Maybe it’s because, despite his fluid morality, Nick’s grand finale was done for unselfish reasons. Perhaps I didn’t want to seal away some tidbit of information he might be holding on to. Most likely though, it was simply realizing that those kids are going to face an uphill battle throughout their entire lives, especially if they become Heroes. Vince is feeling it first because of his history, but sooner or later, all of them will end up under fire without good reason. It’s the price of who they were.”

                     “And you think Nick Campbell can change that?”

                     Dean Blaine gave the barest whisper of a smile. “I think Nick Campbell can do many things. But no, I don’t expect him to change the world’s opinion somehow. I just think they will fare a lot better with someone like him watching their backs. Someone a bit more . . . dynamic in his problem-solving capabilities.”

                     “The company already exists to handle those sorts of situations,” Professor Stone reminded him.

                     “Yes, but there are Supers all throughout it, Supers with their own personal prejudices. Having someone like that wholly on their side might make quite a bit of difference. This is all speculation, though. As you said, the way back for him is not an easy one.”

                     “Should I try and curtail them from finding out about Chapman, then?”

                     “No,” Dean Blaine said. “Let’s just keep an eye on the situation. Ralph decided to go outside the system. I think it will be an excellent lesson for him to discover what things are like in the real world. I don’t want to see him utterly destroyed, but he could stand to gain a bit of perspective.”

                     “That’s why I like you, Blaine. You aren’t as soft-hearted as some of the other deans have been.”

                     “Thank you, I think. I suppose, while we’re on the subject, I’ll go ahead and ask: anything suspicious from Clarissa?”

                     “Not that I picked up on,” Professor Stone said slowly. “I listened to her thoughts as much as I could while she was here, and I never heard anything too suspicious.”

                     “Too suspicious?”

                     “Well, when she realized who Vince was the son of, her mind flew off on a bit of a tangent. Memories and fantasies all swirled together. Otherwise, her mind was clean and on topic.”

                     “Which, ultimately, tells us nothing,” Dean Blaine said, fidgeting with the heavy pen in his hand. “Clarissa is a trained and experienced Hero; she knows how to keep her surface thoughts disciplined when she’s around telepaths.”

                     “Or she really has nothing to hide,” Professor Stone pointed out.

                     “I dearly, desperately want to believe that. But Globe has a teleporter on his side—the little bit we know of his activities makes that clear. It’s someone powerful, and Shimmerpath was one of the most versatile teleporters to hold the title of Hero.”

                     “There are other teleporters out there.”

                     “Sure, but none of them have been in love with Globe since before he wore the cape.” Dean Blaine set the pen down, watching it roll across the hard wooden surface before coming to a rest. “All I can do for now is keep her close and hope something clears her. I appreciate all you’re doing, by the way. We’d be lost in the woods without you, Esme.”

                     “You’ve got the students’ best interests at heart, Blaine. So long as that remains true, you can always count on me.” Professor Stone considered something for a moment, then continued. “But try not to call on me before I’ve had my coffee. I’m not as young and eager to greet the morning as I used to be.”

                     “I’ll make a note,” Dean Blaine replied.

     108.

                   Vince didn’t know how it had gotten there; he just knew the note hadn’t been in his pocket when he first headed off to class. The thin, white slip of paper had been added to his left pocket’s contents (a phone and two quarters) at some point during his time in Lander’s normal classes. He became aware of it at day’s end, when he went to turn his phone off silent. It was then that his hand brushed the paper, but he resisted the urge to pull it out immediately. It was almost certainly connected with the Super side of his life, and Vince felt compelled to deal with all such matters behind closed doors. He was feeling emotionally stable thanks to Dr. Moran, but that didn’t mean he would permit himself to take stupid chances.

                     So it was that, when Vince got back to Melbrook, he went immediately to his room, shut the door, dropped his backpack on the ground and pulled out the note. It was a simple index card, the kind some teachers allowed students to use as note-cards during tests. On it, in tightly-written print, was a message to him.

     Tights,

     I wanted to tell you that I haven’t been avoiding you. Right now, things are dangerous, and meeting up could put you at serious risk. I know you’ve got to be dying for answers, though, so I’ve carved out a small window of time. Tomorrow night, from nine to ten, neither of us will be under observation. If you can meet me, I’ll be waiting at the address on the back of this note. If not, I’ll try again when it’s safe.

     -Thief

                     Not for the first, or last time that year, Vince dearly wished Nick were around. He could make sense of this, could explain what she meant by “serious risk,” and why she’d used their old names for each other. Yearning didn’t change the fact that Nick was gone, though, so Vince was stuck with either bringing another person in, or puzzling it out himself. The former seemed too risky until he grasped the situation, which left the latter.

                     Vince tried to keep a clear head and look at the message piece by piece. She’d said neither of them would be under observation. He didn’t know why she was being watched, but his own situation had been made clear to him. From the year’s beginning, he’d understood that there were people keeping a close eye on what he did, and seeing if any of it hinted at contact with Globe. How on earth would she know that he wasn’t being watched tomorrow?

                     Another, more disturbing thought occurred to Vince. Was it possible that the time she’d suggested was the only time he wasn’t being watched? After a quick glance around the room and making sure the window blinds were closed, Vince shrugged off the thought. If people were covertly observing him 24/7, then they were too skilled for him to spot or stop. Best to just assume this was the timeframe when they were both free to move about.

                     Next up was figuring out why she’d used the old names. Was she trying to reset their relationship to how it had been before the bar, putting mental distance between them? It might make having a discussion easier, for Vince as well as her, but a nagging part of him doubted that. Eliza had made it clear she was taking a risk in communicating with him—that wasn’t the sort of thing one did when they were trying to get space. No, more likely she was being careful. If anyone found this note, it had no ties to Vince Reynolds or Eliza Tracey; he could just claim to have found it on the ground. Well, most people could have done that, anyway. Vince’s skills at lying were roughly as adept as his skills at sewing: existent for necessity, but far from impressive.

                     That left one last question Vince needed to figure out: whether or not he was going to go. Yes, he knew he wanted, needed, to see Eliza and get some closure, but depending on the amount of risk involved, it might not be worth it. It wasn’t just his own future on the line, after all. There were five Powereds that were turned into Supers, and one of them had already been expelled from the program. If another got tangled up in something criminal, even if he was only suspected, that cast the project as a whole in a pretty poor light. It might mean that future Powereds turned Supers wouldn’t be offered the same chance at HCP enrollment they’d received.

                     Under his fear of what might happen, Vince realized he was also somewhat afraid of seeing Eliza again. He didn’t know what he’d say, what he’d do, or how he’d react to whatever she told him. She’d torn his heart out by leaving all those years ago; only now, when it was beginning to regenerate— thanks to a healer no less—did she return. Possibly to finish the job, leaving him so broken even Camille wouldn’t be able to fix the damage.

                     It was that fleeting thought of Camille that set Vince’s resolution. She cared for him, and he had finally begun coming to terms with his feelings for her. Letting his past hang over whatever may come for them wasn’t a situation he was willing to accept. She deserved better, and for that matter, so did he. But the path to deciding what was right came from understanding. Vince needed to finally settle the chaos in his heart, and the only person who could do that was Eliza Tracey.

                     He rose from his bed, pausing only to check the address on the back of the card. It was close to campus, only a few blocks away. That meant no need to bum a ride; he could easily walk the distance in under ten minutes. Vince pulled open his closet and glanced through it, wondering what one wore to a secret late-night rendezvous. Nick would have known; Nick probably would have had three different outfit options to make him choose from. But Nick wasn’t here anymore.

                     Which meant Vince had to keep muddling through on his own.

     109.

                    For a clandestine meeting place, Vince thought the coffee shop was awfully well-lit. True, his only knowledge of secret meetings came from old noir films that Hershel would occasionally leave on the lounge television while they studied, and those were hardly a beacon of accuracy or contemporary customs. Still, he’d expected the address to lead him somewhere a little more secluded than Jumpin' Joe’s Java Jamboree, a coffee and espresso bar several blocks from campus. There weren’t many people around, but that could easily be because the joe at Joe’s was generally considered awful. Vince had no idea how the place stayed in business, though, if he were even a bit smarter, he might have realized why a business with terrible products and a cash-only policy managed to flourish. He wouldn’t have needed Nick there to explain what a “money-laundering front” was.

                     His eyes left the garish counter where a disinterested young girl was flipping through a magazine, sliding across the various tables until they came to rest on a mound of dark, curly hair popping over the top of a booth near the back of the shop. As soon as he saw that, Vince felt his stomach drop a few inches, but he began moving forward anyway. For all his faults and ignorance, Vince was the type to meet his problems head-on.

                     Even when that problem was love.

                     “Hey.” He felt self-conscious before the word was even fully-formed. Why hadn’t he said something more charming or smooth? At least if he’d asked if the seat was taken, that was an understandable cliché; which had to be better than his monosyllabic grunt of a greeting.

                     Eliza looked up from the small menu in front of her, and though she’d been watching him through mirrors since he walked in, her face still lit up as she finally looked upon the genuine article.

                     “Hey, yourself. You want anything to drink?”

                     “I’m okay; I heard this place isn’t very good.” Vince carefully slid into a seat, examining Eliza as he did. She looked surprisingly normal, wearing jeans and a pink-plaid shirt. He was dressed in shorts and an exercise shirt. While he’d had no desire to lie to his roommates about where he was going when he left the dorm, donning jogging attire had kept them from feeling the need to ask any questions.

                     “They’ve got a few decent things on the menu, but you’re right, a lot of it is dreck.” She set the menu down and caught the barista’s eye. A gentle shake of her head told the girl to keep her distance from the table; this conversation was not for prying ears. While the shop wasn’t under the control of Ms. Pips’s organization, she had enough influence for her people to be treated with deference.

                     “So . . . where do we even start?” Vince asked.

                     “I’d say we kick things off by my explaining why we needed to meet like this, and why it might be a while before we do it again. My people and I are being watched. We’ve identified the lackey, and we’re on track to run down who gave the orders, but until that problem is thoroughly rooted out, I don’t want to risk pulling you in.”

                     “You say that, but I’m already under surveillance of my own,” Vince told her.

                     “I know, I referenced it in the note. That’s why I want to keep some distance between us. You’ve got enough heat without being linked to someone like me.” Eliza’s tone was even, strong, and clear. She hid the fear and worry that had been simmering in her since seeing Vince’s file in Smitt’s apartment. Six years ago, it would have been impossible, she’d been too hot-headed. Only the Family’s training had finally given her some semblance of control.

                     “And who are you?” Vince asked, leaning forward ever so slightly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to protect me from, who ‘your people’ even are, or what you’re involved in. I don’t know anything about you, Eliza, except for what I’ve got in my memories. Even among those, some of it has to be lies.”

                     He reached his hand across the table and took hers, gently running his thumb over her fingers. Their gazes met, and Eliza felt all the years that had passed slip away as she stared into those big, blue, impossibly earnest eyes.

                     “I want to know who you are. I want to know who I fell in love with. And, no matter how much it hurts, I need to know why you left.”

                     She should distance herself, here and now. This was basic disengagement. Pull back her hand, break the stare, and tell him all the things he was afraid of hearing. Say she’d never meant any of it, that she’d only stayed by him out of guilt, that once he was healed she felt free. Finish what she’d started all those years ago; empty his heart of all affection toward her. Tell him she’d never loved him.

                     Lie.

                     “Who I am. I’m . . . a criminal. I work for an organized crime family. I use my powers to help them steal on levels far more massive than the petty crimes I was committing when we met. I lie, cheat, and pilfer as necessary. I’m immoral and unrestrained by any law except that of the organization I serve. I’m a bad guy, Vince. I’m the kind of person you’ve spent your whole life trying to stop.”

                     Eliza lifted her hand, still clutching his, up to her face. She rested the back of his fingers to her cheek, letting her mind swim with memories that were tumultuous and peaceful, tainted and pure, a miasma of contradictions all packaged together.

                     “But I was never lying about how I felt. I fudged some details here and there, I lied by omission on several occasions, but I was honest about what you meant to me.”

                     “Then why did you abandon me?” Vince was surprised that he wasn’t crying. Whenever he talked about that moment, of waking up without her, whenever he dwelled on it for too long, the tears would come. Now, on the cusp of resolution, with the pain so raw it was like it had just happened, he found himself shockingly stoic.

                     “Vince, the biggest lie I told in our days together was to myself. I wanted to believe that we had a future together, that we could make something of it. But we were always on different paths. I’m a thief, always have been, always will be. And you’re . . . you.” Eliza swallowed hard, then willed herself to let go of his hand. Somewhere, deep in her gut, she was afraid that if she touched him, his truthful nature would flow into her. She couldn’t have that, not now. There was one lie left, and she needed to pull it off. She would do anything, say anything, to keep him from the truth.

                     “If I’d stayed with you, I’d have pulled you down. We were both homeless, both with nothing, and I wasn’t content to stay that way. I was always going to use my powers to make my way in the world, law be damned. If you’d tried to stay with me, I’d have just made you into the kind of person you were never meant to be: a criminal.”

                     “There was another option,” Vince told her, looking down at the table. “We could have found a way together. One without crime, or compromise. It’s a big world; we could have searched for a place in it where we fit.”

                     “I envy you for still believing that. I wish I had your optimism. Genuinely, I do. But I’m me, and I don’t have the strength to think good of the world. I’m sorry, Vince. I’m sorry for lying to you, and to myself, and for hurting you. I’ll never stop being sorry for that. All I can offer is that I genuinely thought it was for the best.”

                     Vince sat silent for a moment, hand idly plucking the corner of the menu Eliza had set down. “We don’t have much time left, do we?”

                     “No. We both need to leave soon.”

                     “Whatever you’re doing, however you’re solving this problem of yours, finish it quick.” He looked back up at her and did the one thing Eliza had never expected: Vince flashed a small, but warm smile. “I want to talk more. I want to understand you better. Maybe you’re right about the different paths, but it sounds like yours has taken some strange turns since we met. I don’t know what to think or feel or anything right now. I just know I don’t want us to go our separate ways yet. I think we both need that.”

                     Eliza nodded, unable to trust her tongue as she watched him rise from the booth. Why was he doing this? Why wouldn’t he just toss her aside? She’d abandoned him, and then given a half-baked reason for it. Why couldn’t he just hate her like any sane person would? And then, as he was almost completely out of the booth, the reason hit her.

                     Because he was Vince, and he was nothing if not unflappably, stupidly loyal to the people he cared for. Before she could stop herself, before reason could interject with some semblance of forethought, the words slipped out of her mouth.

                     “Nicholas Campbell is back at Lander. He lives next door to me.”

                     Vince froze, halfway out of his seat, face saddled with an expression somewhere between excitement, confusion, and utter madness.

                     “I have to go,” Eliza continued, hurrying up from her seat. “Mary will fill you in. Don’t think ill of her for hiding it; they wanted to wait until you were on an even keel after meeting me. But I know you better than that.”

                     All logic and planning now officially out the window, Eliza leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek. He stared at her, a new layer of uncertainty piling atop his already extensive confusion.

                     “I know that your friends are what keep you stable, not what send you over the edge. Be in touch.” With that, she whirled around and darted out the back door, leaving Vince with a long jog and a lot of things to resolve when he got home.

     110.

     Mary heard his thoughts long before Vince came near the Melbrook dorm. Though Mary generally dialed back the telepathy when relaxing, after Alice’s brush with Nathaniel, she’d grown more accustomed to staying on watch. Like a five-foot-tall mother hen, Mary was making damn sure no one messed with her chicks. That was why she’d said nothing as Vince headed out to meet Eliza; he had the right to get some sense of closure and perspective. What she had never expected was for him to come back knowing that Nick was here, in a manner of speaking, and that she’d kept it from him.

                     Vince wasn’t even surprised when he stepped into the Melbrook lounge and found it empty; Mary had been given ample warning she could use to clear the others out. He found her sitting in a chair that had been turned to face the door. There was no charade, no attempts at subterfuge. She knew what he was here for.

                     “How long?” Vince was sweating slightly, though it had nothing to do with the run back. He’d kept a steady pace, and even if he’d pushed himself, it wouldn’t have made a dent in his HCP-grade stamina.

                     “Since he’s been back? Start of the year. Since we’ve known? Varies by person. I knew early on. Alice found out a couple of months back, when she saw him on campus. Roy, and by association Hershel, knew on Halloween, which was the night you were supposed to find out too. I made a spur-of-the-moment call to put that off when you and Eliza reconnected. I thought you’d had enough sudden revelations for one night.”

                     “You made the right decision,” Vince agreed. In spite of everything, he was managing to keep an even head about all of this. Part of him wondered if he’d just had too much surprise too frequently, and now his mind was burned out on the concept of it. “But that was weeks ago. I got stable after talking to Dr. Moran. Why not tell me then?”

                     “Partly because I wanted to let you sort things out with Eliza, partly because their group has some issues of their own they need to deal with, and finally, because I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

                     “How I’d react? Mary, Nick is back. Why would I be anything less than overjoyed?”

                     “Because it isn’t Nick who came back. It’s who he was pre-Lander, the version before he grew into the scoundrel with at least a heart of tarnished bronze. He goes by Nicholas now, and we’ve been calling him that too. It makes it easier to draw mental lines, to separate the friend we remember from the doppelganger we see.”

                     “That’s crazy,” Vince said. One of his hands ran quickly through the sweaty silver hair plastered to his scalp. “He’s still Nick. No matter what happens to him, he’s always going to be Nick.”

                     “Vince, you know his memories got wiped.”

                     “Yeah, his memories, not his whole mind. He’s our friend, no matter what name you use. And I’m going to go see him.”

                     Mary pulled herself up from the chair very carefully. Exercising any sort of authority around Vince was a delicate balance. While he was a respectful person nearly all the time, something that targeted his friends could easily override his judgment.

                     “You can’t. Shouldn’t, I mean. Not yet. I know Eliza told you they were dealing with a problem. Nicholas is handling it, in his own way. Give him space to work in.”

                     “I’m not going to mess up his plans; I’m just going to see my friend.” Vince started for the boys’ lounge, weaving past Mary.

                     “This is a fight,” she said, desperately grabbing a term he had familiarity with. “It’s his fight, something he needs to do. Whether you mean to or not, showing up will affect his battle. You would never interrupt one of our matches, nor would you expect us to do so for you. We respect each other’s abilities and goals. So do that for Nicholas. Respect him enough to let him finish his fight before you go barreling into the cell.”

                     Vince paused, almost to the doorway. He turned around slowly and looked at Mary, taking in the sincerity and forcefulness in her voice.

                     “I’ll wait a week,” he said at last. “One week, then I’m going to see Nick.”

                     “What if he’s not done by then?”

                     “Mary, come on, this is Nick we’re talking about. The week is just courtesy. He’ll probably have it finished before the weekend.”

                     “You might be overestimating him,” Mary warned. “Nicholas lacks the experience and insight he gained while living with us.”

                     “You’re the one who is misestimating,” Vince replied, opening the door to the boys’ lounge. “I know Nick, and no amount of telepathic ability can bury who he is, at least not for long. For someone who can see into people’s minds, I’m amazed you missed something that obvious.”

                     Vince shut the door behind him while Mary stayed in place, staring as it relocked. He was going to be in for a world of disappointment when the week was up. Vince could carry all the faith in the world, but Nicholas wasn’t Nick. Yes, Nick was still stuck under there, trying to get out, but—

                     Mary blinked in surprise at that realization. Vince didn’t know about the memory fragments, couldn’t have even guessed at what was going on in his friend’s head, yet he’d called it perfectly. No one could bury Nick Campbell, at least not for long.

                     In all her time dealing with Nicholas, Mary had been focusing on how to minimize his damage and use him most efficiently. She had never really allowed herself to hope that Nick might come back; the pain of the letdown would be too harsh. But Vince had committed to that idea without even knowing if it was a viable option. He’d assumed, on nothing more than blind faith in his con-man friend, that Nick Campbell was not the sort to go quietly.

                     Perhaps it was time she took a page out of Vince’s book and showed a little faith of her own.

     111.

     Alice knew there were more layers to the cipher than she was seeing. While her code-cracking skills weren’t top-of-the-class grade, she had absorbed enough knowledge to recognize patterns when they cropped up. That same ability told her that everything beyond the first code was too complex for her to crack. Yes, given infinite time and a thousand monkeys with typewriters, she might be able to make sense of it all, but Alice didn’t have infinite time. Or a thousand monkeys with typewriters. And the final exam was only two weeks away.

                     She was sitting on her bed, notepad open in front of her. One word. That’s all that had been at the end of the rabbit hole the first code had led her down. A single word scrawled in the locker of a gym changing-room. Presumably, there had been one on the men’s side too—she didn’t think that even Professor Pendleton was jerk enough that he’d make them break into rooms for the opposite sex. Alice had pictures of it, and had even gone back once to double-check that the word was all there was. But no matter what angle she looked at it from, the conclusion was clear: this was the prize she’d been working for.

                     Alice started to set the notepad on the bed, but then thought better of it. Instead, she created a very small, very specific gravitational anomaly that pulled it from her hand and sent it careening toward the desk. Just before it hit, she reversed the pull, killing its momentum, and let it drift down gently under gravity that was only at a quarter of its regular strength. While she didn’t have the finesse or speed of a telekinetic, Alice’s ability had grown by leaps and bound in terms of functionality. Whatever the test was, she could almost certainly ace it from a Control aspect. So why was she trying so hard to win through Subtlety?

                     The answer was, unfortunately, tied up in the subjects she’d been trying not to think about for the last month. Alice was surrounded by mysteries. Her mother’s fake death, her father’s lies, the dream-walker who seemed to hold answers, yet never surfaced; except for her Melbrook friends, Alice didn’t have anything in her life that was solid and real.

                     A small snicker escaped her throat at a rogue thought: she’d mentally included Nick in her cast of Melbrook friends. Of all the things in her life, the one she counted on least was thinking of Nick Campbell as a person she could count on. It was odd, looking back, realizing how often Nick had told the truth, while burying it in sarcasm and teasing. If he were here, he’d tell her in no uncertain terms why she was so stuck on Subtlety. He’d say she wanted to prove she had the skills, because it meant she could start unraveling all the mysteries around her. She wanted control of her life, instead of a Control certification for her power.

                     With a minor grunt, more from exasperation than effort, Alice got off her bed and walked over to her desk. She picked up the cipher, page nearly worn through from all the manhandling as she carried it about, and grabbed a pen. True, the odds of her cracking one of the harder codes was damned near impossible, especially given how long the first one had taken her, but Alice didn’t mind daunting odds. She’d come into the HCP as a flier, with no combat experience and a life spent being a rich and sheltered Powered. In two and a half years, she’d clawed her way to the top ten students, and in two weeks, she was going to kick ass in every direction, daunting odds be damned. Alice Adair was a woman who would at least go down swinging.

                     Even if, tonight, she was only swinging a pen and some brain cells.

     *             *             *

                     Walter set down the last of the trashcans and stood up to survey his work. The carpet was covered under plastic sheeting, the kegs positioned in a triangular shape near the kitchen, and various liquors were stacked in the makeshift bar they’d set up on the dining room table. As he scanned the room, he caught Cameron heading toward one of the kegs with a tap in hand.

                     “Don’t even think about it. The party is still two days away.”

                     “Oh come on, just a few cups,” Cameron whined.

                     “We’re using pump taps. That means the beer will go flat within a day or so of being opened,” Walter reminded him. “I’m already running behind on this thing, throwing it weeks after it should have happened. The last thing I want to do is serve flat beer.”

                     “Can I at least hit the liquor?”

                     “Fine, but you’re in charge of replacing whatever you drink before the party,” Walter relented. From anyone else, Cameron’s behavior would be a serious concern and probably signal the need for intervention. For a Super whose body converted alcohol into strength, energy, and health, however, it made sense for him to keep a semi-constant stream going into his bloodstream.

                     “Look at you, Mr. Serious, suddenly caring so much about a party.” Candi walked down the stairs as she taunted him, dressed in something that was halfway between workout clothes and pajamas. The further they got in the HCP, the more they viewed everything as workout clothes.

                     “It’s an important milestone for the freshmen. Remember how excited and nervous we were last year?”

                     “I mostly remember Cameron having a sparring match with Roy Daniels, and idiotically going in without so much as a sip of hard liquor,” Candi replied.

                     “Hey, I’ve gotten better about that,” Cameron defended. He walked over with a tumbler full of assorted liquors and some red-colored fruit juice. “Speaking of, ice-maker is on the fritz again. Walter, can you help me out?”

                     “Fine, but we need to get it fixed before the party.” Walter focused on the drink, isolating the water mixed throughout the alcohol. It, like all water, obeyed Walter’s wishes. He lowered the temperature while swirling it about to make sure the cold reached the entire drink. After a few seconds, he nodded to Cameron, who took a test sip and nodded with approval.

                     “Think ours will be as much fun as last year’s?” Candi asked.

                     “Well, Cameron might start a fight with someone, so it’s possible,” Walter said. “Though last year’s had The Five from Melbrook. I don’t think we can match that.”

                     “We might be able to get Roy, since we have free beer,” Cameron suggested. Ever since their match last year, he’d spoken of his upperclassman in reverent tones that only heavy drinkers and fighters who’ve lost to a superior opponent could understand.

                     “I’m not sure the freshmen are even aware of them,” Candi replied. “It’s not like when we came in, and there was the kidnapping scandal. They’ve got their own stuff to worry about; they don’t care as much for rumors.”

                     “Candi is right,” Walter said. “Besides, this is about the freshmen, not the juniors. We need to make them our focus.”

                     “Too bad, I bet they’re up to all kinds of exciting shit,” Cameron said.

                     “Keep things in perspective. They're just juniors like the rest of their class,” Walter told him. “Whatever they’re doing right now, I’m sure we’ll be doing the same thing this time next year.”

     112.

                    It was the smell that finally tipped him off. Everything else had been normal as Smitt walked up from his car, nothing to raise a mental flag that perhaps his apartment was not as secure as it seemed. Even the minor bit of trash he’d stuck near the doorway had been undisturbed. Whoever had broken in was good, damned good, which gave Smitt a very short list of immediate suspects. The scent wafting to his nose was expensive cologne; a pungent aroma that had clearly been left on purpose. They wanted him to know that they were here, which could only mean it was too late for him to get away.

                     A quick glance to the rear showed him an empty hallway leading back to his front door. He could try and make a run for it, no counter-measures were perfect, and he might slip away. For a half-second, he was tempted, but then he changed his mind. This was as much a chance to gain information as it was to be pumped. So far, he hadn’t made any headway with the apartment trio; this might be his best shot at changing that.

                     Smitt stormed into the living room, unsurprised to find the young man who lived in the solitary apartment—Dig Bixby according to his mail—sitting at Smitt’s dining room table. He’d helped himself to a glass of scotch and greeted the homeowner’s entrance with a smile.

                     “Mr. Smitt, what a pleasure to see you. Please, come in and have a seat.”

                     “How kind of you to welcome me into my own home.” Smitt scanned the area, checking for anything that seemed out of place. This kid was good, but he’d only been gone for twenty minutes; there was no way they’d had time to locate and remove every weapon squirreled away throughout the apartment.

                     “I strive to be the epitome of hospitality. In fact, I’m such a gracious host that I even allowed you to walk in under the power of your own legs. Truly, I am magnanimous.” Nicholas couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but the further he slipped into this mocking, biting tone, the more familiar it felt.

                     “If that’s your idea of a threat, you need to step it up a notch. I’ve been put under the gun by people way scarier than you.”

                     “Dear Mr. Smitt, you say that with such certainty. It would only be polite to at least allow me to show you how fearsome I can be before making such a judgment. I might surprise you.”

                     Smitt let out a weary breath and sat down across the table from the kid. “So, what’s the deal? You’ve got the big guy stashed in the apartment, and the girl covering the exit with a gun?”

                     “Right strategy, but you flipped the positions,” Nicholas informed him.

                     “Meaning it’s just you and the girl in here with me?” Smitt felt a surge of confidence at that prospect. He might not need to play games after all. This guy looked spry, but there was no way he could match the years of experience Smitt had earned in hand-to-hand combat.

                     “Yes, though ‘the girl’ as you called her was really unneeded. I could easily deal with you alone; she’s here at her own behest. Seems you’ve quite thoroughly pissed her off.” Had he been wearing sunglasses (though why would he when it was late at night), he’d have tipped them down ever so slightly.

                     “My ex-wife can attest that I usually have that effect on women.”

                     “Can she? That’d be quite a feat for someone who doesn’t exist.” Nicholas took a long drink from the scotch in front of him, savoring the weakly suppressed surprise coursing across Smitt’s face. “No, you’ve never been married, Smitt, though you went to a lot of trouble to dummy up the fake paperwork to appear that you had been. You even created a fake family for her, a nice pairing to the imaginary parents you invented for yourself. Quality work all around, must have set you back a fair bit. All that effort to create an imaginary identity, just so that you could hide your real one; you must have some people you dearly want to protect, Mr. Smitt. You know, what the hell, we’re all friends here. Why don’t I just call you Ryan Sumter, since that’s your real name?”

                     Smitt felt the creeping sensation of cold terror beginning to clutch at his gut as he stared down this intruder who’d easily broken through his layers of protection. Whoever he was, Dig Bixby wasn’t just good: he was connected. The hacker Smitt had paid off had been top-quality; no one should have been able to unravel the cocoon of digital lies shielding Smitt’s real history. This guy, this kid, had done it in the span of weeks. Maybe less, depending on how long they’d known Smitt was watching. His eyes darted about, figuring out what the best avenue of attack would be. Odds of a peaceful resolution were pretty much out the window. In the meantime, he had to stall.

                     “Nice work, I’m impressed. But now you’ve got me at a disadvantage, since I don’t know what to call you. Seems impolite, really.”

                     A thin, dangerous smile slowly sliced its way across the young man’s face. “You can call me Nicholas, Nicholas Campbell. And yes, that is my real name.”

                     “Sure it is. All right, Nicholas Campbell, why don’t you tell me what it is you want? I’m pretty sure you didn’t violate my privacy and break into my home just to steal some mid-range scotch.” Smitt was pinning every hope he had on goading the kid into a specific action. If it worked, he had a shot. If not . . . well, Smitt didn’t want to dwell on that.

                     “What, this?” Nicholas raised the glass a few degrees. “Don’t be ridiculous. I brought this from home. No offense, but I’d sooner drink anti-freeze than the sort of rot-gut liquor you stock.” He punctuated the sentence by taking another sip.

                     As soon as the glass was raised, Smitt sprang. He slammed the table forward, catching Nicholas just below his bottom rib. Without waiting to confirm the hit, Smitt rolled out of his chair and scrambled to a nearby wine rack. In a silver tub at the bottom was a clear vase filled with corks, which Smitt grabbed and slammed to the ground. It shattered, sending glass and cork everywhere. His hand frantically searched the remains, getting sliced up as they combed the debris. It should be here; it had to be here.

                     “Ahem. If you’re going to surprise attack me, you should work on not telegraphing so much. I had plenty of time to catch the table with my free hand.” Nicholas stared down at the older man, glass of scotch still in hand as he wore a look of unmasked condescension. “Also, we stripped every weapon you had stashed, so you can stop rummaging through the glass.”

                     Smitt pulled himself slowly off the ground, eyes unwavering from the eerily calm young man in front of him. Without a word, he darted forward, throwing his meaty fist toward that smug expression. His eyes couldn’t track what happened; all Smitt registered was a pain in his arm, a sensation of spinning, and then the hard edge of the table digging into his gut as he was pinned against it.

                     “What did I tell you about telegraphing? Now, Ryan, or Smitt, or however you identify yourself after all these years, we’re going to have a long talk. You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, in more detail than I could ever use, because by this point, you’ve realized your situation. You can’t beat me physically, and that means you can’t get away. If I were an amateur, I’d threaten you with torture, but we’re both experienced enough to know the fruitlessness of such actions. Besides, why would I bother? I know who you are, Ryan. I know who you love. And I know where they sleep.”

                     Nicholas set the empty glass down on the table, inches from Smitt’s nose. His face was dripping on the table, though whether it was sweat or tears was hard to determine.

                     “So, let’s talk.”

     113.

     “Nothing?”

                    “Nothing, sir.” The aide sitting in front of Ralph Chapman was not dressed in the standard business attire required for all who worked in his office. Instead, the young man was in jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and sneakers. Normally, such infractions would have resulted in immediate dismissal, as well as purposeful tarnishing of the employee's reputation, but today’s ensemble was covered by the umbrella of special circumstances. After all, for what the aide had been doing, a suit would have stood out far too much.

                    “Not even any furniture?”

                    “No, sir. The office was completely bare. I sat around the front of the building for a while and overheard the landlord talking. The tenant paid off his entire lease, packed up in the middle of the night, and drove off. He said the man looked desperate to get out of town. Maybe he knew you were looking for him, sir.”

                    Whoever Smitt was running from, it hadn’t been Ralph Chapman. Truthfully, Ralph hadn’t even realized something might be wrong until the third day he couldn’t reach his employee. When he sent the aide over, he’d expected to find out that Smitt was deep in surveillance, or had drunk himself into a stupor. Vanishing in the night . . . that spoke to Smitt having crossed someone terrifying. Of course, he couldn’t tell the aide any of this, not after working so hard to keep his and Smitt’s arrangement a secret.

                    “Yes, I suppose he must have,” Ralph agreed. “Though it’s a bit of an overreaction; I just wanted to ask him some questions about his continued presence on campus. He might very well have had a perfectly good reason for being there, but then again, I suppose his midnight fleeing tells us quite clearly that that wasn’t the case.”

                    “It does seem awfully incriminating,” the aide agreed. “Why would an innocent man run the minute you started looking at his activities?”

                    Why indeed. Why had Smitt run? Was it because of Blaine and his flunkeys, or could it be related to that trio he’d been looking into since Halloween?

                    “I can’t think of a good reason for it, but I suppose it’s one problem that’s solved itself,” Ralph said. “Why don’t you go ahead and take the rest of the day off? By the time you got properly dressed for work, it would almost be day’s end anyway.”

                    “Thank you, sir.” The aide took the cue and headed out the door.

                    This wasn’t much of an office compared to Ralph’s space in Washington, just a generic building the DVA leased a few floors in. They liked to have resources near any HCP, just in case the need for intervention or examination cropped up. It did come with a few perks, though. Good security, cubes for the lackeys, and well-furnished rooms to set up shop in.

                    Ralph leaned back in his chair and set his feet up on the desk. He would never have done a thing so improper on his own furniture, but with a rental, he showed significantly less care. At the moment, all he cared about was figuring out why Smitt had vanished. He’d taken a large risk paying that man without DVA approval, but it had been necessary. Everyone he used officially had been hoodwinked by Blaine and his people, coming up dry with dirt on Reynolds time after time. Ralph had been certain that someone off the grid would uncover the truth. Now, it seemed highly possible Smitt had done just that, and said truth had sent him running for the hills.

                    Honestly, Ralph didn’t blame Smitt for turning tail. Supers were a terrifying lot, when one got right down to it. They could do impossible things as easily as most men (or at least, most men Ralph knew) would put on a tie. In a world of logic, reason, and order, they set themselves apart by spitting in the face of everything humanity had learned about biology and science. They broke the very laws of nature, so it stood to reason they would show little regard for the laws of man.

                    Yes, the Heroes put on a good show, playing along to keep the masses placated, but Ralph wasn’t fooled. He knew they only paid lip-service, while doing whatever they pleased in the shadows. That was why he’d clawed his way into the DVA, that was why he refused to swallow the Supers' rhetoric like many of his co-workers, and that was why he knew Vince Reynolds was hiding something, probably a lot of somethings. No one could spend a life with someone as cunning as Globe and come out pure. Sure, the kid looked squeaky clean, but so had Globe, right up until he killed his teammate.

                    Ralph pulled his feet off the desk and stood up from his chair. He needed to find Smitt, to know what had spooked the man so badly he’d gone careening off in the night. It would be easy with DVA resources; they covered costs for sessions with Supers that had tracking powers, and even kept a couple on the payroll for emergencies. Unfortunately, the nonstandard situation regarding Smitt’s employment meant Ralph would have to handle things himself. It was one thing to lie to an aide; they were accustomed to running personal errands for the higher-ups. Falsely requisitioning or billing for resources was a far more serious offense. Not to mention all the paperwork involved, even when things were on the up and up.

                    No, this was a problem Ralph would have to handle on his own. It wouldn’t be easy, but as he opened his office door and headed down the hall, Ralph felt a sense of excitement rush over him. Smitt had found something, and if Ralph could run him down, this might just be the break he needed. Whatever magical guardian angel watched over Vince Reynolds would finally be outfoxed, and Ralph could tear down one more false Hero—this one before he even earned the title.

                    At that last thought, Ralph’s pace quickened by several steps.

     114.

                    Nicholas expected it to come at night, under the cover of darkness. It was how he would have handled such a situation—carefully tailing a target until he was completely certain that neither he nor they could be seen. Only then would he have engaged, and only when the situation was totally under his control. Nicholas was always prepared for his opponents and peers to be as smart as, if not smarter than him. That was why he expected it at night; a mistake that Nick Campbell would not have made.

                     Nicholas was halfway to the dining hall, a necessary self-imposed torture that provided him basic nutrition while allowing him to keep a tight schedule, when Vince appeared. He was, obviously, unmistakable. That spiky silver hair would have given him away even if Nicholas had never seen the pictures of him in the file Nick kept. He wore the sort of smile that Nicholas associated with older Vegas tourists; too far gone for empty dreams of quick wealth, they were merely happy to see the sights and experience a new place. Nicholas had never particularly cared for those tourists; they were strange anomalies in a sea of sin and greed.

                     Vince made no pretense of pretending not to recognize Nicholas, instead, he strode purposely across the sunlit cement sidewalk, carefully skirting other students on their way to class or lunch or perhaps a strange reunion of their own. As Vince neared, Nicholas prepared himself mentally. From the notes, and the general context of his expulsion, Nick had clearly never gotten a firm handle on how to deal with Vince. While malleable in a general sense, he had bits of steely resolve buried throughout his personality, bits that were prone to popping up and wrecking carefully planned strategies. Nicholas would show greater care in handling this valuable, but unstable, asset. He had no intention of falling under the same silly delusions of friendship that had tainted the judgment of his previous incarnation.

                     In a few more steps, Vince would be close enough to speak with. Nicholas readied the carefully thought out greeting, one meant to set the tone of the conversation and lead them down the path of discussion he wanted. As soon as the silver-haired young man stopped, Nicholas would speak, and the situation would be firmly under his methodical control.

                     He had only a few seconds to realize his miscalculation when Vince finally drew near, and even with that minor bit of forewarning, Nicholas failed to act. Instead, he stood there dumbly as Vince neither stopped nor slowed down in the slightest, barreling right into Nicholas and sweeping the leaner boy up into a crushing hug. The sudden display of affection surprised Nicholas, but not nearly as much as what happened next. As Nicholas tried to reassert some mental control and escape his former friend’s grip, he became aware that his body had acted seemingly on its own. Without even knowing he was doing it, Nicholas had begun hugging Vince right back.

                     “I knew you’d come back,” Vince said, finally releasing his grip. “You’re the most devious, crooked, ingenious person I’ve ever known in my entire life.”

                     “That isn’t as flattering as you might think it is,” Nicholas said, still trying to get his bearings. He’d been braced for this encounter. Mary had warned him it was coming, so why was he feeling so out of whack? It shouldn’t be like with Alice, when he was blindsided by Nick’s latent feelings for her.

                     “I’m pretty sure it’s flattering to you,” Vince replied. “And I meant it in a good way. If you used that mind of yours for evil, then I’d be scared for the world, but instead, you used it to find your way back to us.”

                     The two men were getting a wide berth on the sidewalk, one of the benefits of engaging in a sudden bear hug. If Nicholas thought Vince had the capacity for it, he’d have suspected that the HCP student had planned it that way.

                     “Vince . . . you know that isn’t entirely true. Mary called me; I know she explained what’s happened.”

                     “She told me what you told them,” Vince said. “And I have to say, I’m a little surprised by everyone. After living with you for two years, I’d have thought they would have learned to trust your intentions more than your words.”

                     “You didn’t live with me, though. You understand that, don’t you? I’m not Nick.”

                     Vince stared into the eyes of the man who had once given away his future, his chance at being a Hero, and even his very memories to save him. He took in every aspect of Nicholas Campbell, and his smile widened.

                     “Maybe you’re not Nick, but you’re also not not Nick.”

                     “Vince, that doesn’t even make sense.” Nicholas felt both exasperated and strangely comfortable as he tried to use reason on the silver-haired young man. He tried to focus more on the first sensation than the second.

                     “Sure it does. If you were really not Nick, as in all the way gone from him, you would have never come here in the first place. You were always too smart to need the classes, your old extra-curricular activity is gone, and your whole future is back in Las Vegas. The only thing that would bring you back to Lander is your friends. You came here because you need us as much as we need you. And going somewhere just to be with his friends is something Nick would do.”

                     “I came here because the sudden gap in my memory left me with a lot of questions, and I wanted to finish out my degree,” Nicholas protested.

                     Vince patted him on the shoulder, that damned smile of his never wavering. “Like I said, I know you. I know your intentions say more than your words. Deny it all you want, Nick, but I’m not pretending you aren’t who you are. And I’m definitely not keeping my distance from you any longer, so you better get used to that real quick.”

                     The two young men had to step aside briefly as a group of women jostled along the sidewalk, clustered together too tightly to be ignored. When they had passed, Nicholas spoke:

                     “The meeting-up thing shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’m here as a legitimate student, and the minor surveillance concern I was dealing with has been handled.”

                     “I never had a doubt,” Vince said. “I have to lay low tonight, though. Tomorrow is a big exam. My biggest exam, actually. But tomorrow, you’re coming over to hang out in the dorm.”

                     “No.” Nicholas firmly shook his head. “Vince, for just so many reasons, no. I cannot go back in there. The security protocols alone are staggering. If you really want to hang out, then you all can come to my apartment. Mary, of course, knows where it is.”

                     “Awesome, plan on us showing up around seven, then. Just this once, I bet everyone will let you pick a bad horror movie without complaining.”

                     Nicholas knew he could still diffuse this situation, manage to convince Vince that hanging out in such social occasions was dangerous for all in involved. He knew he could do that . . . he just didn’t want to. The idea of spending an evening with everyone, of being around his friends from a former life, it sounded downright fun. He couldn’t have rationally broken down why, but Nicholas had a staggering desire to see them all, as soon and as frequently as possible.

                     “I’ll pick something so bad it borders on blasphemy.”

     115.

                    After two years in the Hero Certification Program, every student who still remained had come up with some manner of pre-exam ritual, a method of preparing, mentally and physically, for the trials that awaited them come sunrise. The evening before the junior class’s semester final saw people preparing in different ways.

                     Some went to the gym, doing workouts meant to keep their muscles limber without overtaxing them. They might not have known what they were facing, but soreness wasn’t going to help them with any type of challenge.

                     Others took the night off completely. They planned movie marathons, had lavish dinners, or found other methods to get their minds off the next day’s coming challenge. This was their way of both distracting themselves, and having what might be one last hurrah. People usually weren’t cut at this point in the program, but what they’d been learning since Day One in the HCP was that anything was possible.

                     Vince was in his room, trying to block out the excitement he felt over seeing his friend and their plans for the following evening. He needed to be calm for this to work. It was a technique he’d only discovered recently, during his daily fights with George in the desert. It had taken him months of practice to learn to use it reliably, and tomorrow might be his first opportunity to use it in battle. The key was to calm himself, to push past the usual fire he felt when engaged in battle. Keeping himself steady and detached would be the hardest part of the exam tomorrow, but he had to do it. He wouldn’t let Nick’s sacrifice be for nothing.

                     Roy and Chad were sparring down in the gym. Though it was still difficult for Roy to land blows on Chad, his blond opponent could no longer dominate Roy the way he once had. True, Chad would always be faster and more skilled, but Roy’s own growing strength and coordination made counters more dangerous. Neither considered this a true match, as both were holding back plenty in reserve. One day, they’d have an all-out brawl to determine who was stronger, but not on the night before an exam. Doing well was more important than stroking their ego by proving dominance. That fact alone, more than any other, spoke to the growth Roy had experienced since freshman year.

                     Alice and Mary were doing basic exercises to work on their precision. While both might have benefitted more from a bout of actual battle, it was too risky to strain their bodies the night before a match, since neither possessed healing abilities. Instead, they focused on sharpening their skills. That would be what made the difference tomorrow. Physically, each was skilled, but not terribly imposing. They could handle any civilian with relative ease, yet, by Super standards, they were weak and vulnerable. Add in their ability, however, and either young woman was powerful enough to send the smart criminals fleeing for the hills.

                     Camille, Thomas, Will, Jill, and Violet all had a simple dinner that night. They set a table, cooked a variety of dishes and toasted to the friend who was no longer with them. If Stella had been around, they would have all been training as well, striving for an extra iota of power to use in the coming trials. But Stella was not there, and as such, they had learned that there were better uses of one’s time than just training. For example: having a night with friends, making memories that would last, even if not for all of them.

                     Curiously, it was a Super who was no longer in the HCP that had the strangest night, and following day, of the lot.

     *             *             *

                     Nicholas was downright impatient when he “woke up” in the dreamscape. He leapt up from the ground, spinning about until he spied Nick, who was standing nearby and looking somewhat confused.

                     “Right then, let’s get this over with. I don’t care what the game is; I’m not letting you beat me at this one. Your emotions were already leaking all over the place when dealing with Vince. Any more, and I’ll end up so dim and dull I may as well be a civilian.” Nicholas spat the word “civilian” as though it left a rancid taste across his tongue.

                     “Coming out of the gate swinging, I can respect that,” Nick replied. “Unfortunately, you wasted your bluster. I don’t think we’re playing a game tonight.”

                     “Why not?”

                     “Well, I’m just guessing here, but I’m basing it mainly on the fact that I can’t seem to manipulate our dream-reality anymore.” Nick extended his hand, trying to conjure a table or chairs like the ones he’d called forth previously. Nothing happened; the mist and fog merely swirled about.

                     Nicholas did the same, attempting to produce nothing more than a pack of playing cards, items he was so familiar with he may as well have been conjuring his own fingers. As with Nick’s efforts, there was neither a shift in the world, nor cards in his hand.

                     “Curious,” Nicholas noted.

                     “Fucking annoying,” Nick countered. “I really wanted to beat you again.”

                     “No chance. I went to sleep tonight intent on winning.”

                     Nick rolled his eyes, a gesture hidden by the sunglasses on his face, and looked around. There was nothing to signify what came next, only an empty, expansive landscape completely covered in swirling white fog. Then, as he swept his gaze around once more, there was suddenly something in front of them. A small female figure that hadn’t been there previously. It took Nick a moment to place her, which was forgivable. He’d never taken Focus, and the woman looked thirty years younger than the professor he’d only seen in passing.

                     “Are you ready to begin?” Professor Stone asked.

                     “Begin what? What is this? Who are you?” Nicholas looked torn between taking a swing at the small woman and getting down and pleading with her. “Can you finally end all this? Please?”

                     “Are you ready to begin?” The words, the tone, the facial expression, all of it was an echo of the first time she spoke. Nick quickly assembled the clues before him.

                     “She’s not real. Well, she’s real in that she exists here, but she’s not an actual telepathic projection. Are you, Professor Stone?”

                     “Are you ready to begin?”

                     “That pretty much answers my question.” Nick turned to Nicholas. “Maybe she’s an implanted memory or something, it doesn’t really matter. She’s clearly the next step in whatever this crazy bullshit is we’re going through.”

                     “Vince was the last of them,” Nicholas said slowly. “No more games and memories. This is a new trial.”

                     Nick nodded and adjusted his sunglasses out of habit. “Maybe it’s the endgame, maybe it’s not. We do know one thing about it, though.”

                     “What’s that?” Nicholas asked.

                     Nick flashed him a wild, hungry grin, the sort of expression he would never show outside of a closed Family meeting. “It’s going to be interesting.”

                     Nicholas allowed himself a smile of his own. That was true. For all the differences he and Nick had, it was clear they both still shared some personality traits. Most dominant among those was the part of them that had defined so much of their lives and the man they’d grown into: the inability to resist a good challenge.

                     The identical yet different young men looked to the small woman, who took the cue.

                     “Are you ready to begin?”

                     “We are indeed,” Nicholas said.

                     “Hell yes we are,” Nick said.

                     The landscape around them shifted dramatically. In the blink of an eye, the woman was gone. In her place was a massive stone entrance leading down. The walls of the enclosure were lit, but even straining, neither Nick nor Nicholas could see more than twenty feet down.

                     Wordlessly, they both wandered into the cave.

     116.

                    Dean Blaine always felt a strange glow of pride when he looked at the older students before an exam. Seeing them grow from uncertain or overly prideful freshmen into competent warriors reminded him that, as frustrating as his job could be at times, he was still helping to make a difference. The young men and women gathered before him were no longer undisciplined Supers with a disproportionate sense of their abilities. They were staring at him with eyes that, while nervous, still shone with controlled calm and preparation. These were the eyes of people prepared to walk into battle. These were the eyes of future Heroes.

                     “Good morning, everyone.” Dean Blaine’s voice boomed through the gym, falling on the ears of waiting students and eager professors. “As you all know, you are here to take the semester final for your third year in the Hero Certification Program. I want to take this moment to wish each of you the best of luck. Though some will score higher than others, I hope each of you will use your abilities to their fullest potential. That, ultimately, is all anyone can ever ask from you as a Hero.”

                     The students nodded their understanding, but made no comment. Tension practically radiated off every one of them. They were ready to hear what they would be facing; all other sentiments were secondary concerns.

                     “Now then, let’s get on with what I know you all really care about: the details of your exam.” Behind Dean Blaine, a large white screen lowered from the ceiling. “As you know, the focus of your third year’s training is predominantly on handling multiple opponents on your own. Today’s exam will offer a real life situation to test how well you’ve absorbed that knowledge. You are all Heroes who have gotten a call about a gang of criminal Supers holed up in a building. They are planning to commit acts of serious destruction, and all other Heroes are engaged in other assignments. It is up to you to neutralize these threats. And what exactly are these threats? Let me introduce you to a training tool used by HCP upperclassmen as well as actual Heroes: the Simulated Super Automated Battle Droids, or Sims, for short.”

                     On the screen behind Blaine appeared images of several mechanical beings. Some were large, easily eight feet tall and wider than a pair of vending machines, while others were human-sized or smaller. The one trait they all shared was a colored light in the center of their chest.

                     “Sims come in a variety of builds, meant to emulate the powers of several basic Super categories. You’ll find that, depending on your particular suite of abilities, some will go down easier than others. Sims are a key part of training, but they do come with a very obvious flaw in that Supers with technical control abilities will find them laughably easy as opponents.”

                     Jill kept her face as neutral as she could manage. The sight of robotic opponents had made her want to bust out in a smug grin, but two years of this stuff had taught her that nothing would be that simple.

                     “For that reason, during this exam, it will be forbidden to use any abilities on the Sims that do not also work on humans. Case in point: Jill Murray will not be allowed to simply overtake them and power them down; however, she is free to use her ability on anything else in the training field.”

                     “Doesn’t this actually make it impossible for some of us though?” Rich Weaver asked. “My power doesn’t work on robots, so I’m basically going in there as a human.”

                     “I was getting to that,” Dean Blaine said with a sigh. “Sims wouldn’t be very useful tools if they couldn’t register situations where non-physical abilities are utilized. We have calibrated these to record the triggers that would constitute power use, eye-contact in your case, Mr. Weaver, and they are programmed to respond appropriately if those conditions are met.”

                     “Sorry,” Rich said, looking suitably ashamed for his outburst.

                     “It’s all right, I understand the concern. Without those capabilities, these would not be useful for a true test of your skills,” Dean Blaine said. “There is still one more thing I need to tell you about the Sims before we move on. Many of you must have noticed the light in their chest. This is not merely an aesthetic choice. When you get onto the exam’s field, some of these lights will be glowing yellow, while others will be glowing red. A yellow light indicates that the Sim you’re facing has not been identified as a high-level threat, and that lethal force should only be used if absolutely necessary.”

                     As a whole, the group didn’t react to that, though some of the smarter ones did show changed expressions as they realized what red lights would likely indicate.

                     “If the Sim is showing a red light,” Dean Blaine continued. “Then it means that Sim is a high-level threat, a serious danger not only to the Hero fighting it, but to the entire area around it. Those can, and often should, be killed on sight.”

                     This time, there was a reaction; there always was when they got to this exam. Eyes widened, feet shuffled, and a few loud gasps were heard. Dean Blaine waited for the first wave of noise to cease before he went on.

                     “This is a training exercise used by Heroes. Real Heroes, with real lives on the line and real civilians to worry about. If you wear that title, this is a situation you will encounter more frequently than any of us would like. Some Supers are just too powerful to let run wild. If they turn criminal, people will die. Sometimes a few, sometimes hundreds of thousands, but any amount is too much. That is why we have damage-level assessments in the first place, so Heroes can prioritize threats and know how to react to them. I’m not saying you have to kill the red-light Sims on sight, but for some of you, it may be the only way to neutralize them, and they must be neutralized. If anyone cannot make peace with what this implies about their future careers, I understand completely. You can leave this program right now with no ill-feelings and all my blessings. If you stay, then make no mistake, you will be learning to kill. How fast or often you do so in the field will be your calls to make, but it is a skill you will either graduate with or fail out because you lack.”

                     Dean Blaine waited, giving the students time to let his words sink in. This was a breaking point for some Supers, when they were confronted by the reality of what they were training to do. Others would fall further down the line. After a full minute with no one volunteering to leave, Dean Blaine decided they were all committed to going forward, at least for now.

                     “How you fight these Sims is going to be up to you. Use weapons, strength, abilities, whatever you like. You will be judged on how effectively you neutralize your enemies, what strategies you employ to do so, and if any are allowed to cause collateral damage. Any questions?”

                     His question was greeted only by hard, determined stares.

                     “Then everyone to the lifts. We’re going down to the exam level.”

     117.

                     “What’s the bet?”

                     Alice, Mary, Chad, and Vince all looked at Roy rather than responding to his question. The Melbrook residents were clustered together as the HCP juniors rode down to the exam waiting for them.

                     “The bet?” Vince asked at last.

                     “Yeah, you know, the bet about what the winner gets. Don’t you try to bullshit me and tell me you all weren’t planning on treating this like a competition.”

                     “It is a serious assessment of our abilities,” Chad said.

                     “And we all want to be the one with the highest assessment,” Roy replied. “You guys realize this is our first chance to go all-out since last year? Hell, it’s even more free-range than that. No foam tips on your weapons, no specified conditions, no holding back. Today, we get the chance to prove what we can really do in the field.”

                     “I think most of us are just worried about passing,” Mary said.

                     “To hell with that. I say we worry about excelling. I’d rather go in thinking about having to beat you all, than trying to just scrape by. Besides, I’m genuinely curious about how strong we’ve all gotten. I want to see your new cards.”

                     At that reference, Vince and Alice smiled in spite of themselves. Roy was right; they were too grim and tense. Nick would have told them to loosen up; he would have distracted them so they couldn’t get too caught up in their thoughts and fears.

                     “Lowest score in the house cleans the lounge for a month,” Alice suggested.

                     “I think whoever scores lowest will already be feeling down,” Chad said. “How about we offer a boon to the winner instead?”

                     “I’m all ears,” Alice told him.

                     “Winner chooses where we eat lunch after the trial?”

                     “I’m pretty sure we’ll eat at the dining hall,” Vince said. “Mary and I have class after this, and there’s not enough time to go off campus.”

                     “Lunch doesn’t work,” Roy agreed. “But Chad was right about doing something for the winner instead of against the loser. How about king for a day? Winner picks a day where they get to choose what we all do and where we all go. FYI, if I win, we’re going on a whiskey distillery tour, and that’s just breakfast.”

                     “I could get behind that,” Mary said. “It would be nice to drag you all to a museum, or something with a little culture.”

                     “Screw culture, I’m going for couture,” Alice added. “A day at the boutiques for custom ensembles, and dinner at a proper restaurant. I can already picture how I’m going to dress you all.”

                     “Sounds like we’ve got a bet,” Vince said. He didn’t have any idea of what he’d do if he won, but since he was going to be competing against Chad, it seemed silly to plan on victory anyway.

                     “Can I get in on this?”

                     The Melbrook residents turned to find Camille standing next to Alice. She looked at each of them, refusing to allow her eyes to linger on Vince. “I think I’ve got a decent shot, and I could think a few places to drag you all to.”

                     “Of course you can get in,” Alice replied. “I would have tried to weasel you into my shopping day, anyway.”

                     “Alice, much as I commend your enjoyment of fashion, I’m afraid I will have to do my best to ensure that you are not victorious,” Chad warned.

                     “Bring it on, bone boy. I was already planning on using this as my big unveiling. This just adds a cherry to the top of the ass-kicking sundae.”

                     As Alice finished speaking, the lift shuddered to a halt, and the large doors opened. All twenty students began filing out, but six of them were far less stressed than when they’d entered. They weren’t just focused on passing or getting by.

                     They wanted to win.

     *             *             *

                     Eliza slid the front door open and closed it behind her. Nicholas had never actually provided her or Jerome with a key, since that would express the sentiment that they were welcome in his home, as well as take away their opportunity to practice lock-picking when they wanted to come over. Normally, she let him have his precious privacy, but it was already nine in the morning, and he’d yet to make contact or pick up his cell phone. Security protocol demanded she make sure he was okay. If he’d been killed or kidnapped, then retribution and maybe rescue efforts would need to be kicked into gear. If, as she suspected, he was just taking advantage of the opportunity to sleep in, she’d get the rare joy of kicking the lazy sack awake.

                     “You up?” If she’d been at all concerned about an intruder, Eliza never would have actually given away her position by speaking, but every security measure they had told her Nicholas was alone. That being the case, it was actually far more dangerous to sneak around his apartment without announcing her presence. If he took her for an intruder, she might not have time to correct his mistake before he “handled” her, and Nicholas was not renowned for handling his problems gently.

                     Moving through the apartment room by room, Eliza kept her eyes peeled for any sign of disturbance. Everything seemed to be in place and normal, which meant that either nothing was wrong, or she was dealing with an expert. Thoughts like that made her really hate the line of work she’d ended up in.

                     Eventually, Eliza pushed on the bedroom door and felt a rush of relief. Nicholas was still there, asleep in his bed. On the nightstand next to him sat a gun and a cell phone, the latter blinking with notifications about missed calls from Eliza.

                     “Lazy asshole,” Eliza muttered. She went back to the sink and grabbed a glass of water, filling it to the brim. Returning to the room, she removed the gun from easy reach, then dumped the water on Nicholas’s face, eagerly awaiting his angry and shocked rising from the bed.

                     Instead, he just lay there, chest rising and falling as he slumbered on.

                     Eliza reached over and shook him, all sense of glee gone. No response. She tried pinching, punching, and very light jabbing, all of which garnered the same reaction: nothing. She stood back up, staring down at the unconscious young man. It was an unnatural sleep, which left her with dozens of things to rule out as the cause before she even considered that it might have been caused by a Super.

                     “Damn it, Nicholas, what the hell is going on with you?”

     118.

                    The room the students stepped into was different from what they’d been expecting. Instead of a small area with a clear strip out of one wall—the usual area for watching trials and matches—the vast room was lined with television monitors. They were all dark for the moment, but it seemed obvious that that would be changing soon. At the far end of the room was a single steel door, and near the lift area sat a weapons rack that ran half the length of the wall.

                     “Today, you are going to observe your fellow students' matches the same way we professors do: from every angle and vantage point,” Dean Blaine announced. “This means that those of you who are tested later have the advantage of seeing the tactics utilized by others first. You might see something that never occurred to you and incorporate it into your own strategy. Of course, going later also means that your professors and I will be harder to wow, since duplicating another’s tactics is less impressive than being the first to utilize them. The terrain of the building will shift between trials, so you won’t get any advanced field knowledge before it’s your turn to fight the Sims.”

                     Dean Blaine stepped around the crowd so he was in front of them, lined up with the six professors. “Who goes in what order will be decided randomly, unless you volunteer to go early. There are valid reasons to take either path, so I encourage you to think hard on what you feel is the best course for you. Once you’ve been selected, you may equip yourself with any of the available weaponry.” Dean Blaine motioned to the large rack on the far wall hosting a variety of sharp, deadly implements. “Those of you using custom equipment should already have it on you. Beyond that, the rules are simple: neutralize the targets using appropriate force. Being rendered unable to continue, either by incapacitation or injury, will be a serious point penalty, but it does not disqualify you outright. We will be gauging the techniques you use to accomplish your goal as much as how effective they are. If you are set on continuing in a specific discipline next year, now is the time to prove it to us.”

                     Dean Blaine glanced around the room, ready for questions but not expecting any. By the third year, most of the students had gotten accustomed to being provided only basic information, understanding that the things left out were omitted for a reason. It was important practice for them; working with little information and adapting to changing situations was a key aspect of any Hero’s job.

                     “Very well then, we will now move on to the selection process. Anyone who would like to volunteer to go early, please line up, single file, starting right here.” Dean Blaine stuck his hand out on the word “here,” and a flurry of movement occurred as various students jostled to get into position. Chad and Roy were darting forward, held back by the fact they’d been surrounded by a crowd of people, as were Thomas and Amber. Adam was near the front of the crowd, and he neatly stepped away as Violet careened toward him. However, it was none of these who arrived at Dean Blaine’s starting point first. Instead, it was the young man who’d begun carefully moving through the crowd the moment the dean had put forth the idea of volunteering.

                     Will Murray slid into the front position, custom staff clutched in his hand and a serious expression on his face. “I’d like to go first, please.”

                     Dean Blaine stared down at the wiry young man, then cast a quick glance at Professor Pendleton. Those trying to work the Subtlety discipline generally tried to be the last in exams like this, gathering information from the successes and failures of those who went before them. Professor Cole had said Will was doing well in Weapons, but nothing she’d reported had indicated that the young man would be competent enough to handle a room full of Sims. There was, of course, the Subtlety factor, however, unless he’d completed every part of it, Will would still be in for a hell of a battle.

                     Professor Pendleton met the dean’s skeptical eyes and gave a small nod. Blaine’s worries weren’t entirely assuaged, but he trusted Sean’s judgment. No one knew a student’s potential better than their professor.

                     “You made it here first, so that is certainly your right,” Dean Blaine told Will. Behind the surprisingly eager Subtlety student, Chad slipped into the second spot in line, followed by Shane, then Thomas, then Roy, then Violet, and finally Amber. How Chad had gotten so far ahead of Roy despite starting in the same position was a mystery Blaine would have to live with, since it was now his duty to escort the first student to the trial.

                     “Everyone else, wait here. The monitors will go live when the trial begins.” Dean Blaine headed to the door, followed by Will Murray and Professor Fletcher. Despite all the remote shut-down capabilities built into the Sims, Dean Blaine always felt better if there was a professor nearby to respond in an emergency. Given Professor Fletcher’s lightning speed ability, he was the most obvious choice.

                     The three men stepped through the door and descended down a long staircase. When they reached the bottom, a pair of steel doors awaited them.

                     “Professor Fletcher will be going through the one on the left,” Dean Blaine explained. “He’ll be watching from behind the scenes, and if anything truly life-threatening occurs, he will try to intervene. That said, this is real combat. By walking through that door, you are putting your body and potentially your life on the line. We try to minimize risk whenever possible, but in this sort of training, there is no such thing as total safety.”

                     “I understand,” Will said. He meant it. He knew he was weaker than almost everyone else here, and he knew threats that would be mere annoyances to others were life-endangering to him. That was why he had to go first. This was his chance to make a big impression, to set the bar of success on his own terms.

                     “Good. Then step through the door. There will be a screen with directions for you. Once it tells you to continue, you are free to do so. From that point on, you will be entirely on your own.” Dean Blaine gave the young man a small pat on the shoulder. “I expect a great showing from you, Mr. Murray. Show the other students what the power of a strong mind can do.”

                     “Dean, that’s been my intent since the day I got here.”

     119.

                    Will scanned the new area for anything out of place, but it was just as the dean had described it: an empty room with only a single screen set above another door. As soon as he’d walked in, a message flashed across the monitor:

     Welcome. Please wait here while your course is being prepared.

                     From behind the unopened door came sounds of heavy movements and machinery clicking into gear. It was a melody that was strangely comforting to Will; as a tech-genius, he felt most comfortable surrounded by a symphony of well-functioning machines. He took the downtime to double-check the implements on his staff. If he’d read the situation correctly, then he shouldn’t need to use it very much, but there was always the possibility that he was wrong. Were that the case, then he was going to fail. Will had bet his exam score on correctly interpreting the Subtlety portion of the trial. There was no way he could handle a room full of robots capable of fighting his peers. All he could do was hope that he was as smart as he thought he was.

                     After what seemed like hours, but was, in reality, less than a full minute, the sounds from behind the wall faded away. Will felt his chest tighten in fear. Once he stepped through that door, he would be on full display for the entire class. His theory about the Subtlety test only worked if he could utilize it in private. Otherwise, it would be too easy for the other students to mimic. He waited, body tense, as the message on the screen changed.

     Your course is now ready. You may proceed forward at any time.

     If you have anything to declare, please do so before exiting this room.

                     The seething sense of tension fell away as he read those words. A large smile came unbidden to his face, and he nearly dropped his staff in relief. His only regret at that particular moment was that he wouldn’t be able to see the looks on everyone else’s faces.

     *              *              *

                     In the observation room, the screens flickered on simultaneously. They showed a variety of angles on what amounted to be a relatively small amount of space. The test course appeared to be exactly as Dean Blaine had described it: an industrial building boxed in by others that were nearly identical to it. Externally, it was nothing special, almost aggressively mundane. On the inside, however, it was a far more fascinating sight. Sims of various shapes and sizes were scattered through the hallways, with a cluster of them convened in a central room. The single units were clearly working sentry duty, scanning their areas for intruders exactly like the one Dean Blaine had just sent in. A quick search of the various monitors and angles gave away their tally: nine Sims total, with four functioning independently, and five huddled as a group. Of the five located together, three had red lights glowing in the center of their chest.

                     “How do you think he’ll do?” Alice asked, eyes darting across the screens as she waited for the first sign of Will.

                     “Roy has told me that Will’s weapon is pretty useful,” Vince replied. “Maybe he can use it to take them by surprise?”

                     “Surprise would be useful against the guards, but I don’t know how viable it will be against the room full of them,” Mary said. “If we all get a cluster like that, then we’ll either have to take them on at once or find a way to separate them.”

                     Alice glanced over to the line, where Roy was practically hopping from foot to foot in excitement. “Something tells me we’ll get to see that ‘all-at-once’ strategy long before we ever get called.”

                     “I think that only works in cases where the person has physical abilities, like Roy and Chad, or the power to take out groups, like you two,” Vince said.

                     “Vince, your ability lends itself well to group battle as well,” Mary reminded him.

                     “It does, and it doesn’t. Sure, I can lay waste to a whole area, but that would mean seriously injuring or killing everyone in it. Dealing with groups requires me to use a lot of care.”

                     “What the hell?”

                     The three were pulled from their conversation by the sound of Violet’s voice.  It only took a moment to figure out what had caused her exclamation. Three of the Sims had powered down: one red-light and two yellows. A few seconds later, another red light clicked off, along with a guard in one of the hallways.

                     “Did Will rig up some kind of invisibility device?” Roy wondered aloud.

                     “Better,” Professor Pendleton said. “He did his homework.”

                     The excitement and confusion in the room only grew as the last red-lighted Sim clicked off, along with two yellows. All that remained was a single yellow-light Sim in the center room. It looked strangely lonely, surrounded by the slumped over shapes of its former cohorts.

                     “What you are all seeing is a real-life demonstration of what the Subtlety Discipline can accomplish,” Dean Blaine informed them. “The Subtlety students were given an intercepted cipher over a month ago. In that time, they have been trying to decode it and unravel the information contained within. In the scenario I gave, you were dealing with a gang of criminal Supers that had been located and required neutralization. For the vast majority of you, that is exactly how life as a Hero will go. Subtlety Heroes work slightly differently. They can, if they are good at their work, locate problems before they become threats. In this case, that is what Mr. Murray has done. Each group of de-activated Sims represents Supers that have already been neutralized before this situation ever came to a head. To put a point on it, by using the advanced information, Will Murray took out these criminals before they had the chance to band together.”

                     Will appeared on screen at last, moving carefully as he crept along the alley and popped in through the building’s side door.

                     “How is that fair?” Allen asked. “He only has to fight one damn robot.”

                     “He has to fight one robot because all the others were already taken out,” Chad said, speaking before Dean Blaine had a chance. “Even though he would lose to any of us in combat, Will has more effectively neutralized the threat than any of us are likely to be capable of.”

                     “Exactly,” Dean Blaine agreed. “I’m sure some of you still think of Subtlety as a weak Super’s discipline. I want you to really evaluate that idea as you are taking your own exams. Remember how easily Will Murray took out nine Sims, then compare it to how your efforts stack up. I believe you’ll find a new appreciation for the discipline.”

                     On screen, everyone watched as Will snuck up behind the one remaining Sim, firing something from his staff that crackled with blue light as it struck. Moments later, the Sim fell to the ground, and its yellow light shut off. Just like that, Will had finished the exam.

     120.

                    Nick darted down the smooth stone tunnel, positive he was on the right track. As he moved, he tried to wipe away some of the blood that had splattered on his shirt. It refused to be moved; only permitting itself to be turned into a scarlet smudge on the green fabric. He suspected it was meant to be some sort of symbolism, since he was in a dream realm, but in all fairness, it could just be reflecting his knowledge that getting blood out was a three-wash ordeal.

                     The tunnel curved around, dumping him into a wide cavern. Before Nick even saw him, he heard his doppelganger’s footsteps. Nicholas emerged from an opening nearly identical to Nick’s. On his white shirt, almost covered by his suit jacket, were specks of blood in a similar formation to those on Nick’s.

                     “Snitch Larry?” Nick asked.

                     “Snitch Larry,” Nicholas confirmed.

                     The labyrinth had been splitting them up at regular intervals, forcing them to wind their way through various memories. Both had assumed they were engaged in a race, though neither had found much success in gaining ground on the other. Nick assumed he was supposed to be learning something from these old experiences, perhaps righting wrongs or mending his ways, but he’d mostly focused on getting through them as quickly as possible. He didn’t bother with regret, and he wasn’t sorry for the kind of man he was. If this labyrinth was supposed to make him a different person, then Professor Stone had tremendously miscalculated who she was dealing with.

                     “Any thoughts on why we had to go through that one?” Nicholas asked.

                     “First time we ever saw a man get killed in front of us,” Nick said. “Maybe we were supposed to try and stop it from happening.”

                     “I didn’t do that.”

                     “Why would you? We were eight years old and surrounded by ten guys working over one. The most we could have done was gotten kicked out of the room,” Nick said. “Besides . . . .”

                     “Agreed.”

                     Neither needed to say it out loud. Pre-Lander, their thoughts and impressions of the events they’d experienced were mirrors of one another. Snitch Larry, as he’d become known posthumously, had worked for the cops and helped bring down several members of the Family. He’d betrayed a trust that Nick and Nicholas had always held as sacred. Even if they could have saved Larry, in the memory or in real life, they wouldn’t have. Betrayal came with costs.

                     Another set of tunnels loomed on the horizon, a pair of entrances that curved downward, obscuring much of the view.

                     “Here we go again,” Nick said.

                     “Do you wonder how long we’ve been down here?”

                     “Nah, we’re in dream time. It may have seemed like hours, but it’s probably only been ten minutes.”

                     “You seem oddly confident of that,” Nicholas said.

                     “I got to deal with a lot of mind-mumbo-jumbo crap last year. And even if I’m wrong, what does it matter? You have some escape method you’ve been hiding?”

                     “Obviously not.”

                     “Then don’t worry about how long we’ve been here,” Nick said. “Worry about getting through.”

     *              *              *

                     After Will returned to a room filled with various volumes of applause from friends and acquaintances, he blushed ever so slightly and silently went back to the crowd to stand at his sister’s side. Dean Blaine motioned for Chad to follow him; it was time for the next student to take the exam.

                     “Am I permitted to take some of the weapons, or are those only for students in the actual Weapons course?” Chad asked.

                     “Weapons are basic equipment and are free to whoever wants to use them,” Dean Blaine replied, making sure his voice was loud enough for all to hear. It was a fair question, but he’d rather not answer it multiple times.

                     “That’s surprising,” Shane noted from his spot behind Chad. “I’ve never seen you so much as consider using something other than your own body.”

                     “Different situations call for different styles of response,” Chad said. “When training with you, increasing my body’s capabilities was always my primary concern.”

                     “And this time, it isn’t?”

                     “This isn’t training,” Chad told him. “This is a real-life scenario, in which we should apply all of our skills.”

                     “No argument here. Under these circumstances, I think I’ve finally got the edge on you.”

                     Chad gave him an uncertain look. “That is an interesting hypothesis. I truly wish you the best of luck, my friend.” With that, he headed over to the rack of weapons and selected two bundles of throwing knives that were designed to be wrapped around an appendage.

                     “I’m ready,” he told Dean Blaine, who opened the door and escorted him down.

                     Professor Fletcher was already waiting in the course, so it was just the two of them as they descended the steps and Dean Blaine explained the procedure. He took his time, making sure Chad understood what was expected of him and what the process was, just as he would with all of the students. It was hard to be detached with Chad, though, hard not to root for him extra hard or give him occasional assistance. It was hard, but it was also necessary. If he showed even the slightest bit of favoritism, Chad’s status and accomplishments would be called into question.

                     “. . . and when the screen tells you to, you go in. Any questions?”

                     “None that you would be permitted to answer,” Chad said. He’d gotten the throwing knives wrapped around each bicep as they descended the stairs. “Actually, I do have one, now that I think about it. Is it even theoretically possible for any of the non-Subtlety students to beat Will’s score?”

                     “In terms of overall effectiveness? Not with the power sets your class has,” Dean Blaine replied honestly. “I’d have to check with Professor Pendleton to be sure, but I’d wager Will Murray just got close to a perfect score in Subtlety. Such a thing is nearly unheard of. However, it will still be possible for you to score higher than others in your respective disciplines. It all depends on which methods you use, and how well they work.”

                     “Seems I’ll have to put on a good show, then,” Chad said. “There are multiple factors being evaluated, and I’d hate to lose my spot after hanging on to it for so long.”

                     “Mr. Murray is unlikely to move much in the combat rankings. While his skill level was exceptional, he displayed minimal use of combat tactics.”

                     “It wasn’t Will that I was worried about. My dormmates are much stronger than last year, and Shane has always been closer to my back than he realized.”

                     “Chad, I appreciate the humility you constantly display, but right now, it is just you and I down here. We both know this challenge is more suited to you than the others realize.”

                     “Every threat must be taken seriously,” Chad said, face solemn as always. Then, after a moment, a small grin appeared on his face. “Though, I confess, it will be nice to finally show off more than just my combat skillset.”

                     “Of that, I have no doubt. Now, go put on a good show for them. Mr. Murray set the standard high. I’d hate to see you lower it.” Dean Blaine hesitated for just a moment, then pressed on. He’d offered equal encouragement to Will, so it hardly counted as favoritism. “Good luck, Chad. Even if I can’t cheer, I’ll still be pulling for you to do well.”

                     “I’ve never doubted that for a moment,” Chad said. With that, he turned and stepped through the door, leaving his godfather alone in the stairwell.

     121.

                    Chad slipped his way down the fake-alleyway, not bothering to be impressed at the detail that had gone into the set’s construction. His bare feet were soundless as he crept, each step careful and controlled. A blade of bone jutted out from the side of each of his forearms and shins, but otherwise, he looked as normal as always. He circled the building once, senses turned up on high in case one of the Sims was guarding the outside this time. The interior of the building would be completely different than when Will had gone through, but that hurdle would be easily overcome. Once Chad was certain there were no enemies outside, he carefully eased open a door at the rear access point and slipped inside.

                     As soon as he was in, Chad moved against a wall to minimize his chances of being spotted. Right now was the point when things could tip, when the whole exam had the possibility to go awry. He needed to be quick, but at the same time, he needed to be accurate. Information in situations like these was what kept people alive. Chad might not have had Will’s way of getting data beforehand, but that didn’t make him helpless.

                     Eyes wide and alert, Chad kept his breathing silent and concentrated as hard as he could.

     *             *             *

                     “Why is he barefoot?” Adam asked to no one in particular.

                     “Obviously, he took off his shoes to move more quietly,” Shane said.

                     “I think we all get that,” Violet chimed in. “But I see Adam’s point. Why is Chad bothering with this sneaking around shit at all? He’s a brawler by nature, shouldn’t he be kicking the door down and tearing bitches up?”

                     Roy was wondering something similar, but as he stared at the monitor and watched Chad stand frozen in place, a new thought occurred to him. It came from Hershel’s memories, bubbling up in him unbidden. When Hershel did his role-playing games, there were different character classes with various abilities. Hershel tended to play mages, and if forced, Roy would have rolled up as a warrior. There were other classes though, other ways to deal with one’s enemies, including a class that dispatched their opponents by moving stealthily and swiftly, ending fights before they even began.

                     A grunt of disbelief escaped Roy’s lips as understanding came crashing down on him.

                     “That motherfucker . . . all this time.”

                     Thomas, Violet, and Shane all turned around to look at him as Roy continued shaking his head in disbelief.

                     “Care to share with the class?” Violet asked.

                     “I always thought Chad had it pretty good with these trials. He’s an ass-kicker, that’s his power, and upfront fights work to his benefit.”

                     “Given his ranking, that’s a fair assessment,” Shane said.

                     “It really ain’t. Chad’s power wasn’t built for straight-up fighting; he’s just so damned good that we never noticed. To steal a term from Hershel: Chad isn’t a warrior, he’s an assassin.”

                     Across the room, unseen by any of the students, Dean Blaine allowed himself the smallest of smirks.

     *             *             *

                     First came the sounds: the gentle whine of servos and gears moving mechanical monsters, the high-pitched whine of light bulbs hanging at irregular intervals throughout the halls, the soft shuffle of Professor Fletcher’s feet as he stood by behind the scenes.

                     Next came the smells: oil, concrete, metal, copper, and a few whiffs of Will Murray’s sweat that had been missed in the purge.

                     Last came the shapes. As the information flooded Chad’s heightened senses, he mentally mapped it out, placing the guards throughout the halls even as he learned where the twists and turns were. It took three minutes, but at last, he was ready to move. This time, there were only three Sims clustered in a single point; the rest were spread out as guards. Even though Chad knew the patterns were randomized between trials, he was still thankful for that stroke of luck. Clusters were easily handled, but lots of enemies across the area would give him a better chance to show his skill.

                     He left his hiding spot and darted down the hall, movements as soundless as a shattered piano. Up ahead, there was an intersection in the hallway. Chad darted left as soon as he arrived, easily closing the gap between himself and the yellow-light Sim scanning the other direction. He grabbed its head at the same time he sliced the top of its back with his forearm blade. Assuming these were meant to be stand-ins for humans, he would have paralyzed this Super from the neck down. Just in case it had a mental ability, though, he popped a quick blow to the skull to render it unconscious.

                     With one down, he only had eight left to go. Chad hurried off down the hall toward his next prey.

     *             *             *

                     “What the fucking shit?” Violet yelped as they watched Chad mercilessly bring down the unsuspecting Sim. “That thing was a yellow, and he just fucking iced it!”

                     “No, he crippled it,” Shane corrected her. Since he also used slicing techniques, Shane was well acquainted with the tactic Chad had employed, even if it was unexpected to see it used by him. “He tore through the spinal cord and left it unable to do more than blink and breathe.”

                     “That is still really fucked up,” Violet continued.

                     “Healers exist, and all Hero teams have access to them,” Shane countered. “What Chad did would be overt aggression if the effects were unalterably permanent, but as it stands, he neutralized a hostile Super without having to kill it, letting it alert others, or allowing collateral damage. That’s about as good a take-down as a Hero can hope for.”

                     On the screen, Chad waited at the turn of a blind corner for a Sim to walk into view. As soon as it did, he took it down at the spine and popped it in the head, perfectly mirroring his first encounter. This time, the feat was slightly more impressive though, because his opponent had a glowing red light in its chest.

                     “You seem to know a lot about what is and isn’t okay for Heroes to do,” Roy noted.

                     “Actually, I think the rest of you are just behind the curve,” Shane said. “Yes, they have focused on getting us to use our abilities with restraint and control, but how did you imagine it would go when you tried to tell someone who has spent their life being more powerful than others that there is something they can’t do? Our entire purpose is to step in when those Supers decide they’re going to buck the system. Each of us should be intimately familiar with what lines we are and aren’t willing to cross in order to see that job done.”

                     Chad came to a hallway with a pair of Sims, throwing knives already in hand. He threw them with only a glance, taking out the lights and casting the hall in darkness. Instantly, the camera flipped over to night-vision, allowing the class to see what happened. One Sim managed to get off a wild shot— beams of energy from its hands—before Chad took it down. The other never located him in time.

                     “He is tearing a swath through these things,” Thomas noted, trying to change the subject.

                     “I always knew Chad was strong,” Roy said, eyes never wavering from the screen. “But he’s so nice and humble that this is the first time I’m realizing something about him.”

                     “What’s that?” Thomas asked.

                     “Chad Taylor is one absolutely terrifying son of a bitch.”

                     When he severed the spine of the final Sim, Chad’s time from entry was six minutes and nineteen seconds. Of all his opponents, only three had gotten off attacks, and he’d killed just a single red-lighted Sim.

     122.

                    Shane’s exam failed to beat either the time or efficiency set by Chad, but not by a lot. His aggressive strategy and surgeon-like precision with his shadow attacks took down most of the opponents in a clean, concise manner. His misfortune came when one of the yellow-light Sims proved to be a heavily armored opponent clearly replicating the strongman style of Super. That one refused to go down easily, and in the confusion, it allowed a red-light Sim to release destructive blasts that caused a fair bit of collateral damage.

                     Thomas was next, and while his careful strategy yielded low collateral damage, it took too long to match Chad and Shane’s aggressive times. Additionally, he was taken by surprise twice, which resulted in minor injuries that Camille had to patch when he came back. It was a strong showing, and one that demonstrated no signs of the hesitation he’d shown earlier in the year. He and Vince locked eyes as Thomas returned, exchanging small nods and covert smiles.

                     Dean Blaine had barely finished checking on Thomas when Roy stepped up, raring to go. “Mr. Daniels, I presume you’re ready?”

                     “Damn straight. Sorry, I mean, yes sir.”

                     Dean Blaine ignored the slip-up—in these situations such things were bound to happen. He was far more interested in the dark metal bat clutched in Roy’s left hand. Professor Cole’s expression was inscrutable thanks to her wrapped face, but judging from the twinkle in her eyes, Blaine guessed she was pretty proud of having talked a student like Roy into bringing along a weapon.

                     “Very well then, follow me.”

                     They started for the door, but before going through, Roy turned back to his class.

                     “Try and pay attention, because I promise I’m about to put on a hell of a show.”

                     Some of the students laughed at his bravado, others snickered, and a few glared silently. For his part, Dean Blaine mentally adjusted how much to budget for repairs to this training area. When students like Roy Daniels promised a good show, it was usually best to plan for destruction.

     *             *             *

                     “The hell are you doing?” Hank asked as Roy took his first few swings. Around them were the sounds of horses stomping, an inhuman gallery already jeering at Roy’s attempts.

                     “You told me to attack you,” Roy replied, confusion evident on his face. “I thought you said your shield could handle it.”

                     “Course it can,” Hank replied. The dark-haired man was built like a barrel, low and thick. He would have seemed entirely nondescript if not for the slight golden shimmer in the air around him. “My power produces an energy shield that would stop a damn rocket; your little love taps won’t do shit. I’m asking why you came at me swinging like that.”

                     “It’s an opening attack,” Roy replied. “I was trying to pop you on the chin.”

                     Hank stared up at the taller, younger man. It had only been three days since Sally Daniels dropped her boys off, and Hank already preferred the short, smart one. At least he didn’t need concepts rolled out step by step for him.

                     “Let me come at this another way, why are you punching me at all? I said to attack me, not dance around with jabs. Come at me like you mean to do me serious harm.”

                     “If you’ve got a better way, I’d love to hear it.”

                     Hank let out a grin that all the riders knew meant to stand clear, because something very dumb and very violent was about to transpire. “Yeah, kid, I might just have a better way.”

     *             *             *

                     “Of course he’s shirtless,” Alice commented, watching Roy step onto the screen. His broad, muscular torso was easy to make out in contrast to his gray uniform pants. The gray stopped at his ankles, leaving his bare feet exposed to the simulated street terrain. “Oh, and no shoes either. Is he trying to do Chad’s sneaking thing?”

                     “I highly doubt it,” Chad said. After finishing his test, he’d migrated back through the crowd to stand with his dormmates. “Roy has become far more aware of the limits of his skills over the past year. He should know that my technique for dealing with the situation would be ill-suited to him.”

                     “Mary, want to let us in on what he’s planning?” Vince asked.

                     The small telepath shook her head. “No chance. I’m a little bit sorry I know.”

                     “That bad?” Alice said.

                     “Maybe bad, maybe good. I don’t know how well it will go. Roy was truthful about one thing, though: it will be entertaining.”

     *             *             *

                     The halls changed every time the course was altered, as did the number of guards, but the basic situation was always the same. Some Sims as guards, patrolling the layout of the halls, with a bunch of Sims gathered together in a room near the center. It was only the small details, like layouts and numbers, that got tweaked, making sure every student encountered the unknown. At its core, the trial was always the same: stop the threats before they became actual dangers.

                     Roy would never be able to pull off the stuff Chad and Shane did, he knew that going in. Chad could see the Sims without being seen, and Shane’s power came with enough range to take people out from a distance. Roy didn’t have those gifts. He could take Sims down, no doubt about that, but it was going to be loud and alert the others. Given those circumstances, it meant his best strategy was to take down the largest concentration possible in his first move.

                     As he walked onto the field, Roy felt a sense of wild excitement burn through his exposed chest. The cameras had always focused on the inside of the building, with only a few angles watching the exterior. This meant that he hadn’t known if they’d built a high, sky-simulation-ceiling like the outdoor courses they’d used last year. It turned out, that for this field, they hadn’t. Roughly twenty to thirty feet from the roof of the building was thick black concrete, creating the impression of a starless night hanging overhead.

                     Roy moved carefully, hoping dearly that none of the Sims he was going against had enhanced senses. This was the part where he needed to be quiet, in fact, the only part where that would be possible. With his bat tucked into the waist of his pants, he scaled the outer wall of the brick building, moving up the side as silently as he could. It was easy going, since, anytime he lacked a good handhold, Roy merely sank his fingers into the tough exterior and made his own. Within a minute, he was on top of the roof and tiptoeing toward the center.

                     Now, it was time for the fun to begin.

     123.

                     “Look, you’ve heard people say stuff like ‘your whole body is a weapon’ right?”

                     “Sure,” Roy replied.

                     “Well, for pretty much everyone else, that’s horseshit,” Hank told him. “The human body is a big ole sack of tender organs and blood, barely protected by a skeleton that breaks at the slightest bit of force. There’s a reason people fight using specific limbs, and Supers with ranged abilities avoid even coming near their opponents: the human body is not a weapon. It’s the thing you’re trying to keep from getting wrecked by weapons.”

                     “You said that was for everyone else.”

                     “Pretty much everyone else, don’t get cocky.” Hank let out a protracted sigh to demonstrate his disapproval. “For people like you, the Supers who have enhanced endurance and strength at a high enough level, the saying holds a bit of truth. Since you’re hard to hurt, and can hit like a truck, your entire body really can be thought of as a weapon.”

                     “We covered this in Close Combat,” Roy said. “Knees, elbows, head, forearms, all of the body can be used as a weapon.”

                     “See, you keep saying you understand, then telling me things that make it clear you don’t,” Hank snapped. “What you just listed was a bunch of body parts. I’m not telling you the parts are a weapon; I’m saying you are a weapon. One you’ve got fuck-all idea how to use properly, but I guess that’s what I’m supposed to fix.”

                     “I . . . don’t think I get it,” Roy finally admitted. He was trying to follow Hank’s reasoning, he really was; it just refused to make any sense in his head.

                     “You will soon,” Hank assured him. It was nice to see the egomaniac show a bit of humility on occasion. That, more than the understanding, was what Hank had been waiting for. “Come on, we’re going to go to the bulls’ pens.”

                     “Oh come on, I’m sorry I’m going slow, but they ain’t due to be shoveled for hours.”

                     “We’re not going for that, yet. I just want you to watch something with me. While I’m showing you all this, you need to keep one word constantly in mind.”

                     “What’s that?” Roy asked.

                     “Overrun.”

     *             *             *

                     Standing on the roof, knowing there were Sims waiting below, Roy took a moment to collect his thoughts. This maneuver would take quick reflexes and split second action. He wouldn’t have another chance; this was his only shot at taking out the cluster in a surprise attack. If he got lucky, he might even be able to grab a guard or two before they scattered, but there was just no way he was getting out of this with low collateral damage. Strongmen didn’t work that way. This was the best he could do with his ability, and he was at peace with that.

                     Or, at least, he would be if it worked.

                     Taking a firm grip on his bat with his left hand and filling his lungs with a deep breath of air, Roy slowly spread his legs out and went into a crouched position. After checking the ceiling above him one last time, he pushed off the roof with a generous amount of strength, which he hoped would be enough to close the distance without slamming him into the overhead concrete.

                     His guess was good, but not perfect. Roy approached the ceiling too quickly, the dark barrier growing rapidly in his vision. If he struck before he got into position, he would tumble back to the roof in a ruckus and give away his location. He hurriedly rose through the air, desperately willing his body to listen to the panicked signals going to his brain.

                     Had it not been for his constant training with Chad, being routinely flipped and flung about, Roy wouldn’t have made it. All that practice had gotten him just a little bit more accustomed to maneuvering his body while in midair, though, and, as a crash seemed unavoidable, his reflexes finally kicked in. Roy did a half somersault forward and grinned from ear to ear as he felt the soles of his feet crash roughly into the concrete ceiling. This would certainly leave an imprint, but he didn’t care. Especially considering he’d already expected to leave a crater.

                     As Roy’s legs contracted, the force of the jump finally dissipating, he looked below to make sure his target was still in sight. Not that it really mattered; at this point, it would be impossible to make serious corrections. No, from here on out, he was just going to have to play the cards as they fell.

                     When Roy pushed off the ceiling, his second jump in a matter of instants, he didn’t use some of his strength, or a fair bit of his strength, or even a lot of his strength. Roy rocketed himself down toward the building with every ounce of power he could muster. The concrete under his feet shattered, sending fractures along the ceiling as he blasted back down toward the building, moving so quickly he barely had time to put his arms up in front of his face.

                     The Roy-shaped missile exploded through the roof, tore through the building’s flimsy protection, and slammed down into the hard stone floor of the central room, bringing debris down with him. A thin cloud of broken concrete-dust filled the air, partially blinding the five already confused Sims that were rapidly trying to figure out what had just happened. One of the red-light Sims headed toward the smoky impact site, crackles of green electricity already rippling across its black metallic body.

                     Quick as this one was, it didn’t manage to avoid the sudden rush of dust-colored young man as he barreled out of the cloud. It did manage to let off a few blasts, easily enough to take any human and most Supers. Unfortunately for it, Roy Daniels was not most Supers. Those electricity coated arms were quickly snapped, along with its legs, and pulled around behind its back. It was still operational though, so it was able to watch as Roy fully emerged from the dirty cloud, the now dented bat still in hand, and greeted the remainder of the Sims in the room.

                     “I’m not sure if robots are capable of shitting themselves, but if so, then now’s a great time to start.”

                     With that warning delivered, he charged.

     124.

                    “Remember,” Hank said, “people who are new to bulls think you only have to avoid the horns. Those that are a little smarter learn that you should also worry about the hooves and the shoulders. But the experts, matadors and wranglers from all across the world, they’ll all tell you the same thing: fuck the components, you should be avoiding the goddamned bull.”

     *             *             *

                     At first, it was hard to make out what was happening on the screen. The same debris and dust that had clouded the vision of the Sims was also making it hard for the cameras to get a clear shot. A faint buzz of surprised conversation still echoed through the room, many students shocked at Roy’s roof-smashing gymnastics. It was only when the first Sim was violently jerked into the dissipating cloud that silence bloomed once more. They watched as green sparks lit the room on-screen, before finally coming to a stop. When Roy emerged at last, the room relaxed.

                     “Do you think he can take them all?” Vince asked.

                     “If he were going to fight them as I would have to, then no. Their abilities are too varied; even assuming one wasn’t able to incapacitate him, he would allow far too much collateral damage,” Chad said. “However, given that Roy has no intention of fighting them that way, I suspect his chances of success are much higher.”

                     Mary jerked her head over to the blond young man, who was clearly waiting for her attention. “How did you know?”

                     “I’ve been sparring with Roy regularly for some time. The sort of bodily control he’s demonstrated would be very useful for . . . well, it seems he’ll show the point for me.”

                     On the screen, Roy had dug his bare foot into the gravel and bolted forward. Unlike his earlier jumps, he wasn’t going for height. No, this burst of strength was about pure, relentless acceleration. His body catapulted through the room, and as he passed a yellow-lighted Sim, he stuck out his bat, smashing through its legs without even slowing down. He finally stopped, mere feet away from three of the other Sims, one of which sported a red light. This was what they’d been waiting for, when Roy would utilize his hand-to-hand skills.

                     Instead, Roy dug his feet in once more and rushed forward, a more controlled and definite movement than his leap. He slammed into the red-light Sim and kept running, pummeling its legs under his feet whenever they got in the way. The embrace lasted briefly, as the Sim’s legs turned to tatters and it lost its grip on the powerful Super. It took only seconds for Roy to reorient, turning his charge toward the other two within reach. There was crunch so loud it echoed even over the camera as he crashed into another Sim, this one losing its footing and flying into the wall.

                     “That’s it? He’s just barreling into them,” Alice said. “It was way more impressive when he actually fought people.”

                     “No, it merely looked more impressive,” Chad corrected her. “What Roy is doing actually takes a tremendous amount of power and control. The Sims are trying to attack his footing or use his momentum against him, and failing at it. His steps are partially putting his feet into the stone, grounding him, while every aspect of his body maintains position, refusing to be knocked aside by the grasps of others. Despite his relatively small mass, Roy is emulating the threat of a charging train, crushing his opponents through sheer force rather than engaging them.”

                     As Chad spoke, Roy flipped around to the last Sim and took off. This one was quicker than the others, probably meant to demonstrate some sort of agility power. As soon as Roy got in range, it grabbed his arm and slammed its hip into his torso, a motion that should have sent Roy spiraling through the air in a textbook toss. Instead, the Sim was jerked downward as Roy tightened his stomach before the metallic hip could land, pulling down the arm in the Sim’s grip and knocking it off-balance. During all of this Roy kept running, and in moments, the move that should have sent him off course had resulted in the Sim’s lower half resembling little more than broken electronics.

                     “Why didn’t that toss land?” Vince said. “Even if Roy was running fast, that should have worked against him.”

                     “It failed for two reasons,” Chad explained. “When the Sim grabbed him, Roy immediately contracted his core, pulling his arm down and shifting the spot where the Sim needed to set its hip. At the same time, he continued pressing forward in the small window of confusion his technique caused, trampling over the Sim before it could reorient itself.”

                     “That’s . . . wow,” Vince said, marveling as he watched his friend take down the final Sim still in the room. “Roy and Hershel must have trained like crazy this summer.”

                     “So it would seem,” Chad agreed.

                     “I must be missing something,” Alice said. “Now that you’ve pointed it out, I can see how doing what he’s doing is really hard, but why bother learning it at all? Roy has always been a beast in Close Combat.”

                     “How can I put this . . . let us pretend you were a regular human, and there is a large man who is angry with you. He drives up to you and gets out of his car to begin a confrontation. At this point, you are at a physical disadvantage, but if you have enough skill at martial arts, you might still come out on top, or you could pull a weapon, or just run away. The man is easily more likely to win the fight, but you have a variety of ways to deal with him,” Chad said. “That is you versus Roy in normal combat circumstances. For what he’s doing now, envision the same scenario, only this time, when the man drives up to you, he doesn’t emerge from the car. He doesn’t even slow down. He just plows right through you.”

                     “Oh, damn. Yeah, that is a big difference,” Alice conceded. She looked to the screen, where Roy was dashing through the hallways, trying to run down the remaining Sims on guard duty.

                     “Especially when it comes to fighting multiple opponents,” Vince added.

                     Chad nodded. “Since Roy’s powers didn’t lend themselves to taking out everyone before they were aware of the threat, his score will likely not be higher than mine. That said, seeing the amount of power and focus he is demonstrating, I must admit that it is possible he’s surpassed me in pure combat ability.”

                     “Looks like the bar is set pretty high,” Alice said. “Let’s try to get it even higher on our turns.”

     125.

                    Violet’s showing was impressive, but she made the mistake of attacking a lone Sim while another was in earshot, alerting them to her presence. She managed to bring them all down, however, by the time she did, they’d caused significant collateral damage and two red-light Sims had been allowed to run wild. Her face was solemn as she stepped back into the observation room, politely acknowledging the applause without accepting it. It wasn’t that the effort had been bad; she just knew she could do better, and failing to achieve that nagged at her dearly.

                     Amber was next, the last of those volunteering to go first. In a way, her performance was the opposite of Violet’s. She strolled down the hallways silently; every step inaudible thanks to her sound-manipulation abilities. When she came across some poor Sim barring her way, she executed a few quick snaps, and their robotic limbs exploded. One or two managed to get off a shot, but even these were impossible for the others to hear. It might have been a perfect score, had she not gotten overzealous when dealing with a cluster of five. Before they could even react, Amber carpeted them in blasting sound waves. This resulted in neutralizing all the threats, but it also ended with two yellow-lighted Sims registering as dead. Since they’d never taken aggressive actions against her, this was a serious penalty.

                     With Amber done, Dean Blaine waited to see if anyone else would be volunteering. Sometimes, people would get impulsive at the last moment; however, this time, that was not the case. The remaining students stood in place, waiting to be called.

                     Dean Blaine looked over to Professor Stone, who produced a small, clear box filled with strips of paper. It wasn’t very hard to figure out what the next selection method would be.

                     “A special thanks and congratulations to those who have already taken their exam,” Dean Blaine announced. “Now, we will begin the random selection part of this trial. Volunteers are no longer accepted, regardless of circumstances. You will have to wait until one of us draws your name from the box. We even went to the trouble of making sure it was clear, lest anyone think we were using our abilities to play favorites.”

                     This part of the speech wasn’t meant for his students, who would have neither suspected that nor cared if it were happening. These words were for Ralph Chapman and his cronies, watching via feed from a different observation room.

                     “We’re all taking the same test,” Adam said. “How could there even be favorites?”

                     “Some students would rather go after someone who has a weak showing, hoping to be seen more favorably in comparison. This is, of course, a ludicrous notion, but one that has persisted enough that we find it easier to keep our process transparent,” Dean Blaine replied. “With that said, Professor Stone, would you be so kind as to pull the first name?”

                     Her hand combed through the slips of paper until she seized one in her fingers. Pulling it out carefully, she glanced down at the name written on it.

                     “Thomas Castillo. No, you don’t have to go again; we just didn’t know who would volunteer, so everyone’s name is in here. Looks like I have to redraw.” Professor Stone carefully set the slip of paper to the side, pointedly ignoring the look of shock on Thomas’s face at having a question that had only flitted through his mind be answered by the professor. Her hand plunged back into the box, emerging with a new slip.

                     “Well, well, Alex Griffen, it is your time to shine.”

                     Alex broke into a wide grin, then turned to give Will and Vince high fives as he made his way over to the door. “I’m ready to do this!”

                     “Glad to see you so enthusiastic,” Dean Blaine said. His voice didn’t show it, but he really was happy to see Alex raring to go. Though the young man had a curious way of looking at his power, he also had the sort of assurance, kindness, and loyalty that marked him as a great Hero candidate. His ability had been falling behind during the sophomore year, and if he couldn’t manage some good showings soon, he likely wouldn’t make it to the senior class. Blaine hoped this exuberance was the mark of earned confidence that would manifest in a high score.

                     “Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve been waiting for a chance like this.” Alex turned and flashed his friends a big thumbs-up before following Dean Blaine through the door and down to the exam area.

                     “Is he bluffing, or does he really think he can score well on this?” Alice asked, looking to Mary. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m pulling for him with all I’ve got, I just want to know if I should brace for amazement or horror.”

                     “He has a strategy,” Mary replied. “I don’t know if it will work or not. If it does, then he does have a solid chance of making this work. If it doesn’t . . . I think Roy will need to let Hershel have the night, so he can do some friend-comforting.”

                     “Not a problem,” Roy said. “Strange as he might be, that little nerd has grown on me. I hope he whips some robot ass.”

                     “Tell us this,” Vince said. “If you were to use his strategy, would it work?”

                     Mary shook her head. “Not a chance in hell. I’m going to have to go in that thing like a miniature Roy, kicking ass and asking questions later. Alex is trying a more subtle approach, closer to what Chad did.”

                     “But if it wouldn’t work for you . . . oh no, don’t tell me we’re on this again,” Alice groaned.

                     “He did manage to knock away Thomas’s energy and Will’s sound Taser, both of which should be impossible for a telekinetic,” Vince reminded her.

                     “And, much as it pains to admit it, even after all my training, his level of precise control is still leagues above my own,” Mary added.

                     “So, basically, Alex is pinning his plans for winning on the hope that his powers really work like a Jedi’s, instead of a telekinetic’s?” Alice asked.

                     “Looks that way,” Mary confirmed.

                     Alice let out a long breath and stared up at the dark screens, waiting for them to light up and for their friend to appear. Alex might not technically be one of them, but he may as well be. Weird, different from the others, and constantly underestimated, Alex was already halfway toward pariah when he sided with them last year. He needed to make some magic happen, because she would be damned if she watched another member of her strange little team get taken away.

                     “May the Force be with you, you crazy bastard.”

     126.

                   For a telepath, it would have been impossible. Even the most skillful among them were limited by the simple truth that machines didn’t have brains to overhear. For a tech-manipulator, like Jill, it would have been easy. So easy, in fact, that it was likely why she’d been banned from doing it. Telepaths and tech-manipulators were two sides of the same coin in this scenario, each with an ability that only worked on the flesh or the mech. Only Alex’s gift functioned on both levels.

                     But even for him, it was difficult. The Sims were robots, though Alex kept wanting to call them droids, and they really didn’t have minds for him to peek into. Maybe if they had been more advanced, that would have been the case, but these were basic combat units. That didn’t matter, luckily, because he wasn’t searching for their minds. He was searching for their existence.

                     Alex was not a “second trilogy” Jedi, with that ridiculous bunk about bugs in the blood. His abilities were of the core and the original; when The Force was not some sympathetic reaction between bacteria, but rather a nigh-magical connection between all things in the universe. That was what he used as he stepped into the arena, mentally probing for each Sim inside the building. It took considerable effort, but before he even stepped foot inside that building, Alex was keenly aware of the location of each individual Sim, and he even had a bit of an inkling as to what some of their abilities were.

                     Despite what many people thought, Alex was neither stupid nor crazy. He understood that having his powers come from a work of fiction made no sense under scrutiny. More likely, he was simply a normal person with the advanced-mind set of abilities that had found a novel way to access them. But likeliness didn’t account for results, and the fact of the matter was that Alex could do things other advanced minds couldn’t. Maybe his perception of his power had warped its capabilities. Maybe his power had been one he could determine for himself, and he’d unconsciously selected Jedi. It didn’t matter in the end.

                     All that mattered was what Alex Griffen could do. And today, he was going to kick some droid ass.

     *              *              *

                     Most of the class was stunned as they watched Alex all but saunter through the halls, sneaking up on each Sim and quickly deactivating it with a well-timed series of telekinetic strikes. They had not anticipated him to be nearly so efficient, either at the combat portion or the stealth aspect. He moved methodically, as if he was keenly aware of every threat and working to avoid it. Some of the Sims gave him trouble—one in particular, with heavy armor and lots of power, nearly managed to land a blow that would have broken his legs—but ultimately, each one fell.

                     “How does he know where they all are?” Vince said. “I sort of understand Chad’s power, but even with Alex’s odd gifts, it doesn’t explain how he can pinpoint robots.”

                     Roy waited for someone else to speak up, only to realize he would have to be the one to shed light on the situation. He shot Mary a dirty look; the girl knew damned well what the explanation was, she just didn’t want to be the one to say it.

                     “The Force connects everything. People, trees, rocks, etc. Trees and rocks and robots don’t have as much presence as people, but they have a little. Alex probably found them all before going inside and has been keeping tabs on them as he makes his rounds,” Roy explained. “And before anyone asks, every bit of this is Hershel’s knowledge. He’s seen those three movies more times than I can count.”

                     “I thought there were six,” Alice said.

                     “Not to the purists, there aren’t,” Roy replied, a little exasperated with himself for even having to talk about this subject. “Don’t worry, I’m sure after seeing how little you all know about it, Hershel will demand a movie marathon after winter break.”

                     “After seeing what Alex can do, I don’t think I’d mind that.” Vince gazed up at the screen, impressed as his friend took down yet another guard with minimal delay. “A whole film series about people with his powers would be awesome.”

                     On camera, Alex headed off toward the final room, where four Sims were clustered together, waiting for him. It was obvious to those who could read the situation that he wouldn’t be able to take them all, at least not cleanly, but the showing he’d already put on was more than incredible enough to have earned his peers’ respect. More importantly, he’d shown the professors just how capable he was in a real world situation.

                     All they could do was hope it would be enough.

     *              *              *

                     “He’s stable.” The bearded man was still rubbing sleep from his eyes as he finished his exam. Normally, working for these sorts of people meant keeping late hours, not waking up before ten. Still, the money was always green, and it didn’t hurt to be in their good graces, so he’d headed over as soon as he got their call.

                     “That doesn’t tell us much,” Eliza snapped, pacing around the room.

                     “It tells us that he probably isn’t poisoned. I’ve been monitoring him for an hour, and there’s been no change at all. If something was working through his bloodstream, I’d have expected to see a change for the better or worse. It could always be some ultra-drug that I’m not familiar with, but for right now, I’m eliminating the things I can.”

                     “Thank you,” Jerome replied. “Please keep an eye on him.” He grabbed Eliza gently by the shoulder and escorted her out of the room.

                     “Should we just leave that guy with Nicholas?”

                     “He was referred to us by people very friendly to our Family. Harming Nicholas would start the sort of war that would leave the streets soaked in blood. I highly doubt they would have cause to want him dead enough to risk such an outcome.”

                     “Well, someone obviously does,” Eliza said, breaking free of Jerome’s grip. “He’s been out like this since I found him. If it’s not poison, then that limits our options.”

                     “Poison is effectively ruled out,” Jerome agreed. “Even if it was some new type, to have given it to Nicholas without leaving any signs or record seems unlikely. Anyone who has that sort of skill could have just killed him outright. No, since nothing seems to be medically wrong with him, we’re left with only one likely explanation: a Super did this.”

                     “Yeah, but why? What do they want to accomplish?”

                     “I have no idea,” Jerome admitted. “But it occurs to me that there are some people near us who both care deeply for Nicholas’s well-being and have the sort of experience to help with such a problem.”

                     “Jerome . . . we can’t.”

                     “We can wait until the doctor has finished his exam,” Jerome said. “If he discovers no other leads for us to go on, I fear we may have to contact them. They might be the only chance we have at helping him.”

     127.

                   When Alex returned, to stunned peers and wild cheers, Allen was chosen as the next to be tried. His long-range, explosive energy blasts allowed him to pick off Sims as he went; however, they also quickly alerted the others to his presence. By the time he found the room with the cluster, they were spread out and lying in wait; astounding reflexes and excellent aim were the only things that allowed him to bring them all down. He’d come the closest to being unable to finish of anyone so far.

                     Britney went next, her rapier strapped to her waist before she even went through the door. For the first time since Will’s trial, Sims began deactivating on screen, seemingly without reason. Unlike Will, she was only able to get two of the codes, though, so as the students watched the outer door open by invisible hands, it was with four Sims still wandering the facility. She did well from there, mimicking Chad’s technique of going for the spine. Unfortunately, without his level of control and anatomical knowledge, she accidentally killed two yellow-light Sims.

                     When Britney returned, visible once more, Professor Baker’s voice rang out through the room.

                     “Vince Reynolds.” She held the slip of paper in her hand, smiling all the while as she scanned the room for the silver-haired young man. If she was aware of the sudden tension that filled the air, radiating from faculty and students alike, she kept that knowledge off her face as she finally locked eyes with her target. “Vince, you’re up.”

                     Vince started moving forward, keenly aware of the gentle pats on the back and shoulder from his friends. The actions were well-meant, but unnecessary. Even without physical displays, he knew unquestioningly that they supported him and wished him well. Sadly, their sentiment was the only thing of them he could bring into this trial. As soon as he stepped through that door, he was on his own.

                     “Do you need to get any weaponry?” Dean Blaine asked.

                     Vince shook his head. Though today’s trials had opened his eyes to the potential of such tools, he felt like trying to utilize one without proper training would do more harm than good. He wasn’t Chad, possessing an index of secret skills and abilities. All he had was his power, and his training. If that wasn’t good enough to get him through, then he supposed he didn’t really belong here.

                     Dean Blaine motioned for him to follow, and the two descended the staircase. Vince listened carefully as the dean explained the details of the trial, making careful note of the rules and procedures. Failing on merit was one thing, but coming up short due to a technicality would be a mistake he’d never forgive himself for.

                     “Do you have any questions for me?” Dean Blaine asked as they reached the bottom.

                     Vince hesitated for a moment, fearful his words were being transmitted to unfriendly ears, but then pressed on. It wouldn’t change anything if others were listening; all it would mean was that Dean Blaine might not answer him honestly.

                     “How important is this? Not for each of us, as students, with our grades on the line. For me, how important is this?”

                     It was a fair question; one Blaine himself would have asked had their situations been reversed. There was a difference between “this is a large part of your grade,” and “this is your last chance.” It influenced how one approached the challenge, and how far they were willing to go to complete it. Still, Vince’s abilities were not quite stable, and it wouldn’t do for him to lose control. Even in a place like this, wide-scale destruction could have serious consequences.

                     “It’s very important,” Dean Blaine replied. “This is your first real opportunity to cut loose on your own. Nick’s stunt last year showed everyone what your potential was, what you could do without anything holding you back. Today, you need to demonstrate that you can tap into that potential on your own, and without losing control of yourself. If you can show them your power in a way that’s focused and deliberate, I doubt anyone will be able to challenge your right to be here on merit. But, all of that said, it’s still just one test. There are more to come before the school year is out. Don’t give anyone more ammunition to use against you than they already have.”

                     “I think I understand,” Vince said, tucking his hands behind his back to conceal the nervous twitch in his fingers. “I’ll do my best.”

                     “I know you will, Vince. Good luck in there.”

                     Vince stepped through the door on the right and entered the room with the screen telling him to sit tight. While some had been frustrated by the delay, Vince was quite thankful for it. A few moments to calm himself and gather his thoughts would be a big help.

                     He sat down on the floor in a cross-legged style, rested his hands on his knees, and began to take deep breaths. He needed to be calm. He needed to be clear. He needed to be focused.

                     He needed to be cold.

     *              *              *

                     It was so hot. So damned, ridiculously, unbearably hot. When Vince had first woken up in this desert wasteland, he’d thought it was the hottest place on earth, but assumed that, over time, he’d get used to it. Instead, it was the opposite. Every day was worse than the one before. Every day was hotter.

                     “I think my ribs are broken.” Vince lay on the sandy ground as he spoke, waiting for a breath that came without searing pain. So far, none had delivered.

                     “Yeah, I counted about two that snapped from my last punch,” George agreed.

                     “Feels more like three.”

                     “I did say ‘about,’ you know.” He was standing there, gleaming in the wicked sunlight, all metal and power as he stared down at his wounded opponent. “That mean you’re calling it quits? I can have you to a hospital, hooked up to some nice, painkilling drugs in no time.”

                     “No. I won’t quit.”

                     “You say that, but you’ve been on that ground an awful long time.” It was strange that now, when George was most able to gloat, he wasn’t. His usual mocking tone was gone, replaced by something that sounded an awful lot like sincerity.

                     “Why are you being nice?”

                     “Because I know what you’re going through,” George said. “Reynolds, since you got to Lander, you spent your career losing because of your own restrictions. You held yourself back constantly; not keeping enough energy in you, not going after your opponents at full-force, all that shit. But right now, you’re dealing with a new kind of losing. You’re coming at me with everything you’ve got, pulling no punches, and I’m still beating you senseless day after day. There’s nothing you’re doing wrong, you just aren’t strong enough to win. For the first time since you went from Powered to Super, you’ve finally started to hit your limits. And for any of us, the first time we find that wall, it fucking sucks.”

                     Vince said nothing at first; instead, he put his energy into slowly pulling himself off the ground. The hot sand clung to his skin, leaving him feeling gritty and raw. He swayed for a moment as he stood, the relentless heat pouring across him. If only he could get a few moments of peaceful cold, a single gust of wind. It was too much, though. Even he couldn’t absorb an entire desert.

                     “My father once told me that everyone should find their limits, because that’s how we learn to push them.”

                     “Did he now? What a surprise.” The mocking tone was back, and George watched Vince carefully. He’d been in the field for too long to do anything as dumb as underestimating an enemy.

                     Vince took a careful step forward and narrowed his focus. George was right, he’d hit the limits of what he was capable of. Nothing he threw at George was working, which meant his only options were to throw the same things harder, or find something new to use. Either way, he couldn’t stay the way he was now.

                     For the first time in a very long while, Vince was all but drowning in the desire to be stronger.

     128.

                    His footsteps echoed lightly as he walked down the fake alley, approaching the building’s rear door. Unlike Chad and Roy, Vince had elected to keep his shoes on, since he didn’t possess their immunity to things like broken glass. It meant he wasn’t going to be quite as silent in his approach, but that was okay. Just as Roy had faced the truth about the limits of his power, so had Vince made peace with his. This would be a somewhat stealthy mission only at first. In a situation like this one, chaos was inevitable.

                     As he drew near the door, Vince paused. He could already feel them, already sense the electricity coursing through their electronic bodies, but he needed to be certain of their positions. This skill was still raw and unpolished; it was a technique he’d come across while fighting George. After a week or so of always trying to be ready to absorb George’s blows, Vince realized that he could sort of feel the energy in the robotic man. He couldn’t connect to it—with closed-off electricity, that required physical contact—but he could still make it out as it powered his metallic opponent. When he had time to mull that fact over, Vince realized it made sense. He’d always been connecting to the energy, which meant he could sense it on some subconscious level. The only difference was that now, he was aware of it.

                     Vince carefully eased the back door open and slipped inside. There was a Sim somewhere down a nearby hallway, but he didn’t know which way it was facing. He could only get a sense of the energy present, not pick out fine details. With very delicate steps, he emerged from his hiding spot and began moving toward the nearest Sim. In his mind, Vince began gathering some of the electricity stored within him. When he turned to offense, it was almost impossible to keep his energy-sense going, but just doing the preparations didn’t cause him to lose it. Ideally, he would be able to sneak up on his adversary; however, he didn’t want to be caught defenseless if that wasn’t how this played out.

                     When he reached a corner, he knew there was a Sim just around the other side of it. All he could do was hope for the best. Vince gently eased his head around to the new hallway, only to find a set of robotic eyes staring back at him. They seemed to glow, but only until he realized they were reflecting the yellow light shining off its chest.

                     For the span of a single breath, neither of them moved. They merely soaked in the presence of each other, synapses firing as the inescapable conclusion of conflict was reached. If it had been a human opponent, Vince would have hesitated. Even as far as he’d come, it was difficult for him to immediately react with violence to a fellow person. Robots, on the other hand, were a different story. Three months in the miserable desert heat, being beaten relentlessly by a mechanical man, had ingrained Vince with very forceful reactions, as well as a bit of pent-up frustration.

                     The bolt of electricity struck the Sim right in its center of mass, only a few inches below its yellow light. Whatever kind of power it possessed, no aspect of it involved electricity immunity. But despite the speed of the blow, the jolt was short and sweet. It was meant to incapacitate, not to kill. Of course, such things were hardly a precise practice in the field, so when the robotic opponent slumped to the ground, Vince had to resist the urge to make sure it was okay. With a person, he could try to shock their heart if something went wrong. On the Sims, he would just have to be as precise as possible with his voltage.

                     One Sim down, Vince rose back to his feet and headed down the hall, on course to encounter the next.

     *              *              *

                     “Okay, Alex’s Force powers I sort of got, but this one has me stumped,” Roy admitted. On the screen, Vince took down his second opponent in similar fashion to the first. “How does he know where they are? Am I the only person in our whole damned dorm that doesn’t have some sort of ultra-sense?”

                     “Alex doesn’t live in our dorm,” Alice pointed out.

                     “Just a technicality; the guy’s one of us,” Roy replied, eyes still unmoving from Vince’s exam. He hadn’t realized that Alex was nearby, nor did he see the look of unexpected happiness on the shorter man’s face, all of which was likely for the best. Roy was his most genuine when he didn’t know he was being overheard, which made the sentiment all the more appreciable.

                     “Judging from what I know about Vince’s ability, I would guess that he is somehow locating their energy signatures, and then using that to estimate their positions,” Chad said.

                     “You nailed it,” Mary confirmed. “That’s exactly what he’s doing.”

                     “Whoa, wait a minute. That sounds a whole lot like the sort of thing that only works on robots,” Alice said. “You know, the kind of strategy that we were all expressly forbidden from using.”

                     “That’s only true if he can’t use it on humans as well,” Mary reminded her.

                     “Can he?”

                     In response, Mary just smiled and looked back at the screen. She knew Vince was nearly done with the guards and wanted to see how things went with the cluster room. Alice took the hint and glanced up as well.

                     “Sensing them or not, our boy is in for a hell of a fight,” Roy said. “Six Sims in one room, three of them red. He’s either going to have to try and nuke the whole thing at once, or take them one by one and risk serious collateral damage. Either way, that’s tough.”

                     “Don’t be too sure about that,” Chad said. “If there is one thing I’ve learned about Vince Reynolds, it is that he is oddly unpredictable at times. Perhaps he’ll show us something unexpected.”

     *              *              *

                     With the final guard down, Vince headed toward the massive concentration of electrical energy centered in the middle of the building. This would be the hard part, because he wasn’t confident that he could handle that many opponents without going overboard. Three were red-light Sims, he knew that from process of elimination, so killing them wouldn’t take away points. Still, he wasn’t that concerned about the points. He wanted to do this right. Dean Blaine had been right; this was training to be a Hero. Vince wanted to know that he could take down a situation like this his way. Otherwise, he knew in his heart, he’d never be able to do the job.

                     Vince’s sense expanded as he drew close to the room. He barely even needed to focus anymore; he could hear the Sims in there shifting about. It wasn’t them he was reaching for, though. Instead, Vince focused on the light radiating off the bulbs all around him. Light was like fire, it assaulted him, pressed against him, tried to go inside him. All he had to do was open the doors. And in the desert, reeling under George’s blows, that was exactly what he’d learned to do.

                     Vince took one step into the room where all the Sims were gathered, and the world went black. Not a single speck of light could be seen; all existence was devoured by a shadow.

                     And then, in the miniature world of starless midnight he’d just created, Vince did something truly surprising.

     129.

                    “Everyone, stop what you’re doing! You are all suspected of various crimes and the intention of committing more. To those of you who are innocent, please lay down on the ground right now, and put your hands over your heads. I promise to do all I can to ensure you aren’t falsely charged. To anyone who stays standing: I will be forced to interpret that as a sign of aggression and respond to it with force. Make your choice now, before the lights come back on.”

     *             *             *

                     If Vince had conjured a dolphin out of his ass and hurled it at the largest Sim, he couldn’t have shocked the room of fellow students more than he had by demanding the Sims surrender. In fact, they would have handled the ass-dolphin better, because they were at least accustomed to that particular brand of unexpected action.

                     “What a fucking moron,” Allen said, still in shock from the way Vince had blown his element of surprise. “What the hell did he think would happen?”

                     “Perhaps we should wait and see how his gamble pays off before we pass judgment on it,” Thomas said. He kept his voice calm, but the slight puffing of his chest and widening of his eyes left no doubt over how he felt about someone insulting his friend.

                     Even the Melbrook group was fairly flabbergasted, though not all for the same reason. As Roy and Alice gaped with open mouths at the dark screen, waiting to see what came of Vince’s ultimatum, Chad gently nudged Mary on the shoulder.

                     “Mary, I am new to this group, and as such, haven’t seen the full range of all of your abilities, so perhaps this is something inconsequential. Still, I must ask, when did Vince learn to use area techniques?”

                     “Huh?” Roy snapped out of his fugue at the words and looked over. “What are you talking about?”

                     Chad pointed to one of the cameras that was looking down on a hallway near the center room. “See how the light abruptly stops halfway down, turning to darkness? That implies that Vince is absorbing all the light in a targeted area, not merely draining every bit of it he can.”

                     Roy felt a whole new wave of surprise wash over him, this one far more cutting than the one that had come from Vince’s speech. If Chad was right, then it meant Vince was on a whole different level than they’d realized. Before he could thoroughly register the implications of that, though, Roy’s thoughts were cut off by Vince’s voice from the screen.

                     “Time’s up.”

      *             *             *

                     The hardest part about Vince’s plan was switching gears with near-instant speed. He had to go from absorbing the light to throwing out energy in as much time as it took for his opponents to find him. Again, he found himself begrudgingly thankful for his time with George. Hand-to-hand combat had sharpened his absorption reflexes daily as he struggled to hurt George while defending himself. As a result, when light finally filled the room again, the Sims barely had time to register the change before Vince attacked.

                     A bolt of electricity struck two of the red-light Sims. The shots weren’t as precise as the ones Vince had gotten on the guards at close range, but they still found their targets. One dropped instantly, but the other stayed on its feet, turning toward Vince as green sparks ran down its arms.

                     Recognizing the flaw in his plan, Vince ceased the attack and reassessed the room. He had two yellow-light Sims closing in on him—one large enough to be a strongman unit, the other unknown. One red-light was down; the other obviously had electrical abilities. Most shocking of all, though, was the fact that one yellow-light and one red-light were actually on the ground with their hands over their heads. Seeing them there, knowing he’d avoided hurting innocents, filled Vince with a rare glow of pride. He’d reminded the class that they shouldn’t assume everyone was guilty at the outset, but that message wouldn’t mean much if it cost him the exam. He would have to get aggressive with these last three.

                     Vince ran toward the yellow-light Sims. Though the red constituted a larger threat overall, he was confident he could absorb its attacks before any damage landed. Taking it would require concentration, which meant he needed to get these other two dealt with. As he got closer to the yellows, Vince let another twin shot of electricity loose. The smaller of the two went down, but the armored one shook it off. From his left, Vince felt the familiar crackle of energy as the red-light Sim let loose its own jolts. Contained electricity was hard for Vince to access, but once the stuff ran wild, he could grab it as easily as fire. With a mere thought, he absorbed every bit of energy the Sim sent his way.

                     He probably only had a few moments before it recharged, which meant now was the time to handle the last yellow. The big, bulky thing launched from its position, heading toward Vince with thundering steps. Since he’d already been running toward it, it seemed they were going to forcibly collide. When they were only ten feet away from one another, Vince jerked himself to a sudden stop. From his hands came glowing orange tendrils of energy, a familiar sight to the students who were gasping in the observation room. Though he’d gotten a stockpile of Thomas’s energy from their training, Vince wasn’t nearly as good with it as its owner. Thankfully, he had enough skill to manifest a large orange hand that wrapped around the arm of the charging Sim, spinning it slightly and using its own momentum and mass to send it tumbling across the room—

                     Tumbling right into the red-light Sim that was charging up for another blast. The area was filled with the sound of crackling electricity and crunching metal as they collided. Large chunks of the floor shattered, and dust filled the air. For a moment, it seemed both had been incapacitated, but then the burning scarlet of a red Sim light could be seen as it pulled itself up from the rubble.

                     This time, Vince didn’t run. He walked over calmly, eyes unwavering from his final opponent.

                     “You’re under arrest. If you stop resisting now, you can plead your case to a judge and lawyer. But if you keep fighting, I’m going to have to stop you. Please, just give up. I don’t want to hurt you. I really don’t.”

                     Green sparks flew off its arms as the Sim readied itself for another attack.

                     “I don’t want to hurt you,” Vince repeated, voice low and soft as the sorrow at what he was doing, what he was training to do, filled him. “But I can’t let you hurt anyone else.”

                     This time, he didn’t use electricity, or fire, or even Thomas’s borrowed energy. Instead, Vince went with what he considered the most basic and useful technique he’d acquired so far. He punched the Sim, avoiding it’s clumsy attempts at blocking, right in the center of its body. As soon as he made contact, he released some of the kinetic energy he’d been holding in reserve. He only meant to use enough to dent the thing and knock it unconscious.

                     Instead, it flew backward, slamming violently into a concrete wall and nearly shattering on impact. As it slid to the floor, last flickers of green electricity already dying away, Vince had no doubt that he’d just registered a “kill” on his opponent.

                     “I wish you’d just surrendered.”

     130.

                   As Vince stepped into the observation room, he was met with the expected reactions of applause and glaring from various parties. What he didn’t anticipate, however, was Dean Blaine putting a hand on his shoulder after a few steps through the door. The grip was gentle, but firm, rooting him in place. Thankfully, he didn’t have to speculate about the reason for this stop, as the dean immediately began to speak.

                     “Some of you are probably wondering why two of Vince’s Sims voluntarily shut themselves down,” Dean Blaine said, addressing the unseen watchers in another room as much as his students. “That’s because, in each scenario, there is a randomized chance that each Sim will surrender if given the opportunity. The number will vary, just like the hallway layouts and formations, but it is an element in the exam.”

                     “Why didn’t you tell us that before?” Allen asked, clearly still a bit peeved from his own merely-moderate performance.

                     “We never tell any class. You should have figured it out,” Dean Blaine said, voice growing sharp. “I told you that you were informed of Supers suspected of gathering to commit a large crime. I told you that this was a real-life scenario. So, given those two pieces of information, why did each and every one of you thus far assume that all the Sims were guilty?”

                     “Because . . . they were there,” Thomas answered, his own voice fading out as the truth of the dean’s words hit him.

                     “Precisely. You all went into a situation where Supers were suspected of criminal activity, and immediately resorted to force as the best way to neutralize them. Many of you merely inflicted pain and injuries that can be healed, but some of you killed indiscriminately. And more than one of you killed an innocent Sim who would have happily surrendered if only given the chance.”

                     “But, if we’d given them all chances, then we’d have risked way more collateral damage,” Amber pointed out.

                     “That is also true,” Dean Blaine agreed. “I am not saying your strategies were inherently wrong, or that Vince’s was inherently right. I am just making you aware of a bias you all entered that field with. As Heroes, you will have to walk a very fine line when dealing with criminal Supers. Some will be bent on destruction, and every second you waste can cost lives. Others are merely swept up in something beyond their control and will jump at the chance to get out of it. Only you know your power; only you know if you can afford to offer someone the opportunity to surrender. Always be aware of what you’re doing, and the people it impacts. We’re training you to be Heroes, not tyrants.”

                     Dean Blaine released his grip on Vince’s shoulder, and the silver-haired student scurried back to the area with his dormmates in it. The dean gave a nod to Professor Pendleton, whose long fingers plucked a fresh strip of paper from the jar.

                     “Sasha Foster,” he announced, setting the scrap on the table with the other discarded bits.

                     Sasha headed over to Dean Blaine, who allowed her to grab some weaponry off the rack and took her down to the exam field. Once they left, the room filled with the gentle hum of conversation as discussion about the newly revealed rule commenced.

     *             *             *

                     “I thought the dean had more subtlety than that,” Ralph Chapman said, shaking his head at the picture on the screen. This room was smaller than the one with the students, however, it contained monitors with views of all the same angles as theirs, plus two. The first showed the stairwell where Dean Blaine was currently explaining the procedure to Sasha. The second showed the observation room, where Vince was now speaking excitedly with his friends.

                     “How do you mean?” Mr. Transport asked. He and Mr. Numbers had been asked to babysit the politician during the viewing. Ralph Chapman had clearance to be in the HCP’s halls, but there were still areas that were off-limits to him. Officially, they were there as his temporary aides in case he needed anything. In reality, they were making sure he didn’t try to sneak off and do some snooping.

                     “Obviously, he told Vince about the surrender shut-down protocol. Wanted to make it seem like he was just such a smart guy that it had occurred to him all on his own. Too heavy-handed by far.”

                     “And when, exactly, do you hypothesize this exchange took place?” Mr. Numbers asked. “We have watched them this entire time, since the exam was revealed. You saw them talk in the hallway before Vince went in. You even got permission to covertly use a telepath last night and ensure that Vince hadn’t been slipped any advanced information about the trial. So, please tell me how you believe this trick was pulled off.”

                     “How should I know? You damn people can do impossible things. Maybe you had someone beam it into his head; maybe someone made instructions appear on his eyeballs. I’ve got no way of knowing how it was done, because you all make anything possible.”

                     “Mr. Chapman, I get the feeling you don’t care for Supers,” Mr. Transport said carefully.

                     “I don’t care for people who play by an entirely different set of rules than the rest of us,” Ralph replied. “Because of a genetic fluke, you people are born unique in one singular way, and yet almost all of you choose to use that to act like you’re special all around. This is America, and we’re all equal. That means no one is above the rules we’ve laid down, not even people who can bend the laws of nature.”

                     “Yet, what Vince just did was well within the rules,” Mr. Numbers countered. “You read the briefing on the exam; you knew that the surrender shut-down system existed. Why are you so set against giving him credit for discovering it?”

                     “Because there’s no way that kid actually figured it out. I’ve read the I.Q. assessments and seen his grades. He might not be an idiot, but he’s nowhere near smart enough to put that together.”

                     “You’re right,” Mr. Transport said. He ignored the look Mr. Numbers tried to shoot him and kept talking. “Vince is far from the smartest member of this year’s class, and he almost certainly didn’t mentally work out that there would be a hidden protocol to account for innocent Sims.”

                     “Then you see—”

                     “Vince probably didn’t figure it out, but no one told him either,” Mr. Transport continued. “So that means he offered them the chance to surrender because he was treating it like a real-life scenario. He did it because he knew that’s how he would handle the real thing. Vince found the protocol because he understood the importance of a Hero showing kindness as much as power. He isn’t terribly smart, I’ll give you that, but you would be hard-pressed to find a more inherently kind and gentle boy in the entire school.”

                     Ralph Chapman said nothing; he merely turned back to the screen to watch Sasha’s performance. Mr. Numbers, on the other hand, gave Mr. Transport the small nod that was their version of a high five. From him, it was a tremendous show of support.

     131.

                   Sasha put on a solid early performance, her speed allowing her to tackle many of the Sims before any of them could raise alarm. Unfortunately, when she had to fight her cluster—which was four Sims, two of which had red lights—she was hit by an area attack of energy and sent sprawling. She eventually recovered, but loss of momentum, both literal and metaphorical, cost her dearly. By the time she cleared the final Sim, the room was almost entirely rubble, and a back wall had been blown out. It was the most destructive result since Roy.

                     After Sasha was Jill, who refused to be slowed down by the lack of ability to remotely shut down her opponents. She accessed the lighting system and the cameras, targeting her opponents one by one by turning out the lights on them, and then striking in the confusion. Will had clearly been making upgrades to her suit, as evidenced by the strength of her punches and the power of her weapons. It seemed he’d also added optic abilities, as she had no issue maneuvering in the dark rooms she created. When Jill came into the cluster room, she promptly offered them the chance to surrender, which one accepted, then turned on the same sonic Taser Will had used against Alex in the prior year’s matches. It didn’t work on all of them, but enough were incapacitated to allow her to handle the rest.

                     No one wanted to follow such an impressive display, but someone had to. The fates chose Terrance Matthews, who headed into the trial with a solemn expression. If not viewed in comparison to Jill’s previous performance, it would have been a decent display up until the end. His shrinking and expanding projectiles worked well on all the Sims filling guard roles, and he even managed to take out several in the cluster room. When one of the red-light Sims got away from him, sneaking around to the back, Terrance took a serious blow to the spine that sent him crashing to the ground. The exam was halted as soon as it was determined he was unconscious, and for the first time that day, one of the students failed to finish.

                     Terrance’s defeat put a pallor over the faces of those still remaining. Thus far, the trial had been filled with varying levels of success. He reminded them that failure was a very real, and horrifying, possibility. The room was silent as the jar made its way to Professor Hill, who broke into a grin wider than any administrator should have as he saw the name written on his slip of paper.

                     “Alice Adair. You’re up.”

                     Alice let out a breath she hadn’t even noticed she was holding and gave a nod of understanding. It would be inaccurate to say she was nervous—with all her training, she felt more than confident that she could handle the challenges she’d seen so far. No, what Alice felt was a sort of pre-battle jitters, the kind that come when one knows something should be doable, but is still wise enough to understand that victory is never assured. Her brain was running in overdrive, trying to anticipate what unseen alleyway defeat might try to spring from.

                     As she and Dean Blaine descended the stairs, she listened attentively to his explanation of the instructions, even though she’d seen over ten people go already. She was hoping for some explanation of how the code word she’d found would play into shutting down the Sims, but none came. That part, evidently, was also for her to figure out. It was okay; she knew there was a way, at least. Will had jumped up to be first on the chopping block without even that much assurance.

                     “Do you have any questions before you start?” Dean Blaine asked, standing outside the pair of doors with her.

                     A short, harsh bark of laughter slipped free from Alice’s lips before she could stop it. “I’m so sorry; I wasn’t trying to be rude. It just struck me as funny that you’d ask me that, because honest to God, my life seems to be nothing but questions these days.”

                     Dean Blaine looked at her with more compassion than she’d expected. For the briefest of moments, his professional, detached mask of HCP overseer slipped away, and she could see how deeply he cared for her, for all of the students in his charge. Very gently, he reached over and patted her on the shoulder. She expected a line about just doing her best, or maybe something about trusting her training. What he actually said was quite different.

                     “Your mother would have been unspeakably proud of you.”

                     Alice jerked her head up, words already trying to rush across her tongue, but Dean Blaine continued right on speaking.

                     “Yes, I knew her. She was a wonderful woman, whom you greatly resemble, and not just in your appearance. I realize that things are confusing for you right now, and I deeply wish I had the power to alleviate that confusion with answers. But sadly, I don’t have them to give, so you’ll have to settle for some advice instead. Never let the uncertainties about your life overshadow the things you do truly know. Your power is incredible, as is your devotion. Your friends would die for you without hesitation, and I suspect you feel the same toward them. Your mother loved you more than anything else in this world, and that’s saying a lot. Shelby was never one who was short on love. In times like this, when you need mental strength, focus on the truths instead of the mysteries; that’s the best advice I can give.”

                     “Thank you,” Alice said, pushing back the sudden swell of emotion that had tried to overtake her. “I think I needed to hear that.”

                     “It’s what I’m here for. Now, go forth and win. The class could use a morale boost after that last unfortunate showing.”

                     “It will be my pleasure.” Alice stepped through the door and saw the message on the screen prompting her to wait. That was fine by her; after that little talk, she could use a couple of minutes to gather herself.

                     Alice forced her heart to stop beating so fast, and her nerves to calm down. She brushed away the nagging worries and doubts that had plagued her since last year: Nick, her mother’s mystery, her father’s deceit, the secret man in her dreams. None of those things existed anymore. Not here, not now. Those were another Alice’s problems; Alice the Girl, Alice the Rich Debutante, Alice the Powered. Today, she needed to become a new Alice, one that would be able to bear the burden of idiotic odds and do impossible things. It was time for Alice the Warrior to take over, Alice the Super.

                     One day, perhaps, even Alice the Hero. She opened her eyes and saw a new message on the screen.

     Your course is now ready. You may proceed forward at any time.

     If you have anything to declare, please do so before exiting this room.

                     “Cumulonimbus.” Her voice rang out, loud and strong. For a moment, it confused her; she nearly didn’t recognize it as her own.

     First code accepted. Enter next?

                     “No, I think that’s enough. I’ll handle the rest of these the old fashioned way.”

     132.

                     Professor Pendleton felt a strange mixture of pride and frustration as he watched the first group of Sims deactivate. Even getting one of the codes was an arduous task—something he’d determined to be a passing grade for his test. He’d suspected that maybe the top students would get two of them, and in truth, he’d never anticipated any of them to crack the third. Will was turning out to be the quite the gifted student. Part of Professor Pendleton dearly wished Nick were still around, so he could pit the two against one another. But then again, perhaps he’d made the cipher too easy. Alice’s decryption skills were far from spectacular.

                     “Three students smart enough to get through the first one,” Dean Blaine said, sidling up to the professor. “Not a bad showing for your class.”

                     “Yes, but only one of them got all three,” Professor Pendleton pointed out. Alice had appeared on screen, walking toward the building, which meant she was no longer able to input any codes.

                     “I looked at that sheet,” Dean Blaine said. “Even the first one was ridiculously hard. The others may as well have said ‘genius only’ on the form. You should be proud of the crop you’ve raised.”

                     “Somehow, I suspect that when Alice is done, no one will even remember that she cleared a Subtlety goal.”

                     Dean Blaine wanted to protest, but he’d seen bits of Alice’s skill with her new power while observing Professor Hill’s class. Sean wasn’t wrong. Not in the least. “Well, we’ll remember,” he said, half-heartedly trying to comfort his old friend.

                     Professor Pendleton said nothing; he merely kept his eyes on the screen as Alice entered the outer door.

     *             *             *

                     Though she was walking, Alice’s feet rested a good three inches above the ground. She’d learned that it was easier to maintain her normal reactions when she considered herself to be air-walking rather than floating. Plus, this permitted her to be silent as breeze, while not having to bother with removing her shoes.

                     Unlike her other friends, she had no hidden skill or gift for locating the Sims in advance. She would have to rely on stealth and speed to overtake a Sim when she spotted it. Had she taken this exam a year ago, she would have likely been hoping for a miracle, or that they were easily confused by a woman flying about. As it was now, Alice felt a curious calm throughout her entire being. There was no fretting to do, or worrying to waste time on. She was in the battle now, her only options were to succeed or fail. All she could focus on was the doing.

                     At a corner, she turned and found herself staring at a Sim’s back. A dull yellow color reflected off the walls, so she could easily surmise what color its light was. With a burst of effort, she cut its gravity, leaving it to float helplessly in the air. Before it could react, though, she clamped down on its limbs, just as she had Nathaniel’s. Alice floated over to it and whispered in the spot where its ear should have been.

                     “Surrender now or I will take you down. This is your only chance.”

                     The Sim refused to power down, so Alice quickly intensified the localized gravity field around its legs, shattering them in seconds. With a hop backward, and a moment to redirect the gravity field, she slammed it down onto the ground, using what she hoped was enough force to knock it unconscious without killing it. It definitely wasn’t moving when she left, and that would have to be enough.

                     By her count, she still had five to go.

     *             *             *

                     “Thor’s tap-dancing hammer,” Violet muttered under her breath. “She has gotten a lot better since last year.”

                     “She was good enough to defeat you,” Thomas reminded her. Violet had been a bit down since her showing, clearly berating herself for not doing as well as she thought she could.

                     “True, but it was a tough fight,” Violet said. “She had trouble using that gravity ability on my arms. Now, she’s targeting limbs like it ain’t no thing.” As they spoke, Alice encountered a second guard—the last one she would find, since the other four Sims were clustered in the central room. Just as with the first, she sent it floating, and then whispered in its ear. This one, however, chose to power itself down, preventing another display of robotic limb-crushing.

                     “She’s strong,” Thomas agreed. “But so far, she hasn’t done anything a good telekinetic couldn’t, save for the self-floating.”

                     “You’re thinking too small,” Violet chastised him. “Wait until she gets to the room. Then you’ll see the difference between her power and telekinesis.”

                     “Looks like I won’t have to wait long,” Thomas said, noting that Alice was now headed directly for the room with the four waiting Sims. His assessment was correct; he wouldn’t be waiting long at all.

     *             *             *

                     Alice air-walked gracefully into the room, noting the way the four Sims were distributed around it. Two of them had red-lights, and two had yellows. She’d need to be quick about this if she wanted to avoid collateral damage. Her mind took in the area, mentally mapping it out. Her area of affect for big gravity swings was only moderate, but if her estimations were right, she should be able to handle a room this size. Fancy things like mini-constraints were off the table, though. Alice would have to rely on the basics. Thankfully, her basics were still pretty damned powerful.

                     Each Sim found itself suddenly floating upward, unable to control its trajectory. Almost simultaneously, a powerful female voice resonated through the room, reaching them easily despite their newly elevated height.

                     “Listen up, and listen good. You are all under arrest. Put your hands on your head if you don’t want trouble, and do it right the hell now. Anyone who doesn’t is going to be treated as hostile, and I promise you’re not going to like it.”

                     Alice paused for a mere smattering of heartbeats, waiting to see if any of the Sims made motions to comply with her orders. The only movement she saw was one of the red-light Sims turning its head to get a good view of her. Assuming that to be a bad thing, she decided that she’d waited long enough.

                     “Have it your way.” Alice raised her arms and narrowed her focus, seeing the whole world as nothing but angles—angles that struck through the room in all manner of directions. Since Roy got away with smashing the whole area, she hoped she wouldn’t be docked too much for busting up the walls. Her next words were barely more than a whisper, yet they still carried to every Sim clutched in her gravitational grasp.

                     “Timber, bitches.”

                     The Sims came crashing down, slamming into the ground at a forty-five degree angle. Before they could react, they were moving again, this time smashing into a wall nearly halfway to the roof. Then they were hitting the roof, then another wall, then the floor again; light, humanoid pinballs with glowing lights in their center. Each impact was enough to damage them, but not enough to destroy them, and the constant shifts made it impossible for any of them to actually formulate a counterattack.

                     It took a full minute of this assault before the final Sim powered down. Alice lowered all four of them gently to the floor, then turned and looked up to where she knew the camera would be staring down at her. Unable to help herself, she gave an exaggerated wink and blew a kiss, then turned and walked out of the room with her head held high.

     133.

                    Alice gave Professor Pendleton a wry look as she walked by, all but daring him to comment on the surely surprising fact that she’d managed to use one of his precious code words. The teacher said nothing, merely giving her a blank-faced nod as she sauntered back over to her group of friends, surrounded by some polite applause and a lot of uncertain stares. Though the people in the Control course had seen some of Alice’s power, and Violet had experienced it first-hand, much of the class had still been in the dark about the extent of her abilities. After the show she’d just put on, that was now far from the case.

                     “‘Timber, bitches’?” Mary asked as her blonde friend came within earshot. “That sounds like something Roy would say.”

                     “No, it . . . yeah, actually I can see that,” Roy agreed.

                     “So I’m new to the witty banter, I’ll work on it. There’s bound to be a class covering quipping during senior year,” Alice said. She embraced her best friend in a quick hug, more for physical support than emotional. Though she’d done well suppressing her nerves, the strain was still there, and now that that adrenaline was fading from her system, she found herself having difficulty standing without allowing her legs to sway.

                     Though the friends were chatting, the rest of the room continued with the business at hand. Professor Cole reached a bandage-wrapped hand into the jar and produced a slip of paper with a name on it: “Adam Riley.” Her voice was as powerful as ever, and Adam stepped forward before the sound of his name had finished ringing in his ears.

                     “Adam,” Dean Blaine said. “Do you need to grab any weaponry before we head down?”

                     “Not off the rack, no. I do have a question, though.”

                     “By all means,” Dean Blaine said. He had a suspicion he already knew where this was going, but if Adam wanted it, then he was going to have to work for it.

                     “You’ve said this is supposed to be a real-life situation, right? I’d be out, patrolling the streets, and then I’d get the call and have to go into the building. That’s the scenario we’re working with?”

                     “Correct.”

                     “Then I have an issue, because I obviously wouldn’t be patrolling as myself,” Adam said. “I’m a mimic, and without another Super’s abilities to draw from, I’d be useless. It stands to reason that I would have someone else’s form if I was out doing Hero work, presumably someone from my team, or from my teacher, if I was still in my intern days. I’d like to be allowed to copy someone before I go down.”

                     Dean Blaine had been right about what Adam wanted, and it was actually a fair request. It would be an idiotic mimic indeed who went on patrol without borrowed abilities. Even if they encountered a Super to steal from, the time without powers represented a tremendous amount of risk that could cause them to be injured. This situation was even worse, since Adam wouldn’t be able to steal any abilities from the Sims. Still, there were practical limitations that had to be addressed.

                     “Your assessment is correct,” Dean Blaine agreed. “But, for the sake of realism, let us say that this incident is coming at the end of the night, the last legs of your patrol. Would you still have the borrowed form from your teammate at that time?”

                     “I feel confident I would,” Adam said. “I can easily stay in a form for eight or nine hours, and if I really push myself, I’ve held it as long as twelve.”

                     Dean Blaine cast a quick glance to Professor Fletcher and Professor Baker, both of whom nodded their agreement with Adam’s self-analysis. When the boy had first arrived, he’d maxed himself out at six hours, but clearly, he was pushing himself hard to have stretched his limits to such an extent.

                     “Very well, then we can assume you kept your form. The question that remains now is what form would you have? You speculated that it would be from a team member, someone who trusts you enough to wear their face and power for eight to twelve unsupervised hours. That is no mean feat, even amongst team members. I’d say it requires the same amount of kindness or trust that would also be needed to allow you to use their form for an exam, knowing that, without it, you will not be much competition. To that effect, you may assume a form, but only from someone in this room who is willing to volunteer it up. Everyone who will let Adam mimic them, please step forward.”

                     The room grew silent as the students stared at Adam in a new light. One less competitor off the bat, one less person fighting for the fifteen spots to move on to the next year . . . it was incredibly tempting to just let Adam flounder about on his own. For a moment, it seemed that no one would agree, and Adam would face those towering robots as nothing more than his very human self. When someone did finally step forward, Adam breathed a sigh of relief, which was quickly drowned out by the gasps of shock from the others.

                     “He may mimic me, if he is so inclined,” Chad said, walking out of the crowd.

                     “You’re sure about that?” Dean Blaine asked. “You realize that your abilities are some of the highest ranked in the class.”

                     “I do not believe Adam to be capable of using my abilities to their fullest without my years of training,” Chad replied. “However, if he can do so, then he belongs in this program. I have no interest in victories earned through default. I want all of us to do our best and be judged fairly on it. Only then can those who are truly the best become Heroes.”

                     “Chad’s right. Adam, you can mimic me if you want,” Vince said, stepping forward.

                     “Well, we are friends, I guess I can give you this,” Allen said. “I know Terrance would offer too, if he weren’t in the infirmary.”

                     In the end, Adam had Chad, Vince, Allen, Roy, Adam, Thomas, and Violet. More certainly would have volunteered, but after seeing so many of the heavy hitters go up, it seemed almost pointless. Besides, not a lot of the women were terribly keen on the idea of lending an acquaintance their body, even if it was only temporary.

                     Adam took his time in choosing the right fit. Chad seemed the obvious pick, but his assessment had been spot on: Chad’s power wasn’t nearly as useful to someone without his training and knowledge. Vince was a tempting pick too, but since it seemed unlikely that Adam would also mimic his store of energy, it was a dangerous gambit. Roy and Violet were straight brawlers, and this exam had shown their limitation in engaging with stealth. In the end, it was between Allen and Thomas, and Adam had to go with the one who’d put on the best show so far.

                     Adam gently put his hand on the back of Thomas’s arm, and within a few seconds, Thomas was staring at an identical copy of himself, albeit one whose clothes didn’t quite fit properly. Thomas did have a few inches of height and wider shoulders than Adam, after all.

                     “I really appreciate this,” Thomas-Adam said.

                     “It is the proper thing to do,” Thomas replied. “Now, do my powers proud. I wish you luck . . . just not too much.”

     134.

                     Adam, with the obvious help of having Thomas’s body, was able to put on a strong showing. It wasn’t quite as good as Thomas had done with his own abilities; however, it still put him ahead of the weakest members of the class.

                     After he returned, immediately resuming his own form, Selena Wilkins was called to take on the exam. Whatever bouts of hesitation and kindness she might have shown Alex during their matches was entirely absent as she stepped into the building. The sound for her match was muted in advance, meaning the students could only see her mouth hanging open as she flooded the area with an entrancing song. The Sims began powering down, one by one, as she strode confidently through the halls. In the end, only two were able to resist her song of slumber, and both were in the cluster room. Selena’s face grew hard, and her melody clearly changed. Instead of falling asleep, the two remaining Sims began to fight one another, delivering blow after blow until both were too broken to continue.

                     Selena returned to wide, uncertain eyes gazing at her, along with a bit of dull applause. It was easy to forget how potent an enchantress could really be when she put her mind to it. This day had put the capabilities of many students into perspective, and the exam still had three students to go.

                     “Camille Belden,” Dean Blaine called, the jar having come back around to him. “You’re next.”

                     Camille took a deep breath, managing to push away her natural shy tendencies, and stepped forward. Though still clad in her standard gray HCP uniform, the new outfit Will had designed for her was underneath. She knew she’d have to shed the outer layer soon, but she wanted to delay that part for as long as possible.

                     “Will there be a place for me to get changed down there?” Camille asked.

                     “Yes, you’ll have several moments to yourself while the course is being reset,” Dean Blaine said. “Would you like to get any weaponry before you go?”

                     To the surprise of nearly everyone in the room, Camille gave a quick nod and headed over to the weapons rack. She pulled off a sleeve of throwing daggers like the ones Chad had used, as well as a small knife with a sheath and belt. With those resting in her arms, she walked back over to Dean Blaine.

                     “I see you’ve already guessed what I was going to tell you.” He gazed down at the diminutive girl, whose eyes showed none of the uncertainty her body refused to entirely mask.

                     “Seemed obvious, if we’re doing real-life situations,” Camille said.

                     The rest of the class stared at the two of them, and Dean Blaine shot her a questioning look. Camille replied with the softest tilt of her head, permission to explain the part of the trial that would apply only to her.

                     “Though the Sims are all robot parts, the criminals they are portraying are not. They would be flesh and blood, and with flesh and blood comes modesty. To that effect, for Ms. Belden’s trial the Sims will be clothed in T-shirts, jeans, and footwear.”

                     “Why only clothe them for hers?” Rich asked.

                     “Because she is the only one for whom it matters. Just as we told you the Sims will react to your eyes, and you saw them taken out by Ms. Wilkins song, they will also be affected by Ms. Belden’s touch. That touch requires specific conditions, and as with all of you, we are striving to create a situation that is as realistic as possible.” Dean Blaine turned back to Camille, who was waiting patiently. “If you’re ready, we can go down.”

                     “I’m ready.” Camille cast one last glance over to her friends as she was heading out the door. Thomas and Violet were giving her thumbs-up signs, while Jill and Will were silently smiling. The Melbrook crew was more demonstrative in their affections—Alex and Mary both clapping loudly, while Roy let out a wolf-whistle, which earned him a punch in the arm from Alice. As for Vince, he met her eyes in that brief glance, smiled widely, and mouthed three words just as she passed through the door and into the stairwell.

                     She and Dean Blaine walked slowly down as he outlined the rules for her, being just as detailed and careful as he had with Will so many matches ago. Though it was undeniably repetitive, it was also a crucial part of his duty as dean. Each student’s exam was important, just as each student was important. They all deserved the best shot they could get.

                     “And then you’ll go through the door. Any questions?”

                     “Just one. Professor Stone told you about my new outfit, right?” Camille had taken no chances in the days leading up to the exam, going so far as to have her Focus professor verify that she was still able to use her ability through the fabric of her special suit. At the time, she’d felt a bit paranoid, but as soon as she laid eyes on the robots, she’d felt a huge wave of relief about the preparation.

                     “She did, and we’ve accounted for it in the Sims reaction programming,” Dean Blaine said. “Any touch, even ones on your fabric, will trigger a reaction, just as if you’d used your ability on them. The same is obviously not true for their clothing, however.”

                     “So I gathered. Thank you, that’s all I needed.” Camille walked into the door without any more discussion, taking note of the message on the screen to wait. That was fine by her. She started the process of removing her outer uniform, revealing the blue material beneath. When that was done, she attached the throwing knives around her left bicep and slung the belt across her hips so that the dagger was resting against her right leg. This way, she hoped, even if one arm was pinned, she would still be able to get to a weapon.

                     When she was at last dressed down and geared up, the message telling her to wait was still there, meaning she had to sit and stew until it was go time. Her mind went back, unbidden, to that final moment leaving the room. Her friends were cheering for her sincerely, something that still amazed Camille in this environment where one person’s success meant another’s failure. The longer she thought about them, the more she was unable to keep from seeing Vince and his parting words.

                     In all her time at Lander, Camille had been holding herself back. For strategy, most of the time, and partly out of fear that Vince would recognize her. This exam was the first time that she had neither excuse to use. The whole class knew about the other side of her abilities, Vince had figured out her identity, and she was going against beings where there was no cause to worry about hurting anyone. This was the first exam in her Lander career where her only viable strategy was to go all out, using her offense to its fullest. She’d only realized that earlier in the day, when the trial was announced. Evidently, it had struck Vince as well, judging by what he’d mouthed to her.

                     She’d expected something like “do your best,” or “believe in yourself,” but neither of those were what Vince had said. Instead, he’d given the sort of encouragement that he would only show someone whose fighting abilities he truly respected:

                     “Kick some ass.”

                     Camille hadn’t needed to be told such a thing; she’d already planned on going in and doing exactly that. It did fill her with a bit of pride and excitement though, and she held on to those feelings as the screen changed and her trial began in earnest. No more subterfuge, no more hiding. Today, Camille Belden was going to show the entire class what her powers were fully capable of.

     135.

                    Camille’s movements were nearly soundless, her small body finally working to her advantage as she padded along the hallway in her bare feet. Briefly, she’d considered keeping her boots on, since she was unlikely to touch someone with her feet anyway, and broken glass or stepped-on toes were a serious hazard in a situation like this. Ultimately, she’d decided to risk it, both for the benefit of silent movement and because “unlikely” wasn’t the same as “impossible.” Smashed feet, she could heal, but a missed opportunity was gone forever.

                     Without any sort of detection abilities, Camille was flying blind as she treaded carefully along. At every sound, her heart jumped a few inches closer to her throat, only to sink down again when no threat materialized. Moving her hand slowly, she pulled out one of the throwing knives from the sheath on her arm. There was zero chance that she could replicate Chad’s strategy of smashing the lights, though. She had better odds of smashing through the roof like Roy had. Still, she did have a bit of a long-shot idea, if it came down to it.

                     A corner loomed on the horizon, and Camille approached it at the achingly slow speed of bureaucracy. Using the reflective surface of the small knife, she angled it and peeked into the new territory. Sure enough, there was a Sim only a few feet ahead of her, yellow light blazing in its chest. The upside was that it didn’t seem aware of her presence, but the downside was that it was facing her direction and showed no signs of turning.

                     Pulling back the blade, Camille weighed her options. She could try and find another route and sneak around behind it, but that risked both time and the possibility of encountering another Sim. If she took it out here and now, then it was gone, and that was one less opponent to worry about. If she tried to leave it for later, then she might accidentally raise a ruckus and see it come to her. No, her best bet was to handle the Sim now. Without the element of surprise, and with no clue what its power was, she’d need to find a way to close the gap.

                     In the blade’s reflection, a curiously wicked smile could be seen on Camille’s face. She hadn’t managed to keep her true power a secret for so long without being good at subterfuge. After all the matches she’d watched so far, she’d learned one very important detail: they didn’t know the Sims’ powers, but it was clear the Sims didn’t know theirs either.

                     Camille dashed around the corner, running at full speed toward the Sim in front of her. It was wearing a tank-top and jeans, leaving its large arms entirely exposed. It registered her presence and prepared to attack, but Camille struck before it got the chance.

                     “Explosion Blade!” Camille said, keeping her voice loud enough to be heard, but soft enough that she hoped it wouldn’t echo. As she spoke, she hurled the throwing knife in her hand at her opponent. She might not be able to take out a target as small as a light, but a six-foot-tall robot was well within her skills. The knife hurtled forward, right on target, until the Sim leapt aside. It wasn’t a giant amount of movement, but it was enough to let a small, springing girl draw in a little too close.

                     The Sim felt a hand wrap around its forearm as the blade clattered harmlessly off the wall behind it. There was no explosion of any sort, and it stared down at the woman clutching its arm in temporary confusion.

                     “Gotcha,” Camille said, giving it a pleasant grin. At that, the Sim powered down, and Camille had one less opponent on the field.

     *             *             *

                     “Did she just fucking bluff a robot?” Roy said, mouth half-agape as he watched Camille sneak away in search of a new target. She did pause to pick up her throwing knife though, clearly intent on using that trick again, if needed.

                     “It makes sense,” Alice said. “They went after Vince with electrical attacks because they didn’t know he could absorb them, at least at first. Sims kept trying to punch you, even though you were tougher than all of them. They don’t seem to know what our abilities are.”

                     “Hmm. I suspect we will not have it so easy on future exams,” Chad speculated. He paused as, on screen, Camille managed to sneak up on the next Sim and power it down without a fight. “In the real world, Heroes are well-known and almost certainly tracked by criminals. This is the sort of advantage we would only have at the beginning of our careers.”

                     “I wonder if they did it on purpose, so that anyone who doesn’t realize that will be caught by surprise the next time we take a test like this,” Vince said. He’d begun to understand that being in a constant state of uncertainty was evidently part of their training. After seeing the sort of situations they’d be facing, he could appreciate his teachers for building that into the curriculum.

                     “Wouldn’t surprise me one bit,” Roy said. His eyes followed the small Super as she came upon a third guard. This one managed to get a punch off, but Camille grabbed on to its fist and forced it to power down. She seemed to be having trouble breathing when she stood back up, however, after a few moments, all signs of the injury vanished. “That healing ability comes in damn handy.”

                     “It does,” Mary said. “I just hope it will be enough.”

                     The others wordlessly agreed with her, as they watched Camille meander through the halls. She didn’t know it yet, but she wouldn’t find any more Sims filling the guard role. In every match, the numbers were randomized, placing some in the halls, while others waited in a central room. For those with no stealth, like Roy, having a high number of concentrated enemies was a good thing, but to the physically frail ones, it presented a large challenge. In that, Camille had gotten unlucky.

                     She had six Sims all standing around in a room, waiting to beat the hell out of her.

     136.

                    It didn’t take a brilliant mind to figure out that if there were only three Sims in the halls, then there had to be six waiting in the central room. Camille possessed more than enough intelligence to make that deduction, and as she surveyed the familiar hallway for the third time, she arrived at that inescapable conclusion. She’d actually found the entrance to the main room already, but rather than going in, she’d double-checked all the hallways first. Once the brawl began, her worst enemy was a Sim attacking from a distance. Plus, deep in her heart, she’d been hoping to encounter at least one more, so that her cluster number would be five. That hope slowly wasted away as hall after hall met her with felled opponents and empty space. In the end, there was no denying it: she was going up against six Sims simultaneously.

                     By her count, four would be yellow-light Sims, and two would be red-light. Since her ability could harmlessly take down any of these opponents without registering a kill, that meant the lights would only affect her prioritization of targets. She pulled the dagger into her left hand and took a throwing knife in her right. The reds had to go first. If she could manage that, she should at least be able to post a decent score.

                     Camille crept up to the room’s entrance and peeked around the corner. The Sims were spread out, but not overly so. There was a small group of three not too far from the door—one red and two yellows. If she could get to them first, taking out half the threats in the room, it would make handling the rest far easier. The trick would be to close the gap. Her same bluff wouldn’t work, they’d all dodge in different directions, making them harder to hit. No, for this one, she was going to have to lean on a classic.

                     Clutching the throwing knife loosely in her hand, Camille leaned through the doorway and whipped it across the room. It landed in the far corner, pinging off the wall and making a modest ruckus. The Sims eyes all instinctively turned toward the sound, and Camille took off, running toward the group as quickly as she could. As she sprinted, it occurred to her for the first time why running seemed to be such a sizable foundation of the HCP regime. In each of their exams, every student ended up doing a hell of a lot of it. She was grateful for all that training, though, as her legs pumped, speeding her across the rough, concrete floor. Camille was a flurry of bare footsteps and whipping short hair. She was as fast as she could hope to be.

                     She just wasn’t fast enough.

                     As she neared the group, the red-light Sim turned around and noticed her. If it had struck visibly, then she might have had time to dodge it. Unfortunately, this one replicated the abilities of an earth elementalist, and it activated remote machines beneath her feet. The concrete shattered as she was flung skyward, a large chunk of rock jutting up from where she’d been standing. Camille came down hard, fracturing her hip bone so badly it nearly took away her breath. Before she could recover, the red-light Sim was staring down at her, its large robotic hands raised high overhead as it prepared to crush her delicate body. The knife was gone, sent careening into who-knew-where when she was tripped, and the Sim had on thick boots and dark pants. Without any way to touch its outer shell, she was as helpless as a human.

     *             *             *

                     “Get out of there, lil girl,” Roy said, fists clenched tight as he stared at the screen. “Roll, jump, do something.”

                     “They won’t actually let that thing hurt her, right?” Alice asked.

                     “Terrance got beaten half-senseless before they called his exam,” Mary reminded her. “They want to give us the chance to recover before they say we’re out.”

                     “She’s going to be fine.” Vince was watching the screen so intently he may as well have been trying to light it on fire. “Camille can do this. I know she can.”

                     He’d barely gotten the words out when the Sim finally struck, bringing down a pair of hands so large that when they hit Camille, they obscured her completely. There was a thud, a muffled scream, and then silence.

     *             *             *

                     Broken sternum. Bruised spine. Ribs too shattered to account for. Hip still fractured. God only knew what kind of damage to her organs. The pain, oh fucking hell, the pain. She nearly blacked out, then had to push down the blood-filled vomit that was clawing its way up her throat. Camille was a crushed, broken, bloody mess.

                     But she was smiling.

                     Her red-toothed grin came not from any sort of sadomasochism, but because she’d managed to grab that big, dumb, powerful red-light Sim’s fist with her hand when it came down. It’s bare, unclothed hand. She didn’t have long until the other Sims realized something was wrong, and she needed to be back in fighting shape. Beneath the unexpected protection and concealment of its massive metallic hands, Camille began absorbing the damage out of her body and into whatever strange space her ability kept it in. There wasn’t nearly enough time for a complete recovery, but the bones reformed as if they’d never been pulverized, and her organs slid back into their proper places.

                     Around her, she heard the soft scuff of feet moving toward her. The others were coming to see what had happened. That was an unexpected bonus, a silver-lining to the cloud of horror she’d just suffered. For the briefest of moments, her head swam, and suddenly, she felt like she was eight years old and curled up on the ground again. She was small, she was scared, and she was surrounded. But she wouldn’t let today end like all those days in her childhood. Now, things were different; she understood that some evil wouldn’t back down until it was stood up to. And this time, she wasn’t waiting for some mysterious young boy to come along and save her. This time, Camille would be the one standing up.

                     The sounds of movement finally came to a stop, and Camille struck.

                     In one motion, Camille rolled out from under the frozen fist, pushed off with her arms, putting her into a runner’s stance, and vaulted up from the ground at the nearest Sim she could see. It was a yellow-light, one that clearly hadn’t been expecting a downed opponent to suddenly jump at it. It raised its arms in defense—beautiful, bare metallic arms that Camille grabbed on to as if she were snatching a life-raft while stuck at sea. The Sim immediately powered down, and Camille realized there was another right by it. Without pausing to think, and still hanging off the first Sim’s arms, she delivered a quick kick directly to its temple. Only as it was powering down did Camille realize that this one had been letting off the glow of a red-light.

                     She dropped to the ground, spinning on her heel and facing the remaining three yellow-light Sims. For the first time since she was under the large Sim’s fists, she allowed herself to breathe. This fight was far from over, but three yellows was a damn sight better than six total.

                     “All right boys, who’s up for a little tag?”

     137.

                    When Camille stepped back into the room, the dark streaks of blood staining her face and hair were the only signs of what she’d endured in the exam. Even her body was masked, thanks to re-donning her usual uniform. Gone was the brutal woman who had managed to slay a cluster of six Sims using only her touch. Instead, she was the girl the whole class had thought they knew, smiling meekly as she walked back over to Violet and Thomas. She was going to need a very long shower when this was all said and done, but otherwise, she couldn’t have been happier with the showing she’d managed to put on.

                     It was Dean Blaine’s turn to draw a name, and he did so easily, as there were only two slips of paper remaining in the jar. With quick hands, he snared one, pulled it out, and announced the name.

                     “Rich Weaver.”

                     Rich stepped forward immediately, a smug smile on his face. He’d been awaiting a situation like this for the past two years. The HCP had all these little tests and trials pitting him against unlikely circumstances, all designed to obscure what he considered a person’s real capability. The truth of the matter was that Rich believed his ability to be the most useful in the entire class. Sure, Chad and Roy could punch through concrete, and Shane could call up his little shadow attacks, but Rich could lock down opponents with nothing more than a single glance. Who could possibly defend against a thing like that? Of course, there were exceptions, like Chad or Dean Blaine, but it was to be expected in the world of Supers. That’s what the rest of the team would be for—batting clean-up on the few anomalies.

                     “Do you require any weaponry?”

                     “Just my staff.” Rich patted the weapon he’d buckled to his back, though he didn’t imagine he would actually need to use it. He’d drop the whole gang without lifting a finger. Still, Professor Cole was a terrifying woman whose class he was in until the end of the year. No need to insult her by leaving his weapon behind.

                     “Very well, then. Follow me.” The two headed out of the room and into the stairwell that all the students, save for Mary, had already walked.

                     “This is going to be a cakewalk for him, isn’t it?” Alice said, turning her attention to the monitors. “Like Selena’s enchanting, all over again.”

                     “Perhaps, perhaps not,” Chad said. “Rich’s ability is very potent. It may be one of the more powerful I’ve ever seen in terms of real-world application. Unfortunately, he is keenly aware of that fact and often gets lost in the sense of superiority it provides him.”

                     “It’s a damn useful power, but it don’t mean shit if the person using it can’t keep his head in the game,” Roy summarized.

                     “Especially if one of the Sims manages to take him by surprise,” Vince added. Unbidden, a slight smile came to his mouth as he recalled Nick using exactly that strategy the year before. He wondered how his friend would have done on this exam, if he were still around. Surely he’d have come up with some outlandish and unexpected tactic for victory, all while shooting off his mouth at inappropriate moments. Vince missed Nick dearly, and looked forward to seeing him that night. Perhaps they’d tell him about their day, and he would be relieved not to have had to undertake the grueling task.

                     If nothing else, at least Nick could revel in the fact that his time enduring such tests and trials had passed.

     *             *             *

                     Nick and Nicholas emerged at the same time, a fact which both had come to expect by this point. The memory they’d walked through was the most recent one before the divide, the only one from Lander they’d gone into: blackmailing Rich into hypnotizing Vince so that he could let his real power out. Nicholas had been a bit shocked by the experience—this was one Nick had never had the chance to give him notes on—but for Nick, it had been a rather pleasant memory. He was proud of what he’d pulled off that day; not just of what he’d accomplished, but of finding the strength inside to put a friend’s well-being over his own.

                     The tunnel had ended, and now they were in an open, frozen landscape. Though the floor was snow and ice, neither had difficulty moving as they walked. Around them was an oddly familiar sensation, something almost impossible to pin down, yet inescapable at the same time. Nick couldn’t have placed it easily, but Nicholas was far more accustomed to the feeling this place provoked.

                     “I believe we’re at the block in your memory,” Nicholas said. “This is the ice that obscures the information I try and access, or at least a mental representation of how it seems to me.”

                     “This dream just keeps getting more interesting,” Nick said, eyes sweeping the terrain carefully. In front of them was a single chunk of ice sticking up, just a little higher than their knees. Aside from it, the entire landscape was utterly barren. He began approaching the ice-block carefully, noting that Nicholas was shadowing a few steps behind him.

                     “Oh yes, revisiting our many crimes and sins from the past. Such a thrill.”

                     “Personally, I found it refreshing to see our skill and techniques grow, like watching a montage made just for us,” Nick said.

                     “I highly doubt that was what we were supposed to take from the experience,” Nicholas said. The two were drawing closer to the chunk of ice now, near enough to see it had no recognizable shape, aside from jagged ice.

                     “Are you bothered by who we are?” Nick asked.

                     “Are you not?” Nicholas shot back.

                     They stared at each other for a moment, and Nick felt a strange tickle in his mind as a new thought tried to bloom. Unfortunately, before it had the chance, something very distracting occurred.

                     From the chunk of ice came two enormous chains and cuffs, one snapping around Nick’s right ankle and one around Nicholas’s left. Each link in the ice chain was as thick around as one of their forearms, and the cuffs seemed to seal completely when they locked, as if they’d been one solid piece the entire time.

                     “You have learned nothing. You have repented for nothing. You have experienced no growth whatsoever.”

                     The image of Professor Stone was back, and this time, she didn’t look nearly so cheery.

                     “You were given the chance to regain yourself, to experience your memories with new clarity and see how you became the man you are today. With that knowledge, you could have made a new path, become someone worthy of carrying around the memories of Heroes. But you have done nothing. Changed nothing.”

                     The image blurred slightly, and a disturbing sound began to fill the air. The ground splintered as new ice grew up from it, moving slowly but unmistakably. It was coming up all around them in a perfect circle, with Nick and Nicholas trapped in the center.

                     “You have failed.”

     138.

                    For most of Rich’s match, it seemed his ability was going to work out exactly as he’d predicted. He walked briskly through the halls, clearing his throat when he encountered a Sim to make it look his way. Each one immediately shut down as their mechanical eyes made contact with his Super ones. As he made his way into the room with five Sims clustered together, he seemed like a lock for easiest take-down since Will. Rich stepped in, saw the various opponents, and struck the ground with his staff to draw their attention.

                     Rich did manage to get three of the Sims with this technique; however, two of them didn’t bother to look him in his eyes. That was because they were targeting his center of mass. He managed to dodge the jolt of green electricity, but the blast of compressed air took him by surprise and sent him sprawling. Rich scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, making it up just in time to see another strike of electricity coming his way. This time, he wasn’t able to get away, and he slammed into the nearby wall as his consciousness faded away. As he crumpled to the floor, the Sims’ protocols kicked in, and they retreated.

                     There was no need to bother with a downed opponent.

                     While Rich was taken to the infirmary after some quick on-the-spot healing to make sure he was stable, the rest of the students in the room began to turn and look at Mary. With only one slip of paper left in the jar, it didn’t take a giant leap to figure out who the last examinee would be.

                     “Mary Smith,” Dean Blaine said, looking over at her. “By process of elimination, you are the last remaining student. Do you require any weaponry before we begin?”

                     “No, thank you,” Mary replied. “I feel comfortable going in with just my abilities.” She gave her friends a hurried smile as she walked over to the dean. They didn’t even look slightly worried; most were eager at best. She’d been number one among the girls in the first year and number two ever since the ranks were combined, so it wasn’t as though anyone expected Mary to be easily overcome. In fact, they were expecting a hell of a good show out of her.

                     “Follow me,” Dean Blaine said, leading his final student of the day down the stairwell. He laid out the rules for her as they walked, carefully covering each aspect of the trial in the same detail he’d used with the others. For her, however, there was an additional addendum, the same one he’d had to give to Alex.

                     “As a telepath, I’m certain you were able to dredge up the code words from the Subtlety students. The system, however, will not recognize them from you. It is keyed to only allow such entries from students enrolled in the Subtlety program.”

                     “I sort of figured as much,” Mary said. “Plus, that would be cheating, and I get the feeling that using any kind of tricks in this exam only really cheats me out of the experience.”

                     “You always have been one of the more perceptive members of your class,” Dean Blaine complimented.

                     “But, that leads me to a question. People can’t use abilities that work on technology, because we’re supposed to treat these Sims like humans. That leaves me at a significant disadvantage, since my ability won’t work on robots. If they really were human, I could read their minds and find their positions.” Mary wasn’t accusatory with her words; in fact, she was smiling and had a bit of a gleam to her eye.

                     “Mr. Griffen managed to make it work.”

                     “We both know Alex and I have different abilities,” Mary said. “Just so we’re clear though, there’s nothing wrong with going outside the box?”

                     “Mary, you’ve been in this program for two and half years now. If you haven’t realized that out-of-the-box is where you should be spending most of your time, then nothing I say is going to help you.” Dean Blaine gave her a slight grin of his own. “Any more questions?”

                     “No, that pretty much takes care of it.”

                     “Then proceed forward, and I wish you the best of luck.”

     *                             *                             *

                     “Pretty sure luck isn’t going to get us out of this,” Nicholas said, jerking on the ice chain and trying to find an angle with better leverage.

                     “If you have a better idea, I’d love to hear it,” Nick replied. His eyes glowed beneath the sunglasses, calling up all the positive luck he could manage. As he worked, he also kept an eye on the growing ice around them. It was moving slowly, but steadily. He’d have tried to gauge how long they had left, but time was meaningless in this place.

                     “Try and break these damn chains. With the two of us—”

                     “With the two of us, we’ll accomplish nothing,” Nick snapped. “Those things would be tough for Roy to break; you and I aren’t going to do crap.”

                     Nicholas gave up struggling for a moment, pausing to reassess his best angle of attack. “Do you think she really meant it?”

                     Nick needed no clarification. After her announcement that they’d failed the test, the image of Professor Stone had informed them in no uncertain terms what that meant. Even as he watched the ice grow, her words echoed in his head.

                     “You will both be sealed here, as will all recovered memories from your time at Lander. A full-wipe is occurring, and when it is done, it will be as if Nicholas Campbell never set foot on the Lander campus. All memories of time in the Hero Certification Program will be forever sealed.”

                     “I don’t think she locked us up down here with a bluff,” Nick said. “But I also don’t think it’s as cut and dry as she made it seem. If she was just going to finish the wipe she started, then why all the theatrics? No, we probably didn’t do what she wanted in the memories, but I’m pretty sure it’s not over quite yet.”

                     “Then why aren’t you helping me try to break free?”

                     “Why should we double down on the same method? There are two of us, but we’re nearly identical in most ways. Odds are slim one of us will figure out a trick the other doesn’t, so it makes more sense to try different tactics.”

                     “You don’t even know if you’re really using our powers,” Nicholas pointed out. “We’re in a dream. It’s possible that the real body isn’t calling up any luck at all.”

                     “I know,” Nick said.

                     “Then why are you still bothering to try?”

                     “Come on, since when have we minded taking a long shot?” Nick ran his fingers through his hair as he fought back the growing headache from constant power-use. Even if he was actually doing nothing, he still refused to let himself give up. Nick Campbell might go down, but it would not be softly or gently. He’d go down fighting until the end. It was what any of the others would have done.

                     “Even if it’s working, how is luck going to pull us out of this?”

                     “I haven’t the foggiest of ideas,” Nick admitted. “But we’ve never been able to control luck beyond deciding if it’s good or bad. Just because I don’t see a way, doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”

                     “When did you get so stupidly optimistic?”

                     Nick smiled and continued his work. His doppelganger didn’t know it, but he’d just paid Nick an oddly endearing compliment.

     139.

                    As Mary headed toward the outside of the fake building, keenly aware of the various mechanical adversaries awaiting her inside, she forced herself to remain calm and centered. What she was doing would require splitting her concentration in various directions; she couldn’t afford to waste mental capacity on pointless things like fear. Mary moved slowly, determined not to make too much noise and give herself away by accident. With every step, she extended her telepathic senses, searching for the minds she needed. If the Sims were real people, then they would be who she was looking for, gathering information about their positions, capabilities, and perhaps even whether they were inclined to surrender. Sadly, she was not going to be able to get such data from their heads.

                     But, lucky for her, there were human minds nearby that were still accessible.

                     Mary skimmed the thoughts of her peers as they watched her and, more importantly, the Sims on the various monitors stocked throughout the observation room. Their keen eyes and focused minds made her task all the easier; they were thinking about almost nothing besides her and the impending battle. By the time she reached the door of the building, Mary not only had a reasonable idea of the building’s layout, but also of each Sims relative position in it. She was dealing with four independent guard units—two reds and two yellows—with the other five remaining clustered together in the central room.

                     Her light form gracefully stepped into the hallway and began moving across the floor. There was a red-light Sim not too far from her current location that she wanted to neutralize first. Mary strode with purpose, never wavering or bothering to hide. The others were confused by this, wondering how she was navigating without the aid of her telepathy. Only Alex, Amber, and Shane had figured it out. Well, it was possible Chad knew as well, but being unable to read his mind made it impossible for Mary to tell. It was a pity; she would have loved to overhear his tactical analysis as she moved through the various encounters.

                     The first Sim was facing away from her, just as she knew it would be. Though she loathed taking a page from another student’s book, even one she respected as much as Alice, there was simply no getting around a certain amount of ability similarity. Mary grabbed the Sim in a crushing, telekinetic grip, lifting it off the ground and pinning its arms and legs just as her tall blonde roommate had done. Of course, only the results were the same; the methods employed to achieve them were drastically different.

                     “As a presumed innocent civilian, I would like to offer you the chance to surrender. If you do not take that chance, I’ll have to assume you mean to do me harm and immobilize you by any means necessary.”

                     The Sim’s eyes sparked, and a strange blue glow began to surge across its torso. What that glow might have done would forever remain a mystery to Mary and the watching students. As soon as it manifested, Mary tightened the telekinetic grip from a hold to a crushing force. Within seconds, the Sim had caved in on itself, shattered limbs and inward-bent torso being set carefully on the ground as the red light in its chest dimmed.

                     Mary was a bit surprised at how the others seemed taken aback by her ruthless display of destruction, their thoughts bubbling up so quickly that it threatened to become a distraction. Really though, how did they expect her to discern what the proper amount of force was for crippling and not killing without a little trial and error? That was why she’d targeted the red-light Sim in the first place; if she crushed too hard, at least it wouldn’t take away from her score.

                     Walking toward the next Sim—another red-light, just to be safe—it occurred to Mary that perhaps she was the one being a bit too detached from the experience. Yes, they were just robots, but they were supposed to represent people. Then again, even if that were true, the human equivalent of a red-light Sim who refused to surrender might require killing to stop as well. A little detachment might be healthy, if she were able to hold on to it once she was in the real world.

                     Mary nearly stopped in her tracks. Was she really trying to convince herself that it would be okay to be detached about the idea of killing? That was ridiculous; she was just trying to get around facing how much having to take a real human life would bother her. This was self-obfuscation; nothing more than a trick. It was the sort of thing Nick would have inflicted on her himself, had he been there.

                     As Mary’s mind inadvertently centered on her absent friend, she unconsciously reached out as she had when he lived near her, groping for his mind to see what mischief the sunglasses-clad con man was up to. Of course, Nick no longer lived mere feet away, nor was he up in the observation room looking down on her. No, Nick was in his bed, in his apartment, nearly four miles from where Mary was currently standing.

                     This time, Mary did stop, her whole body freezing as if she’d heard a Sim sneaking up behind her. Her breath became short, and her eyes grew wide, momentarily losing that honed concentration she’d been so intent on establishing. She stayed like that for nearly a full minute before moving again, this time, with a hurried gait as she cut a direct path toward the next Sim in her way.

                     Nick was so far away from her . . . but Mary hadn’t spent nearly eighteen years as an uncontrolled telepath without gaining a little something from the experience. Though she’d reined in her listening since becoming a Super, she still possessed a range almost unmatched by any other telepath in the world.

                     She needed to finish this test as quickly as possible. Nick was on a short clock, and there was no way to know how long he had. Mary wasn’t even sure what she’d be able to do for him.

                     She just knew she had to try.

     140.

                    Mary’s face was stoic as she emerged from the stairwell, a few singe marks on her uniform, as well as a torn coat. She’d wanted to be graceful and precise in her strategy, showing she had more than raw telekinetic strength. The sudden time crunch had robbed her of that, forcing her to lean on the skillset she knew so well. In a way, it may have ultimately been a better tactic; because the shattered Sims left in her wake were an excellent reminder of just how powerful the short brunette woman truly was.

                     “And with Mary Smith’s exam, today’s trial is complete,” Dean Blaine announced. “I want to congratulate you on an all-around excellent showing. Results will be posted after the winter break, but I should remind you that actual combat rankings are only recalculated between school years, so you won’t see any shift on that front. For those of you with classes, head on up and end your semester well. For those of you already done, take the rest of today as a nice long rest. You’ve all earned it.”

                      Dean Blaine exited the room, followed immediately by the professors. Presumably, they had some post-exam evaluating to do, or at least, a secret clandestine meeting to get to. As professional educators of the highest caliber, it would be unthinkable to suggest they were all heading off to celebrate the end of the semester with a large supply of liquor and fine wine.

                     The class began filtering out, moving in small groups as they discussed who had done what with their friends. Before anyone in the Melbrook area could move, though, Mary held up her hand to draw their attention to her. She remained silent as people filtered out, waiting until only Vince, Roy, Alice, and Chad were around her.

                     “Chad, you know we all think of you as a friend, right?” Mary asked.

                     “I have grown to believe so, yes. And I feel the same toward all of you,” Chad said.

                     “I’m genuinely happy to hear that. Okay, Chad, as a friend, I’m going to ask you to do something. Please don’t ask me to explain it, and please don’t question why. Just trust that I’ve got your best interests at heart for now.”

                     Chad gave a small nod of understanding. Perhaps he would have been more surprised at the vague, mysterious words if he were not familiar with these students’ penchant for getting embroiled in non-conventional situations.

                     “Go to class, or back to Melbrook, or wherever you need to go. We have to go do something else, and I can’t tell you what that is. You just need to trust me.”

                     “Trust is a two-way street, as the saying goes,” Chad said. “Your desire to get me away indicates a lack of it on your part.”

                     “I promise to explain everything, just later. Any question you want, answered to the fullest.”

                     There was a pause as Chad contemplated the suggestion, then he turned and began heading out of the room. Before he crossed the threshold, he turned back to his dormmates and spoke a few parting words.

                     “If you need me, I’ll be near my phone all day.”

                     Then Chad was gone, and the remaining three students stared at Mary uncertainly. She waited several moments, until she hoped Chad had walked far enough away not to overhear her—though, with his hearing, that was impossible to gauge. After what she hoped was long enough, Mary continued, dropping her bombshell with no preamble or warning.

                     “We have a serious issue. Nick needs our help, and we need to get to him right away.”

                     “You mean Nicholas,” Alice corrected.

                     “No. I don’t.”

                     The curiosity that had been flickering in each of the students swelled into genuine blazes, burning in their chests even as they forced themselves to hold back from asking too much in this public environment.

                     “What’s happening to him?” Vince asked immediately.

                     “I’m not totally sure. I’ve only been getting bits and pieces. The one thing I do know is that he’s in danger of being totally erased. No more Nicholas with bits of the real deal shining through, no more knowledge of who we are; nothing. It will be like it was supposed to be all along—the Nick Campbell we knew will be completely wiped.”

                     “No. Not this time.” Vince’s body grew unnaturally still. It was a testament to Dr. Moran’s sessions that he managed to keep all the energy contained within him. Not so much as a whisper of fire leaked out of Vince’s body, but his eyes burned all the same. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper, yet it was the sort of whisper that could make gods and kings shift in fear. “I’m not losing my friend again.”

                     “We all feel that way,” Alice said.

                     “Damn right we do,” Roy added. “So, how do we save him? I’m guessing Mary’s got some sort of scheme cooked up.”

                     “‘Scheme’ is probably the best word for it,” Mary said. The confidence and power she’d displayed in the trial was gone, nerves having finally found their way into her voice. “I have a very long shot of an idea that probably won’t work.”

                     “Well, that’s just perfect.” Alice noticed the looks the others were shooting her and quickly clarified. “No, I wasn’t being sarcastic. That really is perfect. If we’re going to rescue Nick, it should be with some crazy-ass long shot of a plan. It’s only appropriate.”

                     A small laugh escaped Vince’s mouth in spite of himself. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. That’s the sort of thing he’d cook up if he were here with us. Count me in, Mary.”

                     “I haven’t even told you what the idea is,” Mary pointed out.

                     “Doesn’t matter,” Roy said. “We trust you. You lead, we’ll follow.”

                     Mary looked at Alice, who rolled her eyes. “Come on, do you even have to ask?”

                     “Everyone quickly change out of your uniforms and into your street clothes. If you take longer than five minutes to get to the lifts, I’m leaving you behind. Time is not our friend today.”

     141.

                    The knock on the door surprised Jerome, who gave Eliza a quick glance as he rose from the couch. They’d been lax about watching the outside in their worry over Nicholas, and only now did he realize how idiotic that had been. If Nathaniel had gotten wind of this, or had orchestrated it in the first place, then it was the perfect chance for him to take out Nicholas for good. Jerome briefly contemplated smashing through the door rather than even taking the chance; only his experience halted the attack. Nathaniel didn’t just want to kill Nicholas, he wanted to defeat him. Killing a helpless opponent wouldn’t give the orange-eyed monster the victory he craved, so there was a solid chance it wasn’t him on the other side of the wooden barrier. Jerome still held a small gun to his side as he opened the door, just in case.

                     What stared back at him were four familiar faces, lightly shining in sweat from what—he assumed—was the jog over. He recognized them easily, though that familiarity didn’t completely ease the tension in his gut. Nicholas was still being looked over; they hadn’t made any calls for help. These four being here spoke to an information leak, and that was not acceptable in his world.

                     “We’re here to help Nick,” Mary announced, meeting his eyes despite the significant difference in their statures.

                     “Nicholas is being looked at by a doctor right now. Once he’s done—”

                     “The doctor won’t find anything,” Mary said, trying to brush her way past. Jerome stood firm in the door, blocking all entrance. “Listen to me: what’s happening is going on in his head, and seeing as how I know neither you nor Eliza have the ability to deal with that, we’re his only hope.”

                     “Maybe so, but I still think it would be best to let the doctor fully examine him before we go trying anything crazy.” Jerome kept his words as polite as always, but his shoulders were squared and his feet were planted. It was clear he meant to defend this territory as he saw fit, even if it meant going against four Heroes-in-training.

                     Vince shifted his own position, so that he was directly in front of Jerome. “I should probably warn you: my therapist thinks I ‘react with disproportionate aggression’ when someone tries to hurt my friends.”

                     Both young men looked at each other for a long moment, a single twitch of muscle away from letting loose. What finally broke them apart was a new voice, one that spoke with both venom and sense.

                     “Can you put away the dicks and the measuring tape until after Nicholas is saved?” Eliza said. “Jerome, get out of the fucking door. The rest of you, dial it back a few notches. We care about Nicholas too, but we’ve got to be careful who we let in.”

                     Jerome moved aside, motions slow and controlled, and the others stepped into the apartment. If he bore any animosity at being ordered to stand down, Jerome kept it from his face. His expression was the same as always: politely neutral.

                     “First off, how did you all know about Nicholas?” Eliza asked, once the door was shut. “We run a tight ship here, and this is important.” Vince was a bit surprised to see her so authoritative. She’d always been strong-willed, but not so much that she would immediately take control of a room filled with near-strangers.

                     “Telepathy,” Mary said simply. “I overheard some bits of what’s happening to him in there.”

                     Eliza cocked an eyebrow. “My understanding was that telepaths couldn’t hear unconscious thoughts.”

                     It was Mary’s turn to be surprised; this woman knew more about how advanced minds worked than Mary herself had when she came to Lander. Then again, given the nature of Nick’s home life and accomplices, it did make sense for them to be well-versed in the capabilities of telepaths.

                     “Most can’t. I’m a bit unique.”

                     “Unique enough to help?”

                     “Unique enough to try.”

                     “I guess that’s better than our current plan, which is sit here with our thumbs up our asses and hope the doctor finds something,” Eliza admitted. “What are you going to do?”

                     “Nick is stuck inside a trial, one set up when his memory was first wiped. He’s not doing well though, and I think he’s going to fail. I’m going to try going in and helping.”

                     “You HCP people really can do some crazy shit, can’t you?” Eliza glanced from Mary to Vince, and her face softened as their eyes met. “Maybe that explains why you seem to fit in so well. Okay, give me a minute to clear the doctor out, and you can all go in.”

                     Jerome raised his voice, just enough to be heard. “But protocol—”

                     “Calm your ass down. I’m making this call, and if it goes bad, then it’s on me.”

                     “Nicholas wouldn’t want them going into his head,” Jerome said.

                     “No, he wouldn’t, but he’s not here to make that choice. We can’t do anything to help him, and they can. Besides, I’m good at reading people, and these four would sooner cut a leg off than intentionally harm their friend.”

                     “I’d say a foot,” Roy countered. “We were close, but not that close.”

                     “Does this seem like a time for joking?” Jerome asked.

                     “No, but Nick’s not here, so someone had to do it,” Roy said.

                     Jerome scoffed. “Nicholas Campbell isn’t the sort of man who jokes around.”

                     “That might be, but Nick Campbell is,” Alice snapped. “And we’re going to go get him back.”

                     Eliza left them to snipe at one another, heading into the bedroom, where the doctor was pulling a thermometer from Nicholas’s mouth. He glanced up at her as she entered, blinking the weariness from his eyes.

                     “He’s holding stable.”

                     “Good. Listen, we have some new people coming in, specialized consultants. I thought you might want to head out the back before they entered.”

                     “We’re on the second floor of an apartment building, what ‘back’ are you referring to?”

                     “Our profession sometimes calls for rapid evacuation, so we had a few alterations made to the apartment,” Eliza explained.

                     “Good enough for me.” The doctor began putting his things into a bag, the sound of tinkling glass filling the air. He only spoke again once he was done. “Listen, I know the deal on these jobs: I’m not supposed to ask too many questions beyond what I need to know for treatment. But I was doing a test earlier, and noticed something odd; the sort of thing I wouldn’t feel right not passing on. At the same time, I don’t want you to think I was snooping. I’m aware of how that’s viewed.”

                     “So long as it’s possible, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” Eliza said.

                     “Guess that’s the best I can hope for. I was checking his eyes for signs of dilation, and when I pulled back the lids, I found something very out of the ordinary: his irises are glowing with a yellow-gold color they weren’t before. I don’t know if it’s a symptom or something else, and I don’t want to know. Just making you aware.”

                     Eliza smiled, a very soft, small expression on her otherwise stoic face, and her eyes darted back toward the living room. Even trapped in his own mind, Nicholas had managed to summon a cavalry.

     142.

     “Everyone hold tight. I’ve never tried anything like this before, and the ride will probably be bumpy.”

                     “You know, I think that’s the exact speech I gave to a girl a few nights—”

                     “Roy, not the time.”

                     “Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.”

     *             *             *

                     Nicholas had finally given up his pointless tugging on the chain, and Nick’s resolve was wearing thin as the small headache turned into a pair of knives stabbing him in the brain. The ice had grown at the same relentless pace, and now it rose over them in full majesty. There was still a sizable space near the top that was uncovered, but most of their view was sheer ice now.

                     “I wonder what it will feel like,” Nicholas said, pulling himself up from the ground. “Being wiped out, I mean.”

                     “Beats me. When I was stuck in here, it was like drifting through darkness, being stuck in the space right between dreams and waking. Time meant nothing, and I wasn’t particularly inconvenienced, so it probably won’t be so bad.”

                     “What you experienced wasn’t a true purge, though. She’s made that abundantly clear.” Nicholas gestured to the spot where Professor Stone’s image had previously appeared to deliver her verdict.

                     “Yeah, that’s why I said ‘beats me’ when you asked. Probably, we’ll feel nothing, or we’ll just be stuck in this dome forever. Pre-Lander us will get control and everything will be like it was before.” Nick was surprised by the sadness in his voice. It had been so long since he’d accidentally showed genuine emotion that he wasn’t prepared for it.

                     “Here’s hoping we’re just destroyed then,” Nicholas said. “I do not take much shine to the idea of being stuck here until our body dies.”

                     “At least the company is amiable.”

                     “No offense, but there are a lot of other people I’d prefer to be stuck with.”

                     “Ditto,” Nick agreed.

                     “Since we’re here though, I do have a question for you,” Nicholas said, turning to look at the man who was so identical and yet so different from him. “Before the chains popped out, you said you weren’t conflicted about who we are, about what we’ve done. How? I’ve read the files, and I’ve met your friends, and nothing I’ve seen would indicate something that would provide such a serious personal shift. We’ve always been devoted to the work of the Family, but it weighs on us just a bit. Why do you seem so much lighter?”

                     “Several reasons,” Nick replied. “Personal growth certainly helped, as did getting a little perspective outside of our Vegas life. Not to mention, surviving the HCP meant I didn’t have a lot of time for inner dilemmas. But really, I think it was realizing that I have a place in the world.”

                     “I’m going to need a little more than that.”

                     “You read the file about when George kidnapped Mary and Hershel, and saw the memory of us fighting him. What I didn’t put in there is that I originally decided not to go. I was going to sit it out, run back to Vegas, and never set foot on Lander’s campus again. Then, when I was sitting in my room, go-bag in my hands, I realized two things: the first was that I didn’t want to leave the people I cared about behind, which was a shocker in itself. The other was the bigger revelation, though. I realized that they needed me. In order to pull off that crazy escape attempt, they needed my brain, my trickery, and my talents. Powerful people, aspiring Heroes, and my criminal skills would be what pulled them from the fire.”

                     “That doesn’t sound so surprising to me,” Nicholas remarked.

                     “Words don’t really do it justice. It was just the moment of understanding that there was a place in the world between outright criminal and saintly Hero. That it was possible to be a bad guy and do good things. In that moment, I realized I could be my own kind of criminal, my own kind of man, and find a place in the moral spectrum where I made the rules.”

                     “Sounds like . . . actually, it sounds like the sort of thing Gerry would get behind.”

                     “I think he was trying to teach us that for years before we left,” Nick agreed. “Poor guy, he’s going to have to start all over when this is done.”

                     They both looked up at the slowly closing gap in the sky. There was no real time here, yet they still realized that they didn’t have much of it left.

                     “Since we’re getting wiped anyway, will you tell me the secret you figured out that was so vital it had to be destroyed?” Nicholas asked. “Nathaniel’s presence and your intrusions made getting anywhere in the research damn near impossible.”

                     “Tsk tsk, making excuses about failing a mission,” Nick chided.

                     “Technically, I still had another semester.”

                     “You know as well as I do that Ms. Pips considers dying without finishing the job to be failure.”

                     “Says the one who got taken out first.”

                     “Ouch, below the belt,” Nick said. “Don’t feel too bad about not figuring things out, though; I doubt you ever could have.”

                     Nicholas made a large gesture of rolling his eyes.

                     “I’m not being mean. You just don’t have the perspective I do, and without it, you’d never put the pieces together.”

                     “I have nearly all the information you possessed.”

                     “That might be true, but you’re missing the empathy,” Nick said.

                     “Empathy? That’s the trick to figuring out the big secret?”

                     “Understanding emotions is. Not just how to manipulate them, but how they actually impact you. You only got a taste of it in the memories; I lived in a cesspool of the stuff for two years. Hate, friendship, jealousy, devotion, a miasma of the gunk coming from all directions. Being infected was ultimately inevitable.”

                     “You’re talking in riddles,” Nicholas accused.

                     “Sorry, it’s my final moments of consciousness; I’m allowed to wax philosophical a bit. You know my only real regret right now?”

                     “Getting us destroyed?”

                     “Not in the slightest. No, I wish I’d never pulled you back to college in the first place. I wish I had just left things as they were when I left Lander. It was all nice and sewn up, but now my friends will be stuck with this fresh, painful ending. They don’t even get another round of goodbyes.”

                     As Nick spoke, Nicholas noticed a shadow on the ground beneath him, one growing steadily in size. His eyes darted up, expecting to see the dome finally completing itself, but what met his eyes instead was far more bizarre.

                     “If you’re still channeling luck, I think you can stop.”

                     Nick glanced at Nicholas, who was still staring up, then followed his gaze through the gap in the dome. There, plummeting toward them at high speeds, was a tangle of bodies belonging to Mary, Hershel, Roy, Vince, and Alice. They shot through the gap and slowed just before landing, all setting down with the lightness of a sunbeam. Nick stared at them all, seeing his friends through his own eyes for the first time in over half a year, and spoke before he could stop himself.

                     “This service is completely unacceptable. I called for a ride hours ago. Your manager is going to hear about this.”

                     That was all he could get out before the others swarmed him in a hug.

     143.

                    The moment finally passed, and the group released Nick. Alice spoke first, her voice echoing eerily off the icy landscape. “Okay, I’ll be the one who bites: what the hell is all this, anyway?”

                     “I’m not totally sure of that myself,” Nick admitted. “A second chance, maybe, or some sort of test of character?”

                     “You’ve never been short on character,” Hershel said.

                     “No doubt,” Roy agreed.

                     It was at this moment that, amidst all the craziness that was his life, Nick Campbell finally got taken completely by surprise. He jumped back a solid foot, nearly yanking his chain taut in the process, and stared dumbfounded at the two people who were supposed to be one.

                     “Yeah, that was about how we reacted too,” Alice said. “Our best guess is that since Mary pulls in minds, not bodies, Roy and Hershel both got to come along for the ride.”

                     Nick took a minute to compose himself, reasserting his calm demeanor after having effectively shattered it into pieces. He was out of practice dealing with these weirdos, and it showed.

                     “Leaving behind the philosophical and pragmatic questions about Roy and Hershel being two separate people—which I promise you we will definitely be circling back to—when did Mary learn to drag others into her coma-walking power?”

                     “A few weeks ago,” Mary said. “I’ve also gotten good enough to do it when people are sleeping, not just rendered unconscious by Rich’s ability.”

                     “Well . . . duh. Didn’t you see that possibility the moment you first discovered the power?”

                     “Remind me why we’re here to save you again.”

                     “Because he’s our friend,” Vince said. He’d been studying the chains that bound Nick, and the point where they were shackled to the hunk of ice. It seemed like perfectly normal frozen water, but even he understood that, in a world composed of thought and imagination, there were bound to be some rules that worked differently. “And while we’re on the subject, we should probably get to work. I don’t know how long that hole in the ceiling will last.”

                     The others glanced up and noticed that, while there was still ample room left, the place they’d entered through had grown slightly smaller.

                     “Roy, can you come hold this for me?” Vince asked. The taller Daniels brother walked dutifully over and scooped the chain up in his hands. Even resting on Roy’s sizable digits, the ice-chain was disproportionately thick. On instinct, he gave one link a careful squeeze, expecting to feel it bend and crack under the pressure of his enhanced grip. Instead, it held completely firm, as though he weren’t crushing it at all.

                     “This stuff is strong,” Roy noted, pulling the chain taut, so there was a large section stretched between his hands.

                     “I thought it might be. But strong or not, it’s still ice.” Vince’s right hand seemed to glow as a sheath of orange flames wrapped itself around his lower arm. Keeping as clear of Roy as he could, Vince grabbed the chain firmly and turned up the heat, releasing a steadily increasing amount of fire. By the time he pulled his hand away, Roy was sweating just from standing so close, and Roy was not easily affected by little things like heat.

                     The chain, unfortunately, was as firm and frozen as it had been when Vince started. He took a step back, face inscrutable as he stared at the unyielding restraint, then surged forward. Vince delivered a perfect blow, striking the chain dead center and unleashing a tremendous blast of kinetic power. It was all Roy could do to hold on, the attack nearly tearing the chain completely out of his hands. The chain was the only one unaffected by Vince’s strike, showing not so much as a single crack in its icy facade.

                     “At least I don’t feel so bad about not being able to budge mine,” Nicholas said, watching the spectacle from a sitting position on his side of the altar.

                     “Seems like brute force isn’t going to work here,” Mary surmised. “Not even the level that Vince and Roy can deliver.”

                     “Can we just reshape this place so that Nick isn’t held anymore?” Alice asked. “You and I are able to change pretty much everything we want when you come into my dreams; no reason why we couldn’t do the same here.”

                     “Actually, there’s a very good reason,” Nick said, jumping in before Mary could. “Dreams are just that: dreams. They’re open-ended swirls of thought with no defined direction. This is an unconscious representation of what’s happening to me. Professor Stone set the whole thing in motion, and since I was a bad boy and failed her little exam, I’m getting my mind wiped all the way.” Nick leaned back and looked up at the dome and the narrowing piece of open sky, cupped his hand to his mouth, and yelled to the darkness: “Isn’t that right, bitch?”

                     A few feet away, the image of Professor Stone shimmered into view, causing several gasps of shock from his friends. It surprised him as well—he hadn’t been expecting her to reappear—but he was able to maintain a composed expression. It made him feel slightly better about his reaction to Roy and Hershel earlier. The image began to speak, and for a moment, Nick hoped he’d tripped some hidden trial where he was supposed to curse out the professor, but then he realized she was merely repeating her verdict.

                     “You have failed. You will both be sealed here, as will all recovered memories from your time at Lander. A full-wipe is occurring, and when it is done, it will be as if Nicholas Campbell never set foot on the Lander campus. All memories of time in the Hero Certification Program will be forever sealed.”

                     “Whoa, hold the hell on a minute,” Alice said. “Did she say all the memories that are here?”

                     “Yup, that’s what a full-wipe means,” Nick said.

                     “No, but . . . we’re all here. I mean, not physically, sure, but mentally. Mary, this is your power, you know best, will that thing trap us too?”

                     “It’s hard to say,” Mary replied. “I’d guess somewhere between maybe and probably. Since we do disconnect from our bodies when I do this, it is possible that pieces of us could get caught, at least theoretically. This is exactly the sort of question I would ask Professor Stone.”

                     “Everyone, relax,” Vince said. He’d walked back over to the group, with Roy a few steps behind. “This changes nothing. We just have to figure out how to get these chains to break before the hole closes. We’ve still got time.” Vince looked at Nick, who was a bit surprised at the strange sense of reassurance he felt just by having his friend near. “Nick, you’re always the one talking about games, and that’s what this seems like to me. There has to be a way to win it, right?”

                     “That’s been my theory since the beginning,” Nick said. “If there wasn’t some method for beating this, then Professor Stone wouldn’t have created it in the first place. I just haven’t managed to figure out what she wants from me yet.”

                     “Start at the beginning, tell us everything that’s happened,” Mary said. “Maybe going over it again will help you figure something out.” The short Super chanced a quick glance upward and noticed the hole had shrunk again. “But maybe talk quick, and skip the boring parts. We’re on a bit of a clock here.”

     144.

                    “It seems like you’re supposed to say that you’re sorry,” Alice surmised as Nick finished relaying the basics of the labyrinth he and Nicholas had run through. He’d purposely left out and obscured most of the details from his pre-Lander memories; there were things about him that even his friends didn’t need to know.

                     “No, I’m supposed to be sorry,” Nick said. “This is my mind, one of the few places in the world where I can’t just bullshit my way out of a problem. If Professor Stone wants me to repent, I’m pretty sure it will have to be genuine to have any effect.”

                     “Plus, he tried apologizing several times before you all got here,” Nicholas added.

                     “That too.”

                     “You said ‘if Professor Stone wants you to repent.’ Do you not think that’s what this is about?” Mary asked.

                     “I don’t know. It could be, sure, but then why bother? What does it accomplish? Good people in the HCP get wiped every year, and I highly doubt they go through this kind of ordeal. Even if I did somehow decide to be a totally different person, why would that make me more deserving to keep my memories? It just doesn’t add up.”

                     “Maybe it’s about what they think you have the ability to do,” Hershel said. “You managed to survive two years of the HCP, and you probably could have gone further, using mostly just your mind. That could mean they think there’s a place for you in the Hero world, if you can get your morals in line.”

                     “If that were the case, then I would never have been wiped in the first place. Numbers and Transport would have grabbed me as soon as our exam ended and given me the hard sell.” Nick noticed everyone except Mary looked confused at his statement. “You guys still haven’t figured out what they do, have you? Jeez, you really are useless without me. Just trust me, there is a place in the Hero world for people of my flexible nature, but I seriously doubt they bother with these sorts of games in their recruiting procedures.”

                     “Then what does that leave us with?” Roy asked.

                     “Fuck if I know.” Nick shrugged his shoulders slightly, rattling the chain as he did. These words were not entirely true, as he did have a slight suspicion of what Professor Stone wanted. That theory would be sealed away with the rest of his memories, though; it was too dangerous to be spoken.

                     “So . . . what’s the plan, then?” Hershel looked up and noticed that the hole was now significantly smaller. “We’ve tried force, fire, and figuring out the trick; all of which have come up empty. Time’s running out. What are we going to try next?”

                     “Something I’ve always been particularly shitty at.” Nick walked over to Hershel and took the smaller man’s hand in his, giving it a firm but gentle shake. “Goodbye, Hershel. You were always a nerd, and I mean that lovingly, and you had a good head for strategy. Try and keep them out of too much trouble.”

                     Nick turned to Mary, who he patted lightly on the head. “You are the biggest pain in my ass I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

                     He rotated to Roy, who was staring down with a grim expression as understanding set in. “You’re a good guy, when you work at it. And you can hit like nobody’s business. Strongmen get played out a lot in the Hero world. Go remind them what a solid punch can do.”

                     Nick hesitated for a second as he moved to the next person. He had to say goodbye to Alice last. If he didn’t, he feared he would lose his composure, and composure was necessary to get his friends to safety. So instead, he spun to face the silver-haired young man who was his best friend.

                     “Vince, you—”

                     A sudden blow to his stomach cut off Nick’s words. Vince caught his friend’s shoulder with his left hand, even as his right was still imbedded a few inches below Nick’s sternum.

                     “Sorry about that, but we really are running short on time,” Vince said. He looked at his friends, who were staring at him with unmasked confusion. “What? You know if I hadn’t incapacitated him, he’d have tried something crazy.”

                     “Vince . . . he was telling us goodbye. He was telling us to go,” Mary said softly.

                     “I know. That’s also why I stopped him.” Vince carefully set Nick on the ground as he gasped and wheezed, trying to get his breath back. “I don’t need a goodbye. I’m not going anywhere.”

                     “You understand that if you don’t get out of here, your memories could be sealed along with his, right?” Mary asked.

                     “I understand.”

                     “You damn idiot . . . you can’t stay.” Nick had to wheeze between words, but he still managed to get them out.

                     “No, Nick, what I can’t do is leave. I won’t let you be here alone.”

                     “You’re going to throw away your career?” Nick’s words came faster as his breathing returned to normal. “They won’t let you restart the HCP, you know. You’re the son of Globe, and you’ll lose your memories going after someone who was expelled. You’ll never be a Hero.”

                     “I already told Mary, I understand what I’m doing.”

                     Nick had heard that tone in Vince’s voice before; it meant he was set on a course and nothing short of divine intervention would stop him. Still, he had to try.

                     “Use your head, Vince. I gave up my career for yours. If you do this, you waste my sacrifice. You make it so I threw everything away in vain.”

                     “Last time you made that sacrifice, you purposely kept me in the dark, because you knew I wouldn’t let you do it. This time, I get a say in the matter. So berate me, manipulate me, try and trick me however you want; it won’t work. We’re in this together, Nick. We’re brothers, and I’m not going to leave family behind.”

                     For once, even Nick’s ever-flapping tongue fell still.

                     Vince looked over to Alice, whose eyes were already watering. “Alice, could you, um, tell Camille . . . tell her I’m sorry?”

                     “No, Vince, I can’t.” Alice walked over to where Nick was still sitting and crouched down next to him. “I’m staying too.”

                     “I can’t let you—” Nick sputtered

                     “You can’t stop me,” Alice snapped. “Besides, you really think I’m going to let you inflict yourself on some other girl? No, I think it’s my duty to stay by your side and keep you in line.”

                     “You won’t even know me. You’ll be who you were at the beginning: an entitled and combative princess.”

                     “And yet, I’ll still be too good for you.” Alice stood and turned toward the others. “When you guys are ready, I’ll float you out of here.”

                     Mary and Hershel exchanged a quick glance. They’d been together for over two years, two years that might soon be lost to them, and didn’t need words to know that they were in agreement.

                     “Vince is right. We’re family. For some of us, this is the only family we’ve ever really had. Better to start over together.” Mary took Hershel’s hand in hers as they stepped forward. “Promise you’ll woo me again?”

                     “Just try and stop me,” Hershel replied. He paused to look at Roy, whose face was almost inscrutable. “Since we’re separate minds, if you go, then you should probably be able to retain your memories.”

                     “Fuck you,” Roy spat. “I ain’t Dad. A real man sticks by the people he loves.” With that, he walked over, and they were once again a group.

                     “You know,” Nicholas called from a few feet away, “I never particularly saw the benefit in friends, but I’m beginning to get an idea of how these people softened you up.”

                     Overhead, the small hole in the dome grew tinier; soon, they would be completely encased in the ice. Without thinking about it, they began to hold hands, forming their own chain. This wasn’t made of ice; however, it was forged from love, friendship, and loyalty.

                     “In case this does really wipe us all out, anyone have any last words?” Hershel asked.

                     “I need a drink,” Roy said.

                     “I wish I’d worn something cuter. Post-wipe Alice is just going to be so confused, and to be poorly dressed on top of that just seems cruel,” Alice added.

                     “I’m really, really thankful that I met you all,” Vince said.

                     His were the true last words, as the tiny hole in the dome finally sealed over. The slight sound of growing ice that had filled the world around them ceased, and for a moment, silence engulfed them. It was quickly shattered by a new voice, though, this one far less contemplative or gentle than theirs had been.

                     “You have got to be shitting me.”

     145.

                    The image of Professor Stone had reappeared, but this time, her placid, lifeless expression was nowhere to be found. Instead, she had her arms crossed and was sporting a scowl that would have been worthy of a disapproving southern grandmother. Her eyes narrowed even more as she looked at the group, still clutching hands with one another. The unpleasant look on her face matched the uncharacteristic curseword she’d just let fly. For just a moment, her mask of professionalism slipped away, and the real Esme Stone poked through.

                     “All of you? All of you? Honestly, I’m a little insulted. It’s like you don’t put any value at all on the education we’ve worked so hard to provide, if you’re willing to toss it all away so easily.”

                     “No, Professor Stone, we greatly appreciate what we’ve learned here at Lander. We just value our friend more,” Mary said.

                     “I am just so very, very confused,” Vince said, looking around the ice-encased room.

                     “Nick passed his final test,” Professor Stone announced. As she spoke, the chunk of ice in the center of the floor dissolved, as did the chains attached to Nicholas and Nick’s legs.”

                     “His final test was failing?” Roy asked.

                     “His final test was two parts: the extent to which you all truly cared for and trusted him, and whether or not he was worthy of that trust,” Professor Stone explained. “If Nick keeps his memories of Lander, he will hold each of your lives in his hands. He knows all of your secrets, your weaknesses, your fears, and your identities. That is no small power for any person to have over another. We couldn’t, as administrators, make that sort of choice for you. You had to decide for yourselves that your friendship with Nick was worth risking everything for.”

                     “Which we did when we chose to stay with him, even though it might mean losing our memories of Lander,” Hershel said.

                     “Exactly. The other part of his test was whether or not he deserved the trust you put in him. Nick figured out some time ago that the real exam was whether or not you all would stay with him.”

                     “Suspected, really.” Nick had his pride, but he was loathe to lay claim to achievements he hadn’t earned.

                     “Point is, he deduced enough about the exam to realize getting you all to stay might be what passed him, and he tried to get you to leave. You were willing to risk everything for Nick, but he wasn’t willing to see you all damaged for his own sake.”

                     “This sounds ridiculously complicated,” Alice said.

                     “Tell me about it,” Professor Stone agreed. “But you can thank Dean Blaine for all of it. The man has never been one to throw away a useful asset, especially in times of need.”

                     “I have to ask, Professor Stone, when exactly did you gain the ability to dream-walk?” Mary stepped forward, apart from the rest of the group, as she confronted her mentor. “You’re obviously not a buried memory anymore.”

                     “No, I’m not, nor am I truly dream-walking. It would be more apt to say that I’m creating new memories to speak to you as you ask your questions. Of course, they’re actually going in your head, Mary, but since it’s a shared experience, everyone can see them.”

                     “But to do that, you’d need . . . . I see. We played right into your hands, didn’t we?”

                     “It’s more apt to say you played right into his.” Professor Stone pointed to Nick, who had the good sense to at least feign confusion. “When I set this up, I never really expected to see it fulfilled. Nick Campbell, you are a strange and gifted young man. Make no mistake, though; the greatest piece of luck you ever pulled off was winding up with friends like these. You only needed one to stay so you would pass. For all of them to stick by you . . . be thankful for what you have.”

                     “Not to interrupt all the warm fuzzies and happy feelings, but would you mind explaining what’s going to happen to me?” Nicholas had pulled himself off the floor and crossed most of the gap between he and the others.

                     “Nick gets all of his memories back, which includes the ones he forged while cut-off from his Lander knowledge. You exist in the way you always did, as a part of Nick; the culmination of who he was at eighteen years old.”

                     “Do I die?”

                     “No, you just go home to the place where you belong. You’ll still be around, still be a part of everything he does. You’ll just be surrounded by other parts of his consciousness as well. If anything, you’ll be much happier there.”

                     “Suppose I’ll just have to take your word for it,” Nicholas grumbled. He didn’t seem thrilled with the outcome, but compared to an eternity engulfed in ice with only himself to talk to, it wasn’t quite as horrifying a scenario.

                     “It occurs to me that this is a conversation we could more easily be having outside of my head,” Nick pointed out.

                     “Dreams are safer places to talk,” Professor Stone reminded him. “Here, very few ears can overhear what we’re saying.”

                     “So, this newfound memory of mine, I’ll be needing to keep it a secret,” Nick surmised.

                     “Yes, you will.” Professor Stone’s face grew grave as all levity fell out of her tone. “What we’ve done today violates a myriad of HCP protocol guidelines, as well as several laws passed down by the Department of Variant Human Affairs. The repercussions for this would be serious, for the dean and I especially.”

                     “Seems like an awful big risk to take on someone like me.” Nick noticed the walls of the ice dome were beginning to grow thin and crack, small fractures racing up and down the sides of it.

                     “You have a knack for uncovering information, and we’re in a situation where that is a very precious commodity. Better to break small rules than see people get hurt,” Professor Stone said. “Sometimes, doing the right thing overall means you have to do a few wrong things in the process.”

                     “Now that’s the kind of thinking I can get behind.” The dome began splintering audibly, chunks of ice falling away and turning to smoke before they hit the ground.

                     Vince turned and opened his mouth to speak, but before a single word was uttered, he vanished, along with everyone else save for Nicholas and Nick. There was no puff of smoke or preamble—one minute they were there, and the next they were gone.

                     “I assume my friends are okay?” Nick asked.

                     “They’re fine; we just broke the connection between Mary and you. Unbinding sealed memories takes a fair amount of concentration, and extra people in here only makes it harder. You’ll see them soon.”

                     “While it’s just the two of us, will you tell me the real reason I’m getting saved? All that bunk about me finding information is true, but there must be a few Subtlety Heroes who can probably do a better job than even me.”

                     “That there are, but right now, we don’t know who we can truly trust,” Professor Stone said. “You are a criminal, a con artist, and a villain through and through. But you’re loyal to your friends, and that means we can use you.”

                     “Honesty, what a refreshing change of pace.” Nick looked up at the still shattering sky. “Anything else I should know before we leave the dreamscape?”

                     “You don’t really need me to do something as trite as threaten you with the unending terror and pain that will come if you screw up or betray us, do you?”

                     “No, but in a way, you just did,” Nick pointed out.

                     “Yes, I did, didn’t I? See you on the outside, Nick Campbell.”

     146.

                    The first thing he realized was that he was no longer in his apartment. He wasn’t much for ancillary comforts, but a quality mattress was something even Nick felt was important. The bed beneath him was hard, barely squishy enough to qualify as a proper cot. As his eyes opened, he noticed the burning glare of fluorescent light attacking his retinas, confirming his suspicion that he was no longer in his own home.

                     “Doesn’t it figure: the one time I actually need a pair of damn sunglasses, and I don’t have any on hand.” Nick pulled himself up to a sitting position slowly and surveyed the room. It was largely bare, with a few other cots scattered about and a single steel door as a point of entry. There were no windows dotting the cinderblock interior—all illumination came from the gently humming lights thrumming overhead.

                     “Forgive the lackluster accommodations; we couldn’t very well take you to a Lander facility.” Dean Blaine was sitting on a cot a few feet away, Professor Pendleton at his back. He actually did look apologetic over the setting, which was more than Nick expected.

                     “Yeah, I guess breaking rules on campus would be sort of asking for it,” Nick agreed. He spun carefully around on his cot, testing to see if the extended rest had left him with stiff joints or dizziness. As far as he could tell, he was in tip-top shape. “Where is this place, anyway?”

                     “An old recovery station for Heroes,” Dean Blaine said. “Back in the beginning, before people got used to the idea of Heroes, our kind was fighting back a nearly endless sea of Supers who thought they could crush the system before it took hold. The fights were bloody, dangerous, and frequent. Heroes sometimes had to find places to lay low and heal in safety, so sporadic shelters were set up in all major metropolitan areas. Almost no one uses them anymore—we’ve graduated to fortified bases—but they do still come in handy from time to time.”

                     “Like when you have to secretly transport five unconscious bodies out of a near-campus apartment so your pet telepath can tinker around in one of their heads,” Nick said. “I take it Transport kicked in on that front?”

                     “I will neither confirm nor deny the involvement of anyone beyond myself, Professor Stone, and Professor Pendleton. We are the only people outside your group of friends you should feel comfortable displaying knowledge in front of. On that note, I suggest you think of a good excuse to give your bodyguards; they were certainly quite shocked to find you had all vanished in the span of a blink. To them, and everyone else, you are exactly as unaware of the Super world as you’ve been since last semester ended. ”

                     Nick smiled; a lazy expression that stretched across his face like a cat in a sunbeam. “That’s why you made them seeking me out one of the conditions to crack open my head. Any curious parties will have done telepathic sweeps during that time and come up clean. Now it will seem perfectly natural to pal around with my old friends.”

                     “Glad to see a few months of quasi-slumber haven’t dulled your mind,” Dean Blaine said.

                     “On the subject of my friends, where are they?”

                     “Moved to another area for their own debriefing. You’ll all be cut loose of here soon; we just have to be certain they understand the extent of the situation. Besides, there are some things we need to discuss with you that are not for prying ears, not even those of your friends.”

                     “I take it no telepaths will be overhearing us then.”

                     “Unless they have a level of ability I’ve yet to encounter, no, they will not be.”

                     “That explains why you stuck around, but why is Professor Pendleton here?” Nick asked.

                     “I’m here to give you your syllabus, as well as your assignments for the winter break,” Professor Pendleton said.

                     Nick tilted his head a few degrees to the side. “Did I get re-enrolled, and no one told me? Because I’m not going back to eating dorm food. You can just reseal my memory right here and now.”

                     “No, you’re good and out of the HCP forever,” Professor Pendleton said. “But surely someone like you didn’t imagine that getting your memories sprung was going to be free. You’ve got a capable mind and some interesting intelligence resources. As of today, your new part-time job is helping us gather information about Globe. We’ve got a lot of questions, and it’s time to start finding some answers.”

                     Dean Blaine rose from his cot, stepping aside so Professor Pendleton could come around. “I’ll leave you with your teacher to get your new assignments and syllabus while I check on the others. Have no fear of being overhead; I plan to stay close enough to keep any errant telepaths at bay.” Dean Blaine strode across the room and exited through the thick steel door.

                     He walked down a small hallway, also made of cinderblocks and without windows, for several feet before he found Esme Stone waiting patiently.

                     “I told them Nick needed to be checked over before we could release him, and that they’d see him later tonight. They weren’t thrilled, especially not Mary, but they left with Mr. Transport.”

                     “Her skill at sifting through thoughts seems to be growing every week,” Dean Blaine noted. “The information gathering she pulled off in her exam was nothing short of spectacular. They’re all coming along so fast.”

                     “Exceptionally so,” Professor Stone agreed.

                     “Well then, let’s not beat around the bush: what were the results?”

                     “All of them.”

                     “You’re certain?”

                     “I’ve been doing this long enough to know a resistant mind when I feel one.” Professor Stone didn’t quite snap at the dean, but her tightened expression made it clear how she felt about being questioned. “Even dragged into a dream by Mary, each and every one of their minds was unnaturally resistant to being broken into. I had ample time to check it out while talking with them, and while each could be accessed with enough effort, it took far more effort than it should with any normal person or Super.”

                     “Mental resistance is not unheard of, even among humans,” Dean Blaine pointed out.

                     “But it’s rare, very rare, and for it to be present in five people unrelated by anything save a mysterious procedure . . .”

                     “No, you’re right. We have to assume it’s connected.”

                     “The question is: what does it mean? I’ve never heard of anything besides meditation exercises that could increase a person’s mental defense. There’s not a single physical technique I’m aware of that could do such a thing.”

                     “True, but up until three years ago, there was no technique to turn a Powered into a Super either,” Dean Blaine said. “I think it’s time we got a little more aggressive in finding out exactly what was done to those children.”

                     “About time. I was wondering how long you were going to let that mystery slide,” Professor Stone replied. “When do we start?”

                     “After Christmas,” Dean Blaine said. “We’ve had a long semester, and I think a little downtime will be good for everyone.”

                     “Plus, Miriam will hang you out to dry if you miss the holidays,” Professor Stone added.

                     “Yes, that too.”

     147.

                    “We’ve got The Pulp Flesh 7, Die in the Daylight 4: Daylight’s Revenge, and Squish Squish Thwomp: The Wet Noodle Killer.” Nick set the three DVDs on the ground, then reached back into his small duffel bag to root around for more.

                     “If you’d told me that the night after junior year exams, we’d be spending it watching yet another series of schlocky horror movies, I never would have believed it,” Hershel said. He’d finally returned a few hours prior, as, after hearing what the night’s plans were, Roy had no desire to keep control of the body.

                     “Me neither. Isn’t it awesome?” Only Vince could say such things with both honesty and sincerity, and even then, only in this very rare set of circumstances.

                     By the time their various discussions with the professors ended, the few remaining classes of the day had been finished. Lacking anything else to do, they elected to keep the plans Vince and Nicholas had made, meeting at the apartment that now belonged to Nick for movies and a night of shared company. It was surreal to go from battle, to life or death struggles, to sitting around and watching Nick dig for terrible films, but not one of the HCP students found themselves troubled by the transition. Their time training at Lander was conditioning more than just their bodies, and that was not by accident.

                     A light, flippant ring echoed through the room as Nick’s cellphone glowed on the coffee table.

                     “Leave it,” he said, not even bothering to look up. “It’s Jerome or Eliza, and I don’t want to talk to either of them tonight.”

                     “They’re worried about you,” Mary said. “You went into a coma, then we barged in and appeared to pass out, and then we all vanished from the room when they weren’t looking. You can hardly blame them for being concerned.”

                     “I don’t blame them at all, but that’s not the same as wanting to deal with them.” Nick finally stood from the ground, DVDs in hand, and took a stretch so long that his back popped in several places. “I’ve got a long winter break ahead of me. Between Ms. Pips, those two, and my Nathaniel problem, it’s going to be day after day of cat-and-mouse games.”

                     “You say that like you don’t like those,” Mary pointed out.

                     “I love them like Alice loves makeup. But there will always be time for such games. Tonight, for the first time in over half a year, I’m finally in the driver’s seat of my own head and back with the only people in this world I consider friends. I intend to enjoy it, uninterrupted by my Vegas problems.” Once upon a time, Nick would have been ashamed to voice such sentiment, or would have at least masked it with sarcasm. After the events of the afternoon, he no longer saw any point in such a facade. These people had been willing to throw away their very minds and memories for him, and Nick was finally realizing that such bonds weren’t always a weakness. In fact, they could very well be the epitome of strength.

                     A soft ding came from the kitchen, this sound far more pleasant than the sharp trilling of Nick’s cell phone.

                     “Finally, if those pizzas took any longer, I was going to eat a pillow,” Alice declared, rising up from the couch. “Nick, want to be a gentleman for a change and give me a hand?”

                     “Back for less than six hours and already you’re trying to boss me around. Glad to see nothing’s changed in my absence.” Nick grumbled this out as he crossed the living room and stepped into the kitchen. He might be daring enough to complain about an order from a hungry Alice, but he was far too smart to contemplate ignoring it altogether.

                     When he arrived, the blonde girl was already in the kitchen with the oven door open. Before her were three pizzas floating in the air, the fourth just beginning to rise from the rack. It sizzled slightly as it lost contact with the heated metal, then began a slow ascension toward its sauce-covered brethren. Alice kicked the oven door shut as soon as it was clear, and then glanced to Nick.

                     “You going to stand there like an idiot, or you going to get me some plates to put these on?”

                     “I figured you’d just gravity them out of the cupboards.”

                     “I’m good, but for that kind of delicacy, you need a real telekinetic. Now, get me some damn plates already.”

                     Nick obliged, grabbing four of his largest plates and setting them on the counter. Alice floated each pizza to a plate and lowered it down carefully, centering them so that no pizza had enough crust hanging off the edge to fall entirely.

                     “You’ve gotten a lot better at that,” Nick said. “Just, in general, it’s impressive how much your power has grown.”

                     “If you were still on our team, what kind of card would you give me now?” Alice pulled out a pizza cutter and began sectioning each pie into slices.

                     “Not a four, that’s for damn sure. I’d have to gauge the rest of the class’s abilities to get an accurate sense of where yours lay, but after what I saw you do to Nathaniel, if you aren’t at least a Queen, then you’re part of one of the strongest classes in history.”

                     Alice blushed, just a touch, at the mention of her encounter with Nathaniel. That whole night had been so strange—spending an evening with Nicholas because she thought Nick was forever beyond her grasp. It was almost embarrassing now; she never would have spoken with Nick the way she did Nicholas. Embarrassing or not, Alice had learned a lesson about missed opportunities this past semester, and she wasn’t going to be making the same mistakes. Of course, that wasn’t the only thing she’d learned.

                     “Speaking of our date,” Alice said, owning the word and the implication that came with it, “I seem to recall Nicholas acting shocked at the idea of going to a horror movie, as though he couldn’t stand the things. But tonight, you just dug three DVDs out of a bag you brought from Vegas, which means either he was bluffing and you really do love horror movies, or he thought he’d have to pretend to be you and stowed some just in case.”

                     “Quite the conundrum.” Nick lifted two of the pizza-laden plates off the counter, waiting for Alice to do the same.

                     “Isn’t it just? So many little mysteries about you still remain. But I plan to get you to spill all of them, eventually.” Alice’s eyes hardened as the smile abruptly left her face. “All of them. Even the one you’ve clearly been avoiding talking about with me.”

                     “That is a discussion that would need to take place in a far, far more secure area, and preferably on a less festive night.”

                     As quickly as she’d come, Serious Alice vanished and Cheerful Alice retook her place, carefully lifting the remaining two plates. “I understand completely. Just wanted you to know where we stood, for now.”

                     “I appreciate the upfront honesty,” Nick said. “Tell me something, though: if you ever do unlock all of my secrets and mysteries, do you think you’ll still find me quite so enrapturing?”

                     “Sounds to me like that’s a mystery you’ll have to solve,” Alice said. “Now come on, we’ve got hungry friends waiting in the other room.”

                     Nick’s face seemed to glow softly in the florescent kitchen lights, as a slow smile crept across his face. “I never thought I would hear myself agree with such words again, but yes, we do.”

     148.

                   “Got everything packed?” Hershel asked. His own body was laden down with various bundles and bags, some hanging at peculiar angles on his increasingly shrinking body. As much weight as Hershel had lost over the summer, he was even leaner after a semester of constant training. Finally becoming a part of his own ability had lit a fire in Hershel that drove him daily. He still wasn’t as fit as an HCP student or devoted athlete—no amount of effort could close the two-year handicap he was working with—but he could easily pass for in-shape among regular people.

                     “Pretty sure I’ve got everything,” Vince said. He pulled his usual backpack onto his shoulder, and for the first time, had a second bag clutched in his hand. Despite the nagging urge in the back of his mind to travel as lightly as possible in case he had to flee, Vince had quelled his instincts. When he went to Chicago with Hershel, Sally Daniels treated him like family, and he didn’t need to be ready to run from that home.

                     The two exited the boys’ lounge to find Alice, Mary, and Chad already waiting in the common room. Next to them were Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport, the latter of the two holding a small pad of paper.

                     “There you are,” Mr. Transport said. He glanced down at his notepad. “So then, Alice is driving her own car home, but Mary, Hershel, and Vince all need teleporting. Chad, what about you?”

                     “I thought such niceties were only for your actual charges,” Chad said.

                     “Mr. Numbers double-checked the exact wording of our assignments, and technically, we can do it for any of the Melbrook residents.”

                     “Your offer is generous and appreciated, but I must decline. I have already secured transportation home.” Chad was as polite and detached as always. When Mary had gotten home after the night of terrible films and rescuing Nick, she’d expected Chad to pepper her with questions about what had gone down. Instead, he’d told her that he was happier not knowing at the moment, even going so far as to turn down her offers of explanation. She didn’t know what had changed since they parted that day, and his immunity to telepathy meant she had no way to find out.

                     “Very well then, first is Mary,” Mr. Transport announced.

                     The small girl picked up her bags and turned to Alice. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

                     “No, thank you. Even my father will get suspicious if I miss Christmas, not that I’m even sure he’ll come home. I’m going to have to be around him sooner or later, better to get it out of the way now.” Alice was, in truth, still nervous about seeing the man who’d apparently been lying to her about her mother’s death all her life, but she refused to run away from it any longer. If she wasn’t willing to start facing these questions head on—as well as the people who had answers—then she might never find out the truth.

                     “I understand.” Mary walked over to Mr. Transport, pausing long enough to give Hershel a quick peck on the cheek. They’d already said a more tender goodbye that morning, but neither was big on public displays of affection. She made it to her tall, well-dressed teleporter and turned to face her friends.

                     “Vince, it’s for you.”

                     Then they were gone, and just as Mr. Transport and Mary vanished, a bell rang through the dormitory, signaling someone was at the front.

                     “I, um . . . I guess I’ll go get it,” Vince said. Even as long as he’d lived around Mary, there were some aspects of being around a telepath that still took him by surprise.

                     He headed out of the common room and down the front hall, pulling open the door to find Camille standing in the cold. She wore an oversized, puffy white jacket and a knitted cap that covered her ears. Just looking at her, if anyone had told him this girl had managed to bring down the robotic equivalent of nine Supers, he’d have surely thought them a liar or a madman. But then, that was what made Supers so dangerous; one never quite knew what dwelled beneath the surface.

                     “Glad I caught you,” Camille said. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

                     “Sure. Even if they leave without me, I’m pretty sure Mr. Transport won’t mind coming back to get me. He always seems cheerful when he teleports to or from Hershel’s house. I think he likes Chicago.”

                     “I’ve heard it’s nice.” Knowing Vince’s ability to read situations, Camille would have put money down that Mr. Transport had a lady in that town that he managed to duck over and see whenever he passed through. Then again, perhaps that’s where her mind went simply because of why she’d come to see Vince in the first place.

                     The two stepped out of the dorm into the brisk December air. They hadn’t gotten any snow so far, but the biting copper tang in the air seemed to always be hinting at the possibility. Luckily, Vince was already dressed for the Chicago cold, so the environment didn’t bother him at all.

                     “I wanted to talk to you about . . . us,” Camille said. She was thankful the chilly air had already burned her cheeks with a slight tinge of red; it made the inevitable blushing harder to discern. “I mean, I know you and I aren’t an ‘us,’ we’re just a pair of friends, but I think maybe we’re more and . . . .”

                     Camille stopped herself, took a deep breath, and forced herself to be calm. She’d let her torso get crushed by giant robot hands just for the chance to counterattack. She could damn well manage to talk to the man she had feelings for.

                     “I like you. I’ve liked you since you saved me from those bullies and then kissed me in front of my house. When I met you at Lander, part of me expected that you’d have changed, and I’d lose the memory of my first . . . kiss, but you hadn’t. You’ve just gotten more, well, you. I think you know I have feelings for you, but I also know you’re the kind of man who doesn’t count something until the person voices it. Until they make the choice to act. This is me making that choice. I really like you, Vince, and if you feel the same way, then I want to be more. If not, then we can go back to just being friends, but I refuse to lose you to some other girl only because I was too scared to speak up.”

                     Camille’s voice finally died away, the sheer number of words she’d spoken seeming to drain her tremendously. She wanted to stop there, to let it be, but she knew she had to push through and finish. Vince opened his mouth to reply, but she continued before he could.

                     “I don’t want an answer right now. That’s why I’m telling you before we go on break. We don’t have to act immediately; this isn’t a now or never situation. I know how you are, and I know you need time to process. Any answer you give me today, good or bad, is going to be coming from the spur of the moment. I don’t want that. I want you to be sure of whatever you tell me. Take the break, take longer if you need. I don’t need an immediate answer; I just needed you to know the score. Officially.”

                     “Thank you.” Vince crossed the divide between them and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her much shorter body. For a moment, despite the cold, all she could feel was his warmth. Then, all too soon, the embrace ended, and they were once again standing apart in the cold.

                     “Thank you,” Vince repeated. “I admit I had my suspicions, but hearing it from you makes a world of difference.”

                     “Save it for after the break,” Camille said. “I’m going to head back to my dorm and start the drive home. I’ll talk to you when I get back.”

                     “Be safe.” Vince’s words were closer to an order than a pleasant goodbye.

                     “Me be safe? You’re the one who’s always getting into some sort of trouble. Try not to get banged up too bad without me around.”

                     “I’ll do my best,” Vince promised.

     149.

                    Mary felt a strange combination of emotions as Mr. Transport vanished from her side, leaving her alone in the clearing of her woods. She was both relieved, and a bit unsettled. The relief came, no doubt, from finally being back in her sanctuary of solitude, able to be alone with no thoughts but her own. Despite being able to control her abilities, necessity still demanded she keep her telepathic channels open most of the time, resulting in a constant hum of background thoughts. Here, at last, she could be completely alone for the first time since the previous winter. Much as she loved Alice, this was always meant to be a single-person abode.

                     The fact that she was unsettled bothered her, though. This was her retreat, the place where she should feel most at home. Instead, it felt a bit creepy and strange. For nearly a decade, this had been her shelter from the world, and only now was she beginning to realize how cut off that truly left her. True, there was nothing in this forest, beast or man, that she had to fear, yet all the same, she felt less comfortable than expected.

                     Mary went into her trailer and started up the heat, but in her mind, she was already planning when to go down and visit her parents. Perhaps this year would be more than a few quick words to the family and a hasty bite of turkey. Rough as things had been during her childhood, maybe it was time to come out of the woods for something besides Lander. She had, at best, a year and a half left there, and if she didn’t start pushing herself into the bigger world now, it would be all too easy to retreat back into this isolated clearing in the woods.

                     The generator kicked on, and Mary pulled out the special extra-powerful satellite phone she kept for calling out from the forest. With a few quick presses of a button, she dialed her parent’s number.

     *             *             *

                     “You’re really not going to tell us what happened?” Eliza said, not for the first, second, or even fifteenth time during the drive from Lander to Vegas. It would, thankfully, be the last for now, as Jerome eased the car into a parking spot outside Ms. Pips’ casino. The trip was finally over.

                     “Nope,” Nick said. “The situation has been handled, and I’m going to make sure it never happens again. That’s all you need to know. Everything else gets told to Ms. Pips, and she can decide how the information gets disseminated.”

                     Eliza narrowed her eyes in a hateful glare, but said nothing. Deciding to let the head of the Family decide how to handle sensitive information wasn’t exactly the sort of judgment call she could take a stand against. The young woman might have a sharp tongue and quick temper, but she knew her place in the organization. Nick often wondered just how Ms. Pips had corralled a personality like hers so effectively—unlike Jerome, she’d joined when she was sixteen. Knowing Ms. Pips, it was either bribery, blackmail, or sanctuary. Those were her favorite recruiting methods for young criminals with potential.

                     Nick exited the vehicle, pausing only to take a suitcase from the trunk, and headed toward the casino. He’d been tempted to have Jerome act as his porter, but the stoic man had been the least annoying part of his journey home, so there was no point in being spiteful. Besides, with the semester he still had coming up, there was a good chance he might need those two. Unlike Nicholas, Nick saw them as potential tools to be used rather than shackles Ms. Pips had placed around his ankles. Especially now that he knew about Eliza’s relationship with Vince.

                     As Nick strolled through the casino floor, he spotted Gerry waiting for him by the elevators. The bald man gave him a warm smile as Nick drew near, and reached for the suitcase in his hand. Nick pulled it away as he pressed the button to go up.

                     “Don’t even think about it. I might be off you-know-what training, but I’m still a lot stronger than you.”

                     “Please, it’ll be a cold day in hell before you’ve got my kind of power or skill,” Gerry shot back. Despite his words, Nick noticed that his mentor looked a bit more worn than usual. His normally ageless face had bags under his eyes, and his skin seemed pale, even for a man who worked indoors most of the time.

                     The elevator dinged, and the two men stepped inside. Nick pressed the button to the private floor, and they began to rise.

                     “Have a good time at school?”

                     “An interesting time, I’ll say that much. Made some good headway on rekindling my friendship with the old classmates.”

                     “So Eliza and Jerome reported,” Gerry said. “Nathaniel give you any trouble?”

                     “He took us by surprise once, but one of my assets was on hand to immediately return the favor. When he comes at me again, I suspect he’ll show far more discretion and planning. Should be pretty fun.”

                     “I worry about your idea of fun.”

                     “You don’t need to worry about me, Gerry.” Nick’s voice grew lower for the span of just one word. “Really.”

                     “Maybe I don’t need to, but it’s still my prerogative.”

                     “Fair enough. While you’re worrying, though, I need you to do two things for me.”

                     “What’s that?”

                     “First, I need you to burn the files I kept in the basement. All of them, scorched earth.”

                     “Too late. I checked on them this morning, and every one of them is destroyed. Hidden backups too, even the ones you didn’t know about. We’ve overhauling our security system to make sure whoever got in doesn’t pull a repeat performance.”

                     “I thought that might happen,” Nick sighed. “That school really does have an excellent set of procedures in place. Still, at least they saved us some trouble.”

                     “So, what’s the other thing you need?” Gerry asked. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, revealing the lush hallway.

                     Nick stuck his suitcase out to hold the doors, then turned back to Gerry. “I could use some sunglasses. Nice ones, the sort that would be comfortable if I wore them all day, every day.”

                     Gerry arched a carefully sculpted eyebrow in a motion so fluid it seemed to happen instantly. “Sunglasses, huh? Going to wear them around the casino?”

                     “No, but Lander’s in California. Lots of sunshine. Might just need to get back in the habit.”

                     “Gotcha. I’ll have a nice pair ready by the time you head back.”

                     “Thanks, Gerry.”

                     Nick removed his suitcase, and the elevator doors slid shut, leaving Gerry alone inside. He didn’t say a word; he couldn’t risk it. Even in the elevator, there were cameras and listening devices everywhere. Gerry did smile though, a grin born of relief from a fear he’d been carrying ever since Nicholas came back at the end of the last year.

                     It looked like his boy might be okay, after all.

     150.

                     Alice was unsurprised to step into a nearly vacant mansion. It was the holidays, and, save for security personnel, Charles Adair allowed much of the staff to take time off. It wasn’t as if they’d be needed beyond the basic tending of meals and cleaning for Alice. His Christmases at home were infrequent at best; all revolving around what deal needed closing.

                     No, Alice was not surprised by the emptiness of the house. What did catch her off guard was how unbothered by it she was. The first year she’d come home to this place, she’d broken down in tears, overwhelmed by the loneliness. This time, it wasn’t even a blip on her emotional radar.

                     She pondered why as she walked up the marble stairs, sneakers moving soundlessly. Perhaps it was because she’d been away so long that the place felt foreign to her. That seemed close to the source, but not quite there. As she reached the top of the stairs, she paused for a moment, turning about to figure out which way her room was.

                     That was when she finally understood why this place provoked no reaction in her.

                     Alice’s room wasn’t anywhere in this massive mansion. It was three hours away, in a small dormitory on the Lander campus. Her father’s estate no longer depressed her because it was no longer her home. Alice’s home was a place filled with laughter, and worry, and fun, and most importantly, people she loved. At some point since her last time in this place, Alice had mentally relocated. She didn’t belong here anymore, not really. Even if Lander cut her at the end of the year, she wouldn’t come back. She would make a new place in the world, one without empty halls and lonely memories.

                     Her gait increased as she moved briskly down the hallway. Now that she knew her time here was temporary, there was no hesitation in Alice. It was just a few weeks away from home, nothing to get worked up over. Because it would end, and Alice would go back to the place where she belonged.

     *              *              *

                     The Daniels’ living room was filled with Christmas cheer as Mr. Transport, Vince, and Hershel all appeared. Sally Daniels enveloped both of the younger men in hugs before they’d even gotten a few steps away from the teleporter, squeezing all the worry she’d held for them into the embrace.

                     “Glad to see you’re all still in one piece.” She pulled back a bit to examine them. Hershel had changed considerably since summer, muscle slowly taking the place of the fat he’d worn since childhood. He looked more like Roy now; though the two would never be able to pass for twins, they now resembled brothers far more. Vince’s body was much the same as the last time she saw him, perhaps with a bit more mass in the arms and shoulders. His eyes, on the other hand, had become a bit harder. Kindness still twinkled in them, but there was an undercurrent of violence willing to emerge. It both saddened and relieved her. Much as it was a shame to see Vince change; she’d been around enough Heroes to know that a certain amount of steely resolve was required to do the job.

                     “You two go run your bags upstairs. We’ll be having lunch soon, and I expect you both to have brought serious appetites.”

                     Vince and Hershel immediately obliged, walking up the stairs with baggage in hand. Only after she was sure they were gone did Sally turn to Mr. Transport, who was waiting with polite patience.

                     “Are you ready for this?”

                     “I am if you are,” Mr. Transport said.

                     “I believe we’ve reached the point where not telling is actively lying. It’s been nearly a year, and we haven’t grown tired of one another yet.”

                     “Quite the opposite, really,” Mr. Transport agreed.

                     “Exactly. So, even though it’s just dating, I think it’s time Hershel and Roy knew. We’ll tell them over lunch.”

                     “How do you think they’ll handle it?”

                     “Hard to say,” Sally replied, looking back up the stairs. “When their father left, it sowed a lot of anger in both of them. Much as they dislike him, I think they worry about me even more. My guess is that they’ll be happy, so long as you make me happy, but don’t be surprised if Roy threatens to break your skull if you hurt me.”

                     “You know, I’ve seen how strong Roy is getting. That’s actually a bit of a scary prospect these days.”

                     “Well then, I suppose you’d best endeavor not to hurt me.” Sally slipped over to her suitor and placed a brief kiss on his lips.

                     “It’s the last thing I intend to do.”

                     “We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know that,” she said. Then she moved away from him as sounds from upstairs echoed downward. Today was the day to tell the truth, but in a proper way. A way that involved mashed potatoes, corn, and roast turkey.

                     “Into the dining room, you two,” Sally Daniels yelled up the stairs. “And set a fourth place as well. I’ve convinced Mr. Transport to join us for lunch.”

     *              *              *

                     “I miss you all. I know I open with that every time I come here, but it’s always true. I miss our stupid car trips and our fights and just having you around. If I was in this program for real, I think you’d be proud of me. If I were really going to be a Hero, I wonder what you’d all say. Probably nice things, except for you, Teri. I’m sure you’d constantly be messing with me under the guise of keeping me from getting a big head. God, I wish you were here to tease me. What’s a little brother without his big sister?”

                     The man speaking wore a black hooded-jacket that ran down all the way to his calves. This left only a bit of his gray pants and boots visible on the snow-frosted ground. They were unremarkable, unless one happened to be a student in Hero Certification Program, in which case, they were instantly recognizable.

                     “I know it’s been a long time. Eleven years too long, in fact, but I’m making progress. I just need a little longer; a little more time, and I’ll be able to keep my promise.”

                     A gust of wind blew by, stirring the top coating of snow resting atop the marble headstones. There were three of them, two large and one small. Each certainly bore a name and an inscription, but such details were obscured by the white powder coating every surface, save for the man speaking. He hadn’t bothered wiping them off. He didn’t need to read the names to know who he was talking to.

                     “Just a little bit longer, and I’ll be able to kill him. Maybe another year, at most. It’s a weird route to get there, I’ll freely admit that, but I will do it. Please, believe in me. I’ll keep my promise.”

                     A sharp popping sound echoed through the quiet graveyard, and the smell of burning ozone filled the air. Moments later, a new voice spoke, this one distinctly feminine.

                     “Whenever you’re ready, we’re waiting for you.”

                     “Thanks, Shims. Or maybe you prefer Clarissa?” The man turned away from the headstones and walked toward her. As he drew close, another gust of wind took his hood and pulled it back, revealing the tanned, strong-jawed face of Thomas Castillo. It also served to pull his jacket open a bit, revealing the full HCP uniform underneath it.

                     The woman scowled at the sight. “You shouldn’t be wearing that.”

                     “It’s what I had on hand. Besides, I can’t very well come to a place like this in my normal look. I’ll change before the big meeting, okay?”

                     “I suppose it will have to be all right. And keep calling me Shims, please. Who we are here is different than who we are with the outside world.” Shims pointed her hand to a large, yellow sphere floating a few feet off the ground. Stepping through it would lead to another identical sphere connected at the meeting location. Most teleporters could only hop about in space, but Shimmerpath was different: she could create tunnels through it.

                     “Hey, who understands that better than me? Are we doing Christmas dinner again this year?”

                     “Of course,” Shims said, a slight glow lighting up her face. “You know how Globe gets around the holidays.”

                     The duo stepped through the orb and vanished, the orb itself dematerializing moments later. Though it was gone, the smell of burning ozone still lingered in the graveyard for an hour more, until the wind picked up in earnest, and a new coating of snow arrived to douse the land.

     151.

                    Ms. Pips was not happy with the young man sitting across the desk from her. Physically, he was still the same as he had been at their last meeting; same deliberate posture, same neutral expression, same gesture-less way he rested his hands in his lap. It was his eyes that spoke of change. Last time, they had been confused, deliberate, and hungry. Ms. Pips liked those emotions; they played well into what she could manipulate, and what she needed to see from the young man. This time, however, it was a very different set of eyes she was staring into.

                     These eyes were full of guile and determination, which were fine in the right proportions, but there was third element in there, one that set Ms. Pips on edge. Nicholas’s eyes had just a touch of smirking laughter, the sort that had been creeping in before his expulsion. She didn’t like that, both for what it said about the mind she might be dealing with, and because even she shuddered to think about the sorts of things that could make a man like Nicholas Campbell truly laugh. Her only consolation was that, if there was a heaven, Ms. Pips would never have to see her sister’s judgmental face over what had been done, what had needed to be done, to her son. No, if there was a heaven, then Ms. Pips would never see it. Her soul was far too heavy with blood to ever claw its way out of the pits of hell.

                     “You want to go back.” There was no question in her voice; she didn’t need to bother with it. That was why he was here; it was the only reason he would have left the suite he’d sealed himself in since arriving. “After how your semester ended, that’s quite the interesting sentiment. Does this mean you’ve decided to finally explain why you lapsed into a coma, and then managed to vanish from right in front of your bodyguards?”

                     “To be fair, since they were guarding me, shouldn’t that be something they’re raked over the coals for?” There it was, just as she’d been expecting. His tone was polite, his words carefully chosen, and his point valid, but there was a chuckling barb tucked beneath that simple veneer. Nicholas wasn’t just accepting her authority as he once had, he was testing her. Dancing with her. He was making a game of it. Part of her was annoyed at his boldness, but most of her was glad he’d finally gotten around to it. Leaders couldn’t be beholden to anyone’s authority. Once he could best her, he’d truly be ready for the next step in his path.

                     “They have told us everything they know, which, while inadequate, is still better than you, who is clearly holding information back.”

                     “I’m playing a very long con, and that means keeping my information as close to the vest as possible. You’re the one who taught me the importance of keeping my mouth shut when information is dangerous, even around people I can trust.”

                     Smart play, using her advice against her, though it hadn’t slipped her notice that Nicholas merely said he was running a con: he’d never specified on whom.

                     “Even if we look past your curious silence, this last semester was far from brimming with accomplishments. You failed to uncover the answer to whatever puzzle you were after; you managed to expose one of our operative’s identities to a future Hero; you were put in a mysterious coma and abducted from your room; and worst of all, you failed to anticipate an attack from Nathaniel Evers that made us look unacceptably weak.”

                     “If I may address those points: we both knew my puzzle would not be the sort that was so easy it could be solved in a single semester, and I have certainly made progress on it. Yes, Eliza’s identity was revealed to Vince, however, he doesn’t know what it is she or I do, nor about our involvement in the organization. If anything, I’ve just provided you with an emotional vulnerability to exploit on a man who could one day be a tremendous Hero.” He paused briefly, sizing up Ms. Pips’ expression. This next piece could be played in one of two ways, defense or aggression. She didn’t seem to be yielding much, so that meant he’d have to take the offense route. “We’ll skip the coma, since that was little more than an inconvenience, instead, let’s cut to the heart of the matter: Nathaniel’s attack. You’re absolutely right about my failure there. I should have been smarter, been more aware, and anticipated any move he would make. Nathaniel Evers got the better of us, of me. And that is exactly why I have to go back to Lander.”

                     “For revenge? Come now, you know I’d never authorize that sort of thing unless there was a profit in it,” Ms. Pips said.

                     “No, I need to go back because I failed to beat him the first time. He was stopped, but not by me. Right now, we’re at a draw; neither of us considers his last attempt to be a true win or loss. But if I don’t return, I look like I’m running. Like his last attack was strong enough to scare me away, and that will make it his win. I’ll look weak, and worse, the Family will look weak for allowing me to do it. Nathaniel Evers has left me with only one choice: return to Lander and finish the fight.”

                     It was well planned, calculatingly reasoned, and designed to appeal directly to her line of thinking. He had almost backed her into a corner, leaving her with the choice of conceding pride to the Evers or letting him have his way. Nicholas still had his skills, whatever sentiments might dance in his eyes. Of course, he’d forgotten the first rule she ever taught him: always have a trump card. Hers was the manila folder resting in her top desk drawer. Inside were documents that would not only keep Nicholas in Vegas, but would compel him to burn his precious Lander to the ground if she demanded it. And he’d do it all with a “thank you” and a smile. She merely had to pull out the folder, and she’d win.

                     And all it would cost her was a single broken promise.

                     “If I let you go back, I expect you to return home with unquestioned victory. I will not allow our organization to lose face in a confrontation like this. You either destroy Nathaniel Evers completely, or you’ll be coming back home as an employee who failed his task, and we will have to make quite the example out of you.”

                     “I’m aware of the rules we live by.”

                     “Very well, then. You have my blessing; go spend the next few months at Lander. Indulge in whatever side-games are keeping you so entertained there; just be sure to take care of our business when the chance arises.”

                     “Thank you very much.” He rose from his seat and began heading toward the large door at the end of the office. Before he made it all the way there, Ms. Pips called to him.

                     “Nicholas, make sure you take special note of how this meeting went. You were the one who insisted on going, I wanted you to stay. Don’t ever forget that, understand?”

                     “Yes, ma’am.” Nick Campbell pushed the door open and strode out into the hall, suddenly far less certain that he’d actually won that confrontation.

     152.

                    “Boys, we’ve got some company!” Sally Daniels did not yell as much as she willed her voice through all material obstacles and into the ears of the children she was calling. This capability was not superhuman in origin, or, if it was, then it was an ability that all mothers are given, along with lie-ray vision, and the power to summon storms of guilt. Her voice hit its mark, and soon, Vince and Hershel were coming quickly but carefully down the stairs.

                     “Is Mr. Transport back?” Hershel asked as he took the last step and landed on the ground floor. He’d taken the news of his mother’s romantic entanglement surprisingly well, thankful that she wasn’t quite as alone anymore. Roy had been a bit of a harder sell, but after a surprisingly creative and well-articulated string of threats toward Mr. Transport, he’d eventually accepted the fact that his mother was still a woman and might enjoy companionship.

                     “No, though he’s going to be joining us for Christmas dinner. Actually, Hank was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by.”

                     From the hallway stepped Hank Rhodes, every bit as imposing as he was in Hershel’s memories from the summer. Immediately, Hershel’s spine stiffened as he stood up straighter and his heels all but clicked together. Vince watched the transformation with curiosity; he’d never seen Hershel show such fear and deference to someone. Then again, Hershel hadn’t been the one to train under Coach George, so perhaps this was how he reacted to all male authority figures.

                     “Pleasure to see you again,” Hershel said, his voice nearly as stiff as his anatomy.

                     Hank let out a low chuckle and walked the rest of the way into the living room. “Relax, Hershel, you’re not getting trained today. I’m just stopping by to see how you two have been doing.” He ran his eyes up and down Hershel’s steadily changing form. Since summer, Hershel’s weight loss had slowed down somewhat, but he was also turning a fair amount of his former chub into muscle. The boy hadn’t been slacking off in his training, that much was certain.

                     “It’s very nice to meet you, sir. My name is Vince Reynolds; I’m a guest of Hershel’s.” Vince offered up his hand, which Hank seized and shook. The older man’s cocoa-dark skin was a contrast to Vince’s naturally pale tones, and both gave a squeeze that was firm enough to indicate respect, without falling into an outright challenge.

                     “You’re the energy absorber boy, right?”

                     Vince balked slightly, the candid discussion of his powers from a stranger something he was clearly not expecting. His hand fell away from the shake as confusion grew more evident on his face.

                     “Sorry, that was crass of me to spring on you,” Hank apologized. “I’m not technically affiliated with Heroes or the HCP, but I’ve done enough work for them that they’ll sometimes call me in for special jobs. That means I’m connected enough to hear about things in the Hero grapevine, like the son of Globe being in Lander and under watch by the DVA.”

                     “I guess I should try and get used to that,” Vince said. “My secrets aren’t really going to be very secret anymore.”

                     “Don’t fret too much; I’m under all the standard DVA agreements for non-disclosure, that’s why people were allowed to tell me about you. Outside the circle of Heroes, though, you should at least get a little privacy. Actually, I’ve wanted to shake your hand for a while. Heard you were able to absorb another Super’s crafted energy. Very impressive.”

                     “You think so?”

                     “Let’s just put it this way: I’m glad my son is an HCP senior this year, or he’d probably have a tough time against you in the Intramurals.”

                     “The what?” Hershel asked.

                     Sally Daniels coughed loudly into her hand, purposely catching Hank’s eye.

                     “What? They’re juniors, right?”

                     “Not every HCP does things the same way, Hank. Lander prefers to keep that a concern just for seniors.”

                     “Well fuck me with a bull’s horn. Sorry boys, forget I said anything.” Hank gave a slight shrug of apology, then changed the subject with exactly zero attempt at grace or obfuscation. Sadly, his first swing went well wide of the target. “How about those Chicago Speed-Demons this year? The SAA might see its first undefeated football team, if they don’t lose it in the play-offs.”

                     “Hang on; did you say you have a son in the HCP?” Vince asked.

                     “That’s Brett. He goes to West,” Hershel said. “Roy and I worked with him in Hank’s rodeo over the summer. He’s top of his class there. We sparred once or twice, but he was way too powerful for us to get anything out of it. I was glad he wasn’t in competition with us, though now, Hank has me wondering how right that thought was.” He threw a suspicious glance at his teacher, who did his best to look confounded at what they could be talking about.

                     Sally shot Hank a more savage look than her first warning glance, and he decided it was time to pull this conversation up short, before too much information slipped out. Luckily, this time, he chose the one topic that every HCP student is always eager to talk about.

                     Hank clapped his hands together once, and Hershel snapped back to attention. “All right, that’s enough conjecture and grilling me. I came to check in on how your training is going, so bring me up to speed. Tell me about your end of semester exam, and don’t spare a single detail. You too, Vince. I’m curious to see what the kids at Lander are capable of.”

                     “In all fairness, I should probably let Roy tell you. He’s been all but bursting with pride over what he pulled off,” Hershel said.

                     “I’ll want him to tell me about it too. Let’s hear your take first, which I suspect will be more analytical, and then I’ll listen to Roy’s, which will no doubt be full of color commentary. I want to see how both your minds are strategizing.”

                     “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Daniels said. “You three go in the living room, and I’ll put together a light lunch for everyone. Everyone can have a nice long chat, about appropriate topics for HCP juniors. Right, Hank?”

                     Hank Rhodes was not a Hero; he’d had the power and the skill, but not the desire to do the kinds of things those people had to do. Nonetheless, throughout the years, he’d been called in for training, side-jobs, and a few emergency situations that necessitated a man with his skillset. He’d looked death in the eyes more than once and refused to flinch.

                     All the same, he was not quite so courageous a man as to piss off Sally Daniels when her face got serious. Death was a one-shot deal—it happened, and then you were free. Sally was an old-school southern woman, and Hank knew first-hand that they weren’t nearly as kind as death when they got cross.

                     “Of course, Sally. Wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

     153.

                    Charles Adair found his daughter in one of the smaller libraries, tucked away in a plush chair, reading a large tome that centered on physics, specifically as applied to gravity, which he found odd. Not the choice of reading—that made perfect sense given the development of her abilities. No, what was strange was that it was Christmas Day, and she had made no effort to seek him out. Normally, she made at least cursory attempts to pull him from his office, if for nothing else than lunch. Today, as she had this entire break, Alice left him alone; so much so that Charles had worked himself into a fine state of hunger without even realizing it.

                     Charles was not a foolish man. He understood that keeping Alice at an emotional arm’s length might one day cause her to pull away. Still, he’d expected that to come in her teens—the most difficult of years—or when she’d first gone off to college and tasted independence. Instead, it seemed to have come at the end of her sophomore year, and she was showing no signs of changing course. He’d known it was inevitable, necessary really, yet all the same, he felt a strange pang in his stomach as he watched his daughter curled in a chair, eyes darting methodically across the pages.

                     She really did look so much like her mother.

                     “I seem to have worked through lunch.”

                     Alice looked up from the book, no signs of surprise on her face. Either she’d known he was there, or such reactions had been trained out of her by the Lander staff. “You did. I had one of the cooks run to your office to let you know everything was ready, but the door was shut, and you didn’t answer.”

                     Of course, had she been the one to come get him, she’d have opened it without a second thought. That had been their dance for years now, her barging into his life while he tried to keep her at bay. Charles was beginning to wonder if perhaps he had drawn more from that strange arrangement than he realized.

                     “Ah well, I must have been caught up in something important. I assume they’ve kept everything warm?”

                     “As always.” Alice’s tone carried no venom; such an addition would have been superfluous. The word choice alone drove her meaning with the force of a stake through the heart.

                     “Alice, you know I don’t enjoy all this work, don’t you? I don’t take pleasure in working through the holidays, or in so rarely getting to see my own daughter. What I do is necessary. I may not be an active Hero anymore, but my company and abilities still help safeguard this country; even if it’s the economy, instead of individual citizens.”

                     “My Subtlety professor once taught us an interesting theory: ‘a person will lie with their words, face, and even actions. What they can’t lie through is their habits. No one keeps doing things they hate, not long-term. Human, Super, Powered, everyone eventually weasels out of things they dislike. You want to know what matters most to someone? Look at their habits.’”

                     “Interesting thought,” Charles said. “A bastardization of Machiavelli?”

                     “So far as I know, it’s a Pendleton original.”

                     Charles Adair winced at that name, only for a moment, but Alice’s efforts in Subtlety had not been wasted. Charles could tell she saw the twitch, his unintentional reaction to the word “Pendleton.” True, she had no idea what it meant, but she’d seen it all the same. Alice was growing more dangerous with every passing day.

                     “I suppose I can’t entirely dispute that. I do love knowing I am helping our country, making a safe world for my child to grow up in. Even if you can’t always see it, Alice, so much of what I do has been for you.”

                     “Maybe it has been. I know so little about what you do; it’s hard for me to judge.”

                     “Be fair, much of the work I do is incredibly classified. It’s not like I keep you in the dark out of joy.”

                     “So, that’s to protect me too.” Alice shut her book and set it down, leaning forward in the large chair. She locked eyes with her father, and for the first time, Charles saw Alice Adair as more than his Powered daughter who’d cried for hours every time she fell from the ceiling. Staring into her fierce green eyes, he realized his child had grown up into a powerful woman, capable of commanding respect and fear, and with the strength to back it up if she didn’t receive them. Simultaneously, Charles’s heart was broken and filled with joy. He never wanted this life for Alice, but it reassured him to know she’d manage to survive when he was gone.

                     “Yes, dear. To protect you, and the country, and the billions of citizens who depend on what we do. You don’t have to like it; I don’t even ask that you respect it. Just try to understand that sometimes personal sacrifice is required to serve the greater good. As an aspiring Hero, I suspect that’s something even your Professor Pendleton would agree with me on.”

                     “I think, as long as you were disagreeing with me, he’d be on your side,” Alice said.

                     Charles would have loved to explain to her how Sean Pendleton would sooner swear off scotch and sarcasm than ever find himself on the same side as Charles Adair, but such explanations would require opening old wounds and stories, ones best left undisturbed for now. She was already glaring at him with too much suspicion; clearly, she either knew something or thought she did. Best to offer her as little to go on as possible.

                     “Then perhaps that education isn’t entirely inadequate, after all,” Charles said. “I’m going to have a late lunch. Would you care to join me?”

                     “No, thank you. I was planning to go visit Mom.” Her eyes never wavered, never flicked away. She was watching him, watching for any sign of a reaction to that statement.

                     “Take some flowers from the garden,” Charles said. “Planting one was her idea, you know. When we were young and poor, she would often talk about the lavish garden she’d like to one day have. Though she was gone by the time I built this house, I still tried to give her one.”

                     “You never told me that.” All of Alice’s suspicions were gone, momentarily purged in the sudden onset of emotion at hearing a hidden detail from her mother’s past. Alice was strong, but not so hardened that her emotions couldn’t still be played against her.

                     “I didn’t? Perhaps you’re right. When we lost her, I found even talking about Shelby too difficult to bear. After all these years, silence has become my habit, but that isn’t fair. Not to you, or to her memory. I tell you what, after lunch, we’ll go into the garden together to pick flowers and visit her. I can tell you which were her favorites.”

                     “I . . . I’d love that.” Alice rose from the chair and walked over, all thoughts of interrogation abandoned.

                     “Then that is what we will do.” Charles put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head, just like when she’d been that crying child so many years before.

                     Someday, he would tell her everything that had happened. Someday, when she was strong enough. Someday . . . but certainly not on Christmas.

     154.

     The soft knock was followed almost immediately by the door opening. Ralph Chapman didn’t bother to look up from his desk at first. Given that today was Christmas, and he was sitting in his Washington office, there were really only two possibilities for who’d be barging in. It was either Derrick, or it was some crazed Super who’d tracked him down to kill him, in which case, his murderer could damned well finish this paperwork while Ralph traipsed off to the afterlife. When he finally looked up, it was Derrick standing before him. Pity, the idea of passing off his work was quite appealing.

                     “Merry Christmas,” Derrick Conner said, setting a small gift on Ralph’s desk. “It’s your year with the stapler.”

                     Derrick and Ralph had been re-gifting the same ancient stapler to one another every Christmas for nearly thirty years. It had begun as a small prank when they were both starting out, working a campaign for some now long-forgotten, minor politician. Though much had changed since those early years, at least this tradition had persisted.

                     “Did you stuff it with anchovies again?” Ralph set his pen down and motioned for Derrick to sit.

                     “Gummy bears that I soaked in old salmon juice,” Derrick said as he slid into the wooden chair. “Jen and I would love to have you over for dinner tonight. Place isn’t the same with the last one off to college.”

                     “I forgot that Pepper left this year. What college did she end up choosing?”

                     “Sizemore University, over in Chicago.”

                     Ralph felt his hand clench involuntarily, a response he tried desperately to hide from his only friend. There was no reason to react that way; Pepper was a Super, true, but her ability didn’t lend itself to being in the Hero Certification Program. Though Ralph worked to keep his feelings concealed, Derrick still easily saw through them.

                     “Relax, she picked it because the girls’ volleyball team is nationally ranked, and they offered her a scholarship. Thankfully, her power doesn’t have any athletic applications, so she doesn’t have to go through the SAA. Changing the way food tastes might be a great dieting aid, but it wouldn’t get her into the HCP.”

                     “I know. I’m still sorry for my reaction. Even if she were enrolled, you’ve raised a fine young woman. She’s not the sort I’d be worried about. Forgive me; this recent job just has me a bit frazzled. I keep hitting walls at every turn.”

                     Ralph reached into his desk drawer and pulled out two sodas, offering one to Derrick, who declined. He put the other in his desk, and then poured himself one. Ralph didn’t drink, hadn’t for so very many years. Carbonated beverages were his only real vice now. There was no time to be muddled, to have his thoughts broken. He had too much work to do.

                     “Try not to let it get the best of you,” Derrick advised. “If they’re hiding something, they’ll make a mistake, sooner or later. Everyone does.”

                     “All too true. So, how are things over at the Treasury Department?”

                     “Oh no, not going to work. You still haven’t responded to my dinner invitation,” Derrick said, leaning forward ever so slightly in his chair. “Jen’s even making the tiramisu cake you liked so much last time you were over.”

                     “I appreciate the invitation, I do, but I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me. I have to find some sort of new avenue for attack before school resumes. If I don’t think of something, then they’ll keep boxing me out.”

                     Derrick gave his friend a long, measured look. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer. “Ralph . . . look, you know I understand, right? Even if no one else does, you know I get it. I was there when you got the news; I was there when you first decided to apply for the transfer. I’m always on your side, but you can’t go at this so hard that you forget to live in between. That’s not what they would have wanted.”

                     Ralph stared at the slowly popping bubbles bursting up from his soda. “I know, Derrick, and I thank you for all the support you’ve given me over the years. Maybe you’re right; maybe they would have wanted a different, happier life for me. Sadly, this is the only one I can manage. When I’m doing my job, when I’m hunting down Heroes who think they can skirt the system, that’s the only time I feel any sense of peace. Otherwise, whenever I shut my eyes, I just see them. Them, and that damned bridge.”

                     “My brother was the one driving the car. I won’t say I know how you feel—much as I loved him, I can’t imagine our pains are the same—but I at least have an idea.” Derrick rubbed his hand across a chin that had once been masculine and pronounced, though age and weight gain had taken much of its grandeur. “Sometimes, when I’m in the area, I’ll go look at where the San Witmer Bridge used to be. I’ll check out the new one, read the plaque they have at its base, and reflect on what happened. You know what I feel when I do that?”

                     “What?”

                     “Nothing. Not a damn thing. I still miss my brother just as much, but at this point, it’s just become this background pain that never really leaves or intensifies. It doesn’t give me peace, or closure, it doesn’t even stir me up enough to get pissed. I get literally nothing out of it, but I still go once or twice a year all the same.”

                     “You think I’m holding on to my pain too tightly.”

                     “No, Ralph. I think it’s holding you. These gestures, these habits, these compulsions: they aren’t ours. They’re what the holes in our heart demand from us for the ability to fall asleep at night. We’re slaves to them, but that doesn’t mean we have to be obedient ones. You need to fight back on occasion. Come live a bit, if only for tonight.”

                     Ralph sighed and downed the rest of his soda. “With that tongue of yours, I’m shocked you never made a run for Congress.”

                     “Who knows? I still might. We’re not dead yet; there are still years of potential in front of us. That’s kind of the point I was leading up to, anyway.”

                     “You win,” Ralph said, putting the papers in his desk. “At least the rest of the office is out this week, so I have peace and quiet to work in.”

                     “Way to see the bright side,” Derrick replied. He and Ralph headed out the office door, still hanging slightly ajar, and clicked the lights out as they exited.

                     The office went dark, though a stuck blind allowed a small amount of illumination from the pale-yellow street lights outside. This rogue light was just enough to cause a glare on the single picture that sat on Ralph Chapman’s desk. It was at least a decade old, taken in a park that had been paved over to create a smoothie shop. In it was a much younger Ralph Chapman, wearing a smile that would have seemed entirely out of place on the face he now possessed. He was crouched down in the grass, his wide arms outstretched as he hugged a pair of young girls, the eldest no older than five years old.

     155.

                     “You need to take a break.”

                     George didn’t have to look to see who was talking. After working with her for so long, he knew Persephone’s voice without a second glance. He didn’t spare her a glance, though, staying in position on the stone floor of the warehouse. It would have been cold had he been in human form, but his body was metallic, with wires running from his arm to a small computer set up on a wooden table.

                     “This thing isn’t going to crack itself.”

                     “And you’re not going to beat it in the time it takes to come have lunch,” Persephone said. “He’s big on family meals, especially during the holidays. You know that.”

                     “Family. Don’t tell me you’re buying into all that shit.”

                     “He can be pretty persuasive.”

                     “Of course he can, look at what he’s talked us all into doing.” George finally turned toward his fellow former coach. She was leaner than she had been at Lander, closer to the fighting shape she’d worn during her Hero days. That wasn’t surprising; the only thing to do around here was train. The others, at least, had some ability to move about in the real world. For George, Persephone, and Gerard, though, such things were impossible. They were wanted criminals, and one person spotting them would potentially bring down the entire operation. At least Globe had the ability to create the illusion that he was someone else, though, unless there was business, he kept himself confined with the others. He never said why, but he didn’t have to: he was the kind of man who would suffer with his troops rather than use his status as grounds for special treatment.

                     “So save us all the trouble of him walking in here and making a speech, and just come eat lunch.”

                     “Fine. But only because I’ve been here for twenty hours and probably need some damn food anyway.” George unplugged the connection from his arm to the computer, and then stood. “I don’t buy in with any of this ‘family’ or ‘togetherness’ stuff. I’m here for the job, nothing else.”

                     “Even though that sentiment is why we spent months planning and executing your jailbreak?”

                     “Please, you just needed someone to crack the cipher. If you’d managed to find someone else you could trust, I’d still be locked up, getting smacked around by guards for my smart mouth.”

                     “No, George, you wouldn’t be. And you know it.” Persephone stared at him unflinchingly, and George felt his stubborn resolve weaken. After what had happened to her, the fact that she was able to trust someone the way she trusted Globe was tremendous. She needed the belief in him the same way George needed his anger and guilt. It was what kept them trudging forward, even though they’d fallen so far from grace.

                     “Fine, so he would have gotten me anyway. But I bet it wouldn’t have been as quick or as flashy.”

                     “Most people don’t consider a year ‘quick.’”

                     “Most people don’t know how well guarded that fucking hellhole was. Of course, it would have been a lot easier if he hadn’t been determined to avoid casualties.”

                     “Yes, but that wouldn’t be him. And you know you wouldn’t have wanted to get out that way. Not by killing people doing their jobs.”

                     “I don’t know, a few were pretty enthusiastic with the discipline. I might not have minded seeing them get put down.”

                     “And if you were working there, you wouldn’t have done the same?”

                     Persephone had him there, so George decided to change the subject.

                     “What’s for lunch, anyway?”

                     “Dressing, green beans, potatoes, the usual sides. Oh, and Gerard made a Turducken.”

                     George shifted back to human just in time for his face to scrunch up in a mix of worry and disgust. “Christ, isn’t that the abomination of a chicken stuffed in a duck stuffed in a turkey?”

                     “It is, and you’ll eat a big portion. Gerard worked all through the night on it.”

                     George shook his head, but followed Persephone out of the room anyway. “I know we live in a world where people have the powers of gods and demons, but even to me, that just seems . . . wrong.”

     *              *              *

                     Chad sat on the porch, staring up at the stars. Though the crisp evening air tried to invade his skin, he kept his body at the optimal temperature. Sometimes, he wondered what it was like to have a normal body, one that bucked and ran wild, doing whatever it pleased despite the brain’s commands. It always sounded terrible when others described it, but then again, so had emotional entanglement. Angela had proved that not to be nearly as unpleasant as he’d expected.

                     “See any new constellations?” Blaine—only Blaine while here in the house—stepped out from the kitchen and looked up at the sky. His power afforded him no protection from the cold, so he wore a thick jacket that was a bit too small in the shoulders for him.

                     “Nothing so far. Has Mom calmed down?”

                     “Moderately. She’s at least stopped trying to pry Angela’s contact information out of me in order to invite her over. Honestly, Chad, you really didn’t tell your mother you were seeing someone this whole semester?”

                     “It didn’t seem relevant to my progress.”

                     “Look, you can pull the totally oblivious act around the other students, but I know you’re smart enough to realize your mother would care about you having your first girlfriend.”

                     “Perhaps I was worried her reaction would be a bit more . . . enthusiastic than I wanted to deal with.”

                     “So instead, you let me blurt it out over Christmas dinner. Smooth.” Blaine sank into a wooden chair next to his godson, eyes still sweeping the heavens. “How have things been going between you two, anyway?”

                     “Chaotic. We both were so caught up in the end of semester training that we saw each other infrequently. Normally, I would be concerned, but Angela seems to fare well in a chaotic environment.”

                     “She’s a . . . special one.” Even amidst the menagerie of students Blaine dealt with year after year, Angela DeSoto was a rare creature. He wasn’t sure he’d have set her up with his godson if given the choice, but that’s why it wasn’t his to make. Part of love was finding odd combinations that somehow fit, and part of being young was making painful mistakes in pursuit of that pairing.

                     “Indeed she is. I seem to have a large amount of interesting, special people in my life.”

                     “You’re still mad I told you not to ask what Mary and the others were doing, I take it?”

                     “Ah, good. I worried I hadn’t used the right tone to convey my annoyance.”

                     “No, you did a surprisingly good job,” Blaine said. He meant it, too; Chad was slowly getting more adept at the subtleties of human interaction. It was the sort of thing he could have mastered as a child, if he’d ever cared. “You just have to trust me for now. If you ask them, they’ll tell you, and then you’re involved in something you don’t need to be. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

                     “I have not spent my life training to be safe. I’ve done it to be the one protecting others. While I respect your sentiment, it seems to me very misplaced. If I am unable to handle the danger of what you’re facing, then perhaps I don’t possess the qualifications to be a Hero.”

                     “Not all danger is physical, Chad. And not everyone is meant to handle the same problems. You wouldn’t claim to be able to fill in for a Ranged Combat Hero, not adequately, so don’t assume your skill means you can deal with any problem.” Blaine turned his eyes from the sky to the young man sitting next to him. Had things gone just a bit differently, this would be his house, Miriam his wife, and some incarnation of Chad his son. But they hadn’t gone that way, and now, he was just a visitor to the life he might have once possessed. Even looking in from the outside, he still couldn’t help but love them.

                     “We’ve been working together to make you a Hero since you were a child. Has my training or advice ever steered you wrong?”

                     “No. Not once.”

                     “Then believe me when I say that, right now, the ignorance is for your own good. There are things going on, things that can end careers. The only way for you to be blameless is for you to be knowledge-less. I’m already risking a lot, please don’t make me risk your future too.”

                     Chad looked at Blaine and nodded. Much as he disliked being kept in the dark, he knew without question that Blaine would never do something without good reason. He’d always been there for Chad, always watched over him. There was zero doubt in Chad’s mind that Blaine would never betray him. “For now. I don’t like it, but I will abide by it, for now.”

                     “That’s all I can ask,” Blaine said.

                     “Chad!” Miriam’s voice rang out from the house. “I found your cell phone and got this Angela girl’s number. What day do you want me to invite her over for a visit?”

                     “I blame you for this,” Chad muttered, as he rose from his seat.

                     “Maybe Angela won’t come?”

                     “Certainly, the chance to meet my mother, dig up dirt on me, and cause mischief. That is exactly the sort of thing Angela is likely to turn down.”

                     For better or worse, Chad was definitely getting better at sarcasm.

     156.

                    The start of the spring semester was still two days away as Nick Campbell piloted his new SUV into the parking lot a few blocks from Lander’s campus. Jerome and Eliza were taking the same car they’d left in, but Nick had opted to head back solo. This was both because he wanted some time alone with his thoughts, and because someone had to bring his new ride down. He’d been a bit tempted, however fleetingly, to pull the Bug out of storage, but had ultimately decided against it. Best to start off a new semester with a new set of wheels, ones Nathaniel wouldn’t immediately know belonged to him. Admittedly, it wouldn’t be much of a gap before his rival learned of the car switch, but it would be a window all the same. Besides, Nick could fit the rest of his friends in a vehicle this size, and that would make their inevitable commutes much easier.

                     Slamming down the rear door, Nick pulled out his two suitcases and headed up the stairs. Security people working for an associate of Ms. Pips should have finished their sweep of the apartment no less than half an hour before his arrival, and Nathaniel was confirmed to be still in Las Vegas. If there was ever a time to return safely, this was it. True, he probably shouldn’t have sped off, ditching Eliza and Jerome, but Nick just hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d only knifed two of their tires, after all, so they shouldn’t be too far behind him. Nick just wanted a bit of time to be alone in his apartment before the pestering reignited.

                     Unfortunately, as he swung open the front door, Nick realized his desire for solitude was destined to go unfulfilled. Prof—Sean Pendleton was sitting on the couch, having helped himself to a beer, and was watching television.

                     “You didn’t strike me as the football type,” Nick said, dropping the suitcases by the door.

                     “Because I’m lean and lanky? Give me a little credit. I can still appreciate the athleticism.”

                     “I was actually referring to your love of romance novels,” Nick explained. He shut the door and relocked it. From what he could tell, Sean hadn’t used any sort of forced entry to break in. As one of the few people on Lander’s campus who knew his former teacher’s power, this didn’t surprise Nick in the slightest.

                     “A man can love fine writing and bone-crushing sports. We’re multi-layered creatures like that. Mind grabbing me a fresh beer?”

                     Nick obliged the request; the beers were for company in the first place. While in the kitchen, he mixed himself a gin and soda as well, bringing both into the living room. He set his former teacher’s beer down in front of him, and then took a seat in a nearby recliner.

                     “Are you going to make me guess why you broke in?”

                     “Sort of sad that there are so many options, aren’t there?” Sean said, grabbing his cold beverage. “Could be about the homework I gave you, could be to see how you dealt with that guy who was following you last semester—yes, we knew about that—or it could be about that card you left me just before your mind got wiped.” Sean took a long sip of the freshly opened beer. “Why don’t we make sure your skills are still sharp: try and deduce which it is.”

                     “Fine.” Nick leaned back in the recliner, adopting a position that made him appear far more relaxed than he actually was. “Given the nature of the homework, you’ll likely want Blaine here when we discuss it.”

                     “That’s Dean Blaine.”

                     “In that case, you can call me King Nick, since we’re adopting superfluous titles.”

                     “Except he actually is a dean.”

                     “But not my dean, which makes the distinction irrelevant.”

                     “Humor me.”

                     Nick rolled his eyes, but decided not to dwell on an issue of etiquette for longer than he had to. “My point still stands, if it were the homework, you’d want Dean Blaine here, Professors Stone and Fletcher likely as well.”

                     “We never told you Fletcher was part of our circle.”

                     “Please, he was brought on at the same time as you, after George and Persephone’s betrayal. Add in his close association with Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport, and it becomes clear he was brought on board for the express purpose of being someone to trust. May I continue now?”

                     Sean gave a small nod and took another sip of his beer.

                     “If you were aware of the matter of the man who was stalking us, then you also know it was never really us he was interested in. I’m not quite sure how much you know about his employer, but even based solely on the subject of his investigations, I can conclude you wouldn’t want to have that talk in a place like this. Especially without Dean Blaine to offer some assurances of privacy.”

                     “We know about the employer,” Sean replied. “Which should tell you that you’re spot on about this neither being the time nor place to discuss it.”

                     “That would seem to leave us with only the third option, but there’s a problem with that.” Nick set his glass down carefully, turning so his eyes met the professor’s. “In the semester I was . . . indisposed, there is no way you didn’t do some investigating on your own. By now, you should have learned about Alice’s incident on Halloween, and about the facilitator who broached Vince’s subconscious. Even if Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport didn’t fill you in, I’m sure Professor Stone rummaged all around our minds while we were dealing with the ice-tomb. So, by now, you already know how I figured out your sister was alive. There’s not much more on that front to convey.”

                     Nick picked his drink back up and pressed it to lips that were already smiling. “Thus, I must conclude that it is none of the options you presented. Those were given to throw me off, to lead me to the belief that it must have been one of them, which was a fallacy. No, having ruled out each of those, I am left with only one conclusion at the reason for your presence: you wanted someone to watch the football game with, and no one else is back from break yet.”

                     “Some of them are around, just busy. Plus, you have beer,” Sean said.

                     “So I do. When Eliza arrives, I’ll have her stock the fridge.”

                     “I always knew you were smarter than most kids your age.” Sean finished the beer and set it down, his long face growing suddenly serious. “But you know that soon, very soon, we will have to talk about all that other stuff. And it’s going to lead to places, and actions, that are likely to be very unpleasant.”

                     “The terms of my service were made exceedingly clear,” Nick replied.

                     “I’m just saying, when you know there’s a lot of darkness on the horizon, try to enjoy the good days. Drinking beers, watching the game, relaxing; that stuff. The chances for it slip away faster than you can imagine.”

                     Nick stared at the older man for some while. In a way, they were much the same: men who were no longer part of the Hero world, yet were still bound to its service. Amidst the sentinels of justice and decency, they were the ones whose hands were already dirty, and could bear the weight of a little more filth when the time came. The others might love them, trust them, and respect them, but they would never understand them. Those who lived in the light could never truly know what it was to dwell in the shadows.

                     “Is this your way of asking me for another beer?”

                     “Well, if you’re offering, I won’t say no.”

                     Nick got up from his chair, snagging his own glass in the process. His teacher was right: better to enjoy the good days when they came. There were always horrid ones lurking around the corner.

     157.

                   The spirit inside Melbrook Hall was lighter than it had been in months as its residents returned.  With the hurdle of last semester cleared, the next one far away, and Nick’s successful rescue, everyone was feeling optimistic about the coming weeks at Lander. One person was extra excited, though, and his joy had nothing to do with the program.

                     Vince and Hershel had only been back for half an hour, dropped off by Mr. Transport in the mid-morning, before the doorbell of Melbrook began dinging incessantly. Vince headed down the front hallway before any discussion arose, returning quickly with Alex, who was clutching a large binder in his arms.

                     “Tell me you did some costuming work over the break,” Alex said, barely managing to get through the door before the words leapt out of his mouth.

                     “I . . . we aren’t even seniors . . . oh!” Hershel nearly smacked himself as realization kicked in at last. “That costuming. For the Star Puncher opening. Yeah, I knocked out a few sketches in my downtime. What about you?”

                     “I did considerably more than a few,” Alex replied, setting his weighty binder down on the table. “Home is really boring compared to here. Practically all I did was train and plan.”

                     “That can’t possibly be full of just stuff for your costume,” Hershel said, words more filled with hope than certainty.

                     “Of course not. I just knew everyone else didn’t have the background to put their own outfits together, so I made designs for them too.”

                     Vince carefully interrupted the conversation. “When you say everyone . . .”

                     “Everyone. You, Camille, Mary, Alice, Chad, Violet, Thomas, Will, Jill, all of our friends. Good thing Star Puncher has such a wide array of characters; I don’t think I had to repeat a single person.”

                     “I don’t recall all those people agreeing to join us,” Vince pointed out.

                     “Maybe not, but they will, once they realize how awesome it’s going to be,” Alex replied, enthusiasm willfully undeterred. “In the meantime, we can start with the people we know are coming along. I whipped up some basics for Chad’s Gelfrak costume—there’s no one else he could really play. Vince, for you, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure who best fit your look, so I made concepts for Dialong and Tuspay. Technically, they’re twins, but the style of their costumes and the makeup you’d need would both be very different.”

                     “Wait, did you say makeup?”

                     “Nothing too extensive, just some horns by your ears and ridges on your forehead. Oh, and of course, we’d do all of your visible skin in either a light blue or a dark green, depending on which character you played.”

                     “And you know how to do all that?” Vince asked.

                     “Duh, I’ve been doing sci-fi openings since I saw The Trilogy for the first time. My dad taught me how to do Klingon makeup when we went to see Star Trek. I’m also decent with a sewing machine, but I’ve got nothing on Hershel.”

                     Hershel gave a humble shrug and began flipping through Alex’s binder. He didn’t consider himself especially gifted at any aspect of costume crafting; it was just that running his LARP group for so long had given him wagon-loads of practice. Tunics and capes didn’t sew themselves. Well . . . technically, they did in-game when the right spells were cast, but he still had to do actual mending as the real-world counterpart to his character. Even with his level of skill, a cursory glance at Alex’s binder told him that many of the proposed outfits were beyond what he could manage.

                     “Alex, you’re going to have to scale some of these back. The premiere is in about a month: there’s no way I’ll be able to do Kilworth’s Robe of Battle. It trails ten feet behind him, and every scrap is a different pattern.”

                     “I can pitch in some,” Vince offered. “We had to sew our clothes when they ripped for my whole childhood.”

                     “Working a sewing machine with a pattern is a whole different animal,” Hershel said. “I’m not saying you can’t learn, or that I won’t take you up on the offer to help, just that it won’t cut out as much work as you might think.”

                     Suddenly, Mr. Transport was standing in the middle of the room, as was Chad, holding a pair of suitcases in his powerful hands. For the three who had already been in the room, it was a curious experience. They were usually the ones being teleported, so they never got to see the momentary look of confusion as those hopping through space re-acclimated to their immediate change in surroundings.

                     “Hey, Chad. I thought you drove home over break,” Hershel said.

                     “Hello, Hershel. No, I merely caught a ride with someone; however, Mr. Transport was the best option for my return trip.” Chad carefully lowered his suitcases to the ground. “Hello, Vince and Alex. Are you all studying already?”

                     “We’re going over costume plans for the Star Puncher premiere,” Alex explained. “But this might not be good anymore, since Hershel and I can’t manage all of it ourselves.”

                     “I don’t mind adding my hands in when time allows,” Chad said. “It is supposed to be a group effort, after all.”

                     “Do you know how to use a sewing machine and read a pattern?” Hershel asked.

                     “Not currently, however, if you give me half an hour for research and video tutorials, I should be able to achieve a moderate skill level.”

                     “Yeah . . . that’d be great.” It was amazing how easily Hershel let it slip his brain that Chad’s ability came with an entire suite of practical uses. It boggled the mind to think what their blond friend could have accomplished if he’d gone into the mundane world for his career. Of them all, Chad’s power most lent itself to a life of ease. He could excel at a job that taxed the mind, body, or both. The fact that he’d traded it for Hero work, the sort of career that was likely to get him killed more than anything, made it all the more impressive.

                     “Awesome, with Chad on board, we should be able to handle the sewing, which is good, because it frees us up the tackle the bigger problems,” Alex said.

                     “Dare I even ask?” Vince said.

                     “I thought it would be obvious. To make this night all that it can be, to truly turn it into the piece of cherished memory it was meant to be, there’s a crucial element that must be present.” Alex shut the binder and all but beamed with determination. “We have to get the girls to costume up and join us.”

     158.

                    None of the students were surprised to see Dean Blaine waiting for them at what was supposed to be their first gym session after winter break. In his hands were a stack of folders, some thicker than others, and it didn’t take a very astute guess to figure out what the information pertained to. Without a word from their dean, every HCP junior fell into the usual half-circle they took when being addressed by a teacher or guest.

                     “As I’m sure you’ve all figured out, I’m here to give you your results from the semester final,” Dean Blaine announced. “But this time, we’ll be doing things a bit differently. Just giving you a grade wouldn’t impart the level of feedback necessary for you to learn. So today, you’ll each be receiving thorough breakdowns of how you performed.” He could see the interest peaking in some of the students, those who already realized the value in what they were being given.

     “We’ll cover what you did well, what you could have executed better, how you showed the skills you’re majoring in, and what you should work on. This will be the system of feedback for all major exams going forward in the program, as we have now reached the point where you all possess basic abilities. What is left is to sharpen and refine those skills until they are unrivaled. Each of you will have the duration of this class to look over your results. When it ends, you’ll return them to me, and they will be destroyed. Any clarification or advice you need from your professors can be obtained during their office hours. Any questions?”

                     Several hands went up before he’d even gotten the words out, and Dean Blaine suppressed a grin. He knew darn well what they were curious about, and he fully intended to give it to them, but every now and then, it was fun to watch these ever-growing-powerhouses sweat a bit.

                     “Yes, Mr. Murray?” Dean Blaine pointed to Will, who immediately looked a bit uncomfortable now that all eyes were upon him.

                     “I, um, I was just wondering if you were going to tell us how we ranked.”

                     “Rankings only change at year’s end, Mr. Murray. I’d expect you to know that by now.”

                     “No, I meant . . . you know, in the test.” Will shuffled his feet, only now realizing that the front-runner asking for confirmation of his win might seem somewhat egotistical.

                     “Yes, Mr. Murray, I know what you’re talking about.” Fun was fun, but dragging this out any longer would border on cruelty. “I will be relaying the information before you pick up your folders; however, I’ll only be giving you the top three in each category. Any lower than that would be shaming those who had a bad day, instead of lauding those who had a good one, and that’s not what I’m here to do.”

                     “What do you mean each category?” Violet asked.

                     “I mean, you were being tested in your overall performances, as well as how you fared in your individual majors. For example: someone who is enrolled in Close Combat and Weapons might have done well overall, but used their weapon very little and as such, not placed highly in that category,” Dean Blaine explained. “Now then, are you all ready for the results?”

                     No one actually spoke up, but there was enough nodding that, had an observer peeked in from outside, they might have thought Dean Blaine was hosting a secret head-banging metal concert. The faces of his students ranged from eager, to nervous, to downright terrified. Rich and Terrance wore those latter expressions, their status as the only two to fail at finishing the test no doubt weighing heavily on their minds.

                     “I’ll give these to you in order; first name is the number one spot, then number two, then number three. We’ll start with what is likely the most obvious of results, Subtlety. The top three for that class are Will Murray, Britney Ferguson, and Alice Adair.”

                     This was hardly shocking news, as it had been obvious by the amount of Sims that were shut down who had done the best in the class. Still, Alice let out a small sigh of relief at the news. Part of her had been worried that Professor Pendleton would find some way to dock her enough points that she’d fall out of the top three.

                     “Next is Ranged Combat,” Dean Blaine continued. “Our top three for that category are Thomas Castillo, Jill Murray, and Shane DeSoto.”

                     The room filled with polite clapping, but all Shane could hear was the blood suddenly pounding in his ears. It was his own fault for falling to third. That challenge had been his to lose, and he’d had to go and get caught up with a yellow-light Sim while a red managed to run wild. There was no one to blame but himself, and no solution except to train harder. Chad put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but otherwise said nothing. He knew there weren’t any words that would make Shane feel better.

                     “For the Focus major, the top three are Selena Wilkins, Mary Smith, and Alex Griffen,” Dean Blaine announced.

                     Alex found himself being slapped on the back by several sources, some of them unexpected. It was no surprise that Selena was in the top; she was a contender for the overall top three in every category but time. Mary might have taken the top spot if she hadn’t been so rushed, but for him to make the top three . . . he allowed himself a gleeful grin. It wasn’t often he got to stand in the spotlight, so it only seemed right that he enjoy it.

                     “In Weapons, the top three students were Britney Ferguson, Roy Daniels, and Will Murray.”

                     Britney kept a neutral expression as Dean Blaine called her name for the second time. She was keenly aware that plenty of people thought invisibility was a useless power. So, far as she was concerned, there was no need to correct them. Britney would let them keep on thinking that as she outscored them and won her way into the graduating class.

                     “Control’s top three were Alice Adair, Vince Reynolds, and Amber Dixon.”

                     Amber didn’t let the frustration on her face show as she clapped for her fellow top three. The whole class must have known the truth, though: that she’d been the real number one, but she’d lost it on a technicality. Just because she’d accidentally killed a couple of yellows, she was demoted to third. That was fine for training and drills, but once they got into the real world, Amber was certain that her strategy would be the one real Heroes used.

                     “And finally, we have Close Combat,” Dean Blaine said. “There were a lot of you in the running for this one, but the top three managed to stand out from the pack. They are Chad Taylor, Vince Reynolds, and Camille Belden.”

                     Camille’s eyes went wide, and her body froze at the sound of the dean’s voice saying her name. She’d expected to do well with her showing . . . but top three? The others must have lost points for things she wasn’t counting on. Camille finally realized that Violet was shaking her shoulder, trying to high five her, and snapped out of the mental fugue. It was just in time too, as Dean Blaine was moving on.

                     “With your assessments by major out of the way, it’s time to move on to the overall stats. As I said, I’m only announcing the top three, but the rest of you will still get your ranks in the packets I hand out. If you need help understanding why you placed in the spot you did, I encourage you to seek out your professors. We have very quantifiable criteria we grade on and will be glad to break down, number by number, why you ended up where you did.” This was an addition to the speech Dean Blaine had learned to add over the years, otherwise, the students tended to ignore the real meat of their feedback and focus on pestering him with questions about why they’d gotten the rank they did.

                     “Your overall top three classmates shone in many areas, not just the ones tested by major, though those that excelled greatly in those skills did place higher. The student who placed highest overall was, to what I imagine is the surprise of very few of you, Will Murray.”

                     Jill slapped her twin brother on the back so hard that he nearly went sprawling onto the gym floor, only two and a half years of constant training allowing him to catch himself before the tumble.

                     “Second place demonstrated high overall skills, dispatching red Sims quickly and leaving yellow Sims in a healable state, all while putting up excellent time and minimizing damage. Second in the class is Chad Taylor.”

                     If Chad was bothered by placing second in something, it didn’t show. He accepted the muted applause and handshakes from his friends with the same detached manner he used for most things.

                     “And finally, the student who won the number three place overall put up a good time, minimized casualties, and earned a bonus for being the first among you to realize the full extent of what was being tested. The number three student overall was Vince Reynolds.”

                     Vince let out a breath he’d been holding since he walked in. Maybe since the exam had ended, really. He’d needed to put on a great showing, and number three in this class was nothing to sneeze at. At long last, he was out of the middle of the pack, and this time, under his own power. That was one test down.

                     Only a year and half of them to go.

     159.

     “Let’s talk about your final,” Professor Pendleton announced, barely having shut the classroom door. He strolled over to his desk and took stock of the bright-eyed students staring up at him. They looked so well-rested and refreshed after their vacation; it was clear he’d have to wear them back down quickly. Real life in the Hero world didn’t come with scheduled breaks when the mind and body could recuperate. Getting them accustomed to running on a half-tank was the best training he could possibly impart, and he aimed to train them well.

                     “Aren’t we supposed to go see you during office hours?” Britney asked.

                     “Well, certainly, you are, but that’s only regarding your last final. And really, who cares about what’s already gone? I want to focus on the new, on the next, on what’s over the horizon.” Professor Pendleton hopped up and sat on his desk, his long legs still nearly skimming the ground.

                     “You’re going to tell us about our year’s end exam,” Will surmised.

                     “Close, very close, but just slightly off,” Professor Pendleton said. “I’m going to tell you exactly what your exam is, how it will be graded, and what you can do to prepare. That’s right, first class of the semester, and I’m dealing out the goods. Who’s your favorite teacher now?”

                     The class remained silent, merely watching him with careful eyes. They’d been under his tutelage for too long to believe anything that easy would be assigned to them. The ones who couldn’t figure that out were no longer in the curriculum, after all.

                     “That last exam tested the analytical side of your minds, putting you through the wringer as far as code-cracking, hint-following, and the general madness that comes from sniffing out a digital trail can. But, Subtlety has another side to it, one equally as important, but far less defined. Would anyone care to guess what that side is? Maybe Miss Adair would like to take a crack at it.”

                     “Social engineering,” Alice shot back, not an ounce of hesitation in her voice. She was getting bolder, which was both good and bad, depending on if she was aware of it or not.

                     “Correct. Social engineering. Things like, oh I don’t know, telling mall security that an innocent and beloved teacher was taking up-skirt photographs of young women just so they would track him down.” Professor Pendleton gave Alice a short glare, which she greeted with a warm smile. Definitely bolder, no doubt about it. “Crass as it was, that was still a valid use of Subtlety. Turning assets, misdirection, using people as tools, it’s all part of what a Subtlety Hero does. Information is our bread and butter, and sometimes, there’s no easier way to get it than with a charming smile and an open bar tab.”

                     “Please tell me we get to do this in a bar,” Rich said.

                     “No such luck, young Mr. Weaver. No, this is a simple game of trust.” Professor Pendleton hopped off his desk and walked around to the blackboard. Picking up a piece of chalk, he quickly scrawled the number “210” across the board. “In your Subtlety final this year, you’re all going to fight one another. The winner will receive this many points. The losers get nothing.”

                     “Wait, all this talk about being smarter and craftier than everyone else, and our test is just another fight?” Selena said. Though she felt she could do well in open combat, it didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t why she’d stayed in the class.

                     “Yes, and also no. Fighting is a good testing ground, because it’s something you’re all familiar with, but that’s not what I’m really looking at.” Professor Pendleton turned back around to face the class. “You see, for this test, you’ll be allowed to work in teams. When I say the winner gets the points, I mean exactly that. The winning team will have their points split between them. So a team of one gets all of it, a significant bump for those of you who are falling behind. A team of two gets a little over a hundred points each—a perfect grade with a bonus—and a team of three gets seventy apiece. That’s just barely passing, for those keeping score. No point in going lower, since you’d just be splitting failure four ways.”

                     “A team fight instead of a knock-down brawl? How does this change things?” Sasha asked.

                     “Because you’re forming the teams, you’re all working together, but you’ll be telling me your teams individually,” Professor Pendleton explained. “Let’s say that Selena and Rich form a team. They train together, plan together, and have a great strategy. Just before the test, Selena turns in a paper that says she and Rich are a team. If Rich turns in the same, then great; win or lose, they’re in it together. However, if Rich turns in a paper saying he’s working alone, then they’re not on a team at all. Of course, only one of them will know that going into the fight.”

                     Comprehension shot through the class like an attack from Professor Fletcher. They didn’t just have to worry about working together; they had to wonder how much they could trust their teammates, and how much they should keep to themselves. It would mean working without a sense of unity, never knowing if talking strategy would help your team, or just get you stabbed in the back.

                     “Some of you are, undoubtedly, thinking that the best course of action is just to eschew the teams and go it alone,” Professor Pendleton said. “After all, there are those in this class whose martial capabilities far outstrip others. If that’s the way you decide to go, I won’t stop you. Just remember that the stronger you think yourself, the bigger a target you’re wearing the minute the action hits, and there’s no one in here that couldn’t be brought down by a well-coordinated team. Then again, maybe you can win through sheer force. It’s possible, but it’s the kind of victory that will ensure you’re not invited to make this major your Hero specialty. I want to see how you deal with this side of Subtlety, because it’s one you’re going to have to use frequently.”

                     Professor Pendleton walked back over to his desk and resumed his perch. “One more thing: no using other students to help you figure out what others are thinking. You might have teammates with telepathy or something close to it in the future, but if you can’t complete this sort of task on your own, then you have no right calling yourself a Subtlety Hero. This is you, and maybe your team, against everyone else. You have an entire semester to court your assets and plan your betrayals. Good luck.”

     160.

                    Mary sat quietly as the rest of the Focus class filed out of the room, pretending to be digging in her backpack for some nonexistent item. Most ignored her, though Alex paused to throw her a curious glance on his way out. As the only other . . . well, perhaps not telepath but someone who was close enough, he’d been able to hear Professor Stone’s message as well as she had. But if he was curious about why Mary was being asked to stay after class, he kept his curiosity to himself. Alex stepped out of the room, making sure to shut the door behind him.

                     “Did you have a nice break?” Professor Stone asked. She was still seated at her desk, pen in hand, as if there were nothing clandestine at all about their meeting.

                     “It was all right. I tried to spend more time with my family than I usually do.” Mary stopped pretending to dig through her bag and zipped it up. “My parents were happy about that, but the rest of the family felt uncomfortable around me.”

                     “For those without advanced mind abilities, such is the default reaction. I’d offer you ways to cope with it; however, the sad truth is that the only methods are to find those who trust you enough to not care about the mental intrusion, or hide what you can do from everyone you meet.”

                     “That’s a great pick-me-up. Why don’t we go ahead and skip the rest of the small talk. I’ve got a class topside in half an hour.” Mary stood from her seat, slinging the backpack over her shoulder.

                     “Certainly. I wanted to schedule some time with you to work on your dream-walking abilities. Now that you’ve progressed to the point of entering minds that are merely unconscious, to say nothing of bringing others with you, I feel it’s time I took a more hands-on role in your training.” Professor Stone glanced down at the small calendar on her desk and tapped it with her pen. “Also, could you have Alice swing by this week? From what I saw of her mind, I think she’s grown stable enough for us to attempt another memory viewing. If she’s still interested, I mean.”

                     “Trust me, Alice is still interested,” Mary assured her teacher. “Even if you didn’t remind her, I’m sure she’d have been by your office soon.”

                     “I rather suspected as much. For your training, how about we try and meet every other Saturday morning, to start?”

                     “No can do. I’ve a recurring chess game that I can’t miss. If I’m not working at the restaurant, I could do afternoons, though.”

                     “Do you really consider a board game more important than furthering your abilities?” Professor Stone asked.

                     “Not usually, but you’d be amazed how much I’ve learned from playing this particular opponent.” Mary allowed herself a small, cocky grin. There was no way Professor Stone didn’t know about Mr. Numbers, his skill, or how long they’d had their standing game. She wasn’t sure what her teacher was trying to test, but on this account, she would find Mary unyielding.

                     “Very well. We’ll plan for Saturday afternoon, assuming you don’t have to work. Meet me in my office by one, starting this Saturday.”

                     “Are you going to have someone passed out on hand for me to dive into?” Mary asked. Lander had some excellent training resources, but that seemed to be pushing it, even for them.

                     “Let me worry about that. I promise, you’ll have everything you need.”

                     Though that was really more of an ominous announcement than answer, Mary let it slide. After over a year of working with Professor Stone, she trusted the older woman would deliver on what was needed. They didn’t always agree on everything, but Professor Stone knew how to train an advanced mind; that much could never be called into question.

                     “I guess we’ll see on Saturday.” Mary let herself out the door and headed toward the lifts, the conversation already relegated to the back of her mind. Clandestine meetings and dream-walking training were all well and good, but if she didn’t make it to her Biology class, she’d be starting the semester behind in one of her worst subjects. Now that was something to really worry about.

     *              *              *

                     “Hey, Alice! Hold your ass up for a minute.”

                     Alice turned to find Angela jogging toward her, clad in the white uniform of a Lander senior. She was sweaty, with her hair pulled back tight. There was no chance someone this far in the program had worn themselves out with a light jog, which meant she’d come directly from training. Whatever this was about, she’d clearly wanted to catch Alice as soon as possible.

                     “What’s up?” Alice halted her trek to the lifts, turning to speak with her coworker.

                     “Oh, you know, another day, another ass-kicking to deliver.” Angela paused to take a few deep breaths, and then continued. “I wanted to give you a heads up about the Cowgirl Rodeo.”

                     “The who-what-where?”

                     “The Cowgirl Rodeo. Shit, I know you’ve only worked at Six-Shooter for one semester, but I figured you’d at least heard of the events they hosted.”

                     “I was pretty busy with, you know, the whole Hero Certification Program thing.” Alice managed to hide the exasperation that was trying to seep into her voice, but only barely.

                     “That’s no excuse. Win or lose, you only go to college once. You have to make the most of it. Have some fun. After this, it’s pretty much all seriousness and reality.” Angela wiped her still sweating forehead on her sleeve. Alice couldn’t remember ever seeing the girl this worn out. Whatever training she was doing must have been intense.

                     “I thought you wanted to tell me about a rodeo,” Alice said.

                     “Right, damn near forgot the reason I ran you down. Anyway, just before spring break, Six-Shooter puts on the Cowgirl Rodeo. It’s a way to kick off the festivities and get everyone in a party mood before they leave town. Horribly sexist series of events: gelatin wrestling, bikini bull riding, you get the idea. It’s mostly students who enter, but they’ll ask employees if they want to sign up as well.”

                     “Wow. Thanks for the warning,” Alice said. She really was grateful; if not for the low-down on what it entailed, she might have inadvertently joined up. After all, just calling it a rodeo sounded fairly harmless. “I’ll make sure not to put my name down.”

                     Angela’s face flickered with confusion, and she shook her head as realization dawned. “Fuck all that noise. I came to talk to you because I need a partner for the team events. Two hot blondes with HCP training? We can win that son of a bitch with a hand each tied behind our backs.”

                     “Ah. Right.” This one was really all Alice’s fault. She couldn’t imagine why she’d thought Angela would be steering her away from pageantry and ridiculousness. “I’ll . . . have to think about it, I guess.”

                     “Don’t think too hard, or someone might snatch me away.” Angela leaned back, conjuring a series of pops from her spine as she did. “In all seriousness, though, you should do it. Once we’re out of this place, we’re adults at worst, Heroes at best. We don’t get to be as dumb, irresponsible, and carefree. I mean, I’ll still be all those things, but most of you will tone it down. You have to squeeze in the stupid shit while you can.”

                     “I’ll keep that in mind,” Alice said.

                     “You better. I’m not losing because I’ve got a crappy partner. Not this year, not again!” Angela thrust her finger in the air with her last words, then headed back down the hall toward whatever course lay next on her schedule.

                     Alice watched her go, torn between being impressed by and embarrassed for the half-mad senior at the top of the class.

     161.

                    Vince wasn’t expecting a lot from History of Modern Cinema, especially not after reading the online reviews about what an easy course it was. That, in fact, was precisely why he’d signed up for it—to fill a Fine Arts elective. He felt a bit guilty throwing away a piece of his education with such tactics, but the fact of the matter was that he struggled enough with school as it was. He couldn’t risk letting an elective be the thing that kept him out of the HCP.

                     As he walked down the stadium-style rows—this lecture hall was no doubt chosen so the students could all watch the various films with ease—he scanned about, looking for an empty section he could rest in. Vince didn’t particularly try to be anti-social in his aboveground classes, in fact, he’d often made efforts to get to know his fellow students in his earlier years, but the trouble was that, sooner or later, they would invite him to something, or ask about his other classes, or do some other thing that required him to hide his affiliation with the Hero Certification Program. Vince wasn’t good at lying, and he loathed doing it. Eventually, he found it was just easier to keep to himself, and to forge his friendships among fellow HCP students. Sometimes, he wondered if that was part of the reason they had to keep their identities a secret; with no one else to talk to, they were forced to become close with only other potential Heroes.

                     A loud, piercing whistle broke Vince out his thoughts. He, along with a dozen or so other students, jerked their heads around, searching for the source of the noise. They all eventually spotted it, but only Vince found the figure to be familiar. Intimately so.

                     Sasha Foster waved at him, and then started making big, sweeping gestures for him to come over, and Vince began heading in her direction. They weren’t especially close, that ship had sailed along with their relationship, but ever since the beach trip, they’d managed to be on civil, if not friendly, terms. True, they didn’t make plans or hang out together; however, they did enjoy each other’s company when occasions lined up. Having her in a class with him would be pleasant, and it never hurt to have someone to share notes with.

                     “I didn’t expect you to be here,” Sasha said as Vince slid into the unoccupied seat next to her. “Figured you’d take the high road and do some Shakespearean study class.”

                     “As I see it, if Lander offers the course, then it must carry some merit. And I can’t understand a single word of Shakespeare. It all reads like a foreign language to me.” Vince set his book bag down, pausing only to pull out a notebook and pencil. This class, unsurprisingly, didn’t require any textbooks for the curriculum. “What about you? Suddenly discover a love for old movies?”

                     “Nope, I just wanted a blow-off class, same as you,” Sasha said. “I don’t really give two shits about the older stuff.”

                     “I never really got to watch movies growing up,” Vince said. “It will be interesting to see some of the classics. If nothing else, I won’t feel so dumb when people reference them.”

                     “Not having seen a bunch of old flicks doesn’t make you dumb. Though, yeah, you are basically an idiot in terms of pop culture.”

                     “Don’t remind me. Hershel and Alex flipped out about a new movie coming out this year, and I’d never even heard of it. Sometimes, I feel like I’m completely out of the loop on everything not related to . . . well, you know.”

                     “Smooth,” Sasha said, shaking her head. “And you should never feel bad about those two geeking out over something you haven’t heard of. They’re sweet guys, but gigantic dorks. Half the time, I didn’t know what Hershel was talking about, and I don’t suffer from culture-dumbness.”

                     “You’re probably right,” Vince agreed. “This Star Puncher movie is probably just another niche thing of theirs.”

                     There was a clatter of wood on cheap tile as Sasha’s pencil slipped from her hand and bounced on the ground. She started at Vince with wide eyes, a few strands of pink-streaked hair masking her face. When she spoke again, it was in hushed, almost reverent tones.

                     “Did you say Star Puncher? As in: someone is making a new Star Puncher movie?”

                     “If they aren’t, then Hershel and Alex are doing a lot of costume planning for nothing.” Vince looked at his former flame with unexpected confusion. “Do you follow the series or something?”

                     “Ever since I was a kid,” Sasha admitted. She finally regained control of herself and bent down to scoop up the pencil. “My mom liked that sort of stuff, and she would show me the old VHS tapes. When the new ones came out, she dragged me along, even though I was really too young for them. The movies are terrible, don’t get me wrong, but at this point, it’s a sort of terrible I find familiar and enjoyable.”

                     “I don’t completely understand what you mean, but if you want to come with us, you’re more than welcome,” Vince said. “Alex and Hershel were hoping to get more girls to come with us anyway. But, fair warning, they’ll want you to wear a costume.”

                     “That a fact?” Sasha pulled out a notebook from her own backpack and flipped it open. “One of those guys can sew, right? Because I might be able to design, but I can’t work a needle for shit.”

                     “Hershel has a lot of skill at it, and Chad is pitching in as well,” Vince told her.

                     Sasha stopped moving her pencil and turned to Vince, raising one of her eyebrows in a fishhook shaped arc. “I’m sorry; did you say Chad Taylor was going to help you sew costumes for the Star Puncher premiere?”

                     “That’s what he told Hershel.”

                     Sasha stared at him for a moment longer, then let out a long sigh and turned her attention back to the notebook where she’d begun sketching. “Sometimes, I forget just how weird things seem to turn out around you guys. And, to be honest, I sort of miss it.”

     162.

                    The weight rack rattled as Roy let the bar drop a few inches into its setting. The equipment should be able to handle as much weight as there was present, but when dealing with things measured in tons, he realized it was probably best to err on the side of caution. Of course, this thought came only after he’d felt the entire weight bench shake and had had time to wonder if he could survive a loaded bar to the face. Thankfully, the bench held, and Roy got up to move on to his next exercise.

                     Winter break had caused an interesting gap to occur, since Hershel could train freely, but Roy didn’t have the equipment to get any serious work done. Sure, he’d sparred with Vince in the backyard, but without a healer on hand, he couldn’t risk going too hard against his silver-haired friend. Powerful as Vince was, his bones could break just like anyone else’s. Roy didn’t fancy showing up and having to explain to Camille how her favorite Super ended up in a cast and needed fixing. Especially not after he’d see the way she went after those Sims. Small though she was, Camille had carved out a spot on Roy’s “do not needlessly piss off” list.

                     Another resident of that list was also in the gym. Chad was working on dumbbell curls, using significantly less weight than Roy was currently capable of, but with impeccable form. Roy watched the man who was his friend, his dormmate, and his rival as Chad rhythmically lifted the weights up and down, never breaking pattern. It was easy to underestimate Chad, so very easy, because he didn’t have as much brute strength as other Supers. What most didn’t know, and couldn’t be aware of, was how steady his growth was. Roy had been watching Chad ever since freshman year, and while he didn’t make the explosive leaps forward in power that Roy did, he also never stopped advancing. Every week, the weight of those dumbbells increased. Not by a lot, but they still went up. Every single week. It was like that with everything Chad did. His movements got smoother; his speed grew quicker. He refused to stay where he was.

                     In ten more years, Roy could only imagine what the blond young man would be capable of. It was bad enough having to face him now. Roy just hoped the inter-Super competition would slow down once they hit the Hero world. That thought triggered an unexpected memory, and suddenly, Roy had something on his mind besides the next exercise in his workout routine.

                     “Hey, Chad,” Roy said, walking over to the other part of the gym. “Do you have a minute?”

                     “If you require a spot, I’m afraid your lifting strength has reached a level where I am unable to assist you.” Chad kept on moving the weights as he spoke, never losing his tempo.

                     “No, it’s not about the weights. I actually wanted to ask you if you’ve ever heard of Intramurals.”

                     “Certainly. It is when two academic institutions compete against one another in a predetermined event; usually sports, though there are more salacious versions that center around drinking games.” He paused his lifting for just a moment to look over at Roy. “Angela informed me about the latter type. She wishes to participate in something called ‘The Beer Olympics.’”

                     “First off, tell your girlfriend she’s a douche for not asking me to be on that team,” Roy said. “But secondly, I actually meant Intramurals specific to the HCP. Someone over break mentioned them, but then refused to explain. I was thinking maybe you knew what they were.”

                     Chad shook his head. “My apologies, but the word holds no specific meaning for me. It is certainly possible that the HCP programs have some sort of competition between them; however, I have no information about it.”

                     “No big deal, just thought I’d ask,” Roy said. “Thanks anyway.” He turned toward the free weights, ready to get in some nice shoulder work, when Chad spoke up again.

                     “Of course, we could always ask Shane what he knows about it.”

                     “Why would Shane know more than us?” Roy turned back to Chad, who wore a semi-confused expression.

                     “Haven’t you put it together yet?”

                     “Put what together?” Roy asked.

                     “Shane’s comments and knowledge during the dean’s class freshman year, the manifestation of both his and Angela’s abilities . . . forgive me; I assumed it was obvious to everyone by this point.”

                     The part about Angela tickled something in Roy’s brain. That power of hers had looked familiar, so close to something he could almost place. It was like hearing the theme song from a cartoon he’d watched in his childhood; he knew that he knew it, even if he couldn’t seem to put a finger on where it was from.

                     “Her power, she calls it Sunlight Steel,” Roy recalled, “and has the ability to turn any kind of light into a super-hard metal only she can control. I’ll be honest, I feel like I know what you’re getting at, but I can’t remember anyone else using that name for their abilities.”

                     “That’s because the original wielder of didn’t call it Sunlight Steel,” Chad said. “He referred to it as Starlight Steel.”

                     And just like that, all the tumblers fell into place in Roy’s brain. It was history, one of Roy’s worst subjects, which was why it had taken him so long to realize what was right in front of his face. Crafting objects out of light, while manipulating shadows to his will . . . the man who’d had complete control of light and dark; the man who had made the world face the existence of Supers. The first Hero to ever wear the title: Captain Starlight.

                     “Sweet tap-dancing Jesus.”  Roy sucked in a breath between his teeth and tried to avoid reeling. No wonder Angela was such a monster. If she’d gotten training along with her power, she was working with decades of battle-tested knowledge on how to best use her abilities. It explained so much about her, and, at the same time, made Roy dozens of degrees more curious about Shane. To have the weight of that legacy on his shoulders, to have inherited an incredible power and been schooled on how to use it; to carry the weight of all that expectation . . . only to come up second to Chad time after time. Roy suddenly felt a kinship with Shane DeSoto, despite having rarely traded more than a few words with him.

                     “I think that’s a good idea,” Roy said at last. “Let’s go ask Shane what he knows.” Roy had many, many questions for his fellow student, but something like this had to be approached delicately. For now, Intramurals would be a good starting point.

                     But only for now.

     163.

     “. . . and lastly, this conversation will not be recorded. There will be no records of it in any capacity, save only for the memories we retain, and even those may need to be removed or altered at a later date. By sitting here, by joining this effort, everyone, myself included, recognizes these terms and consents to them. Does anyone disagree?”

     Dean Blaine’s eyes swept the table, not expecting any objection, but prepared for one regardless. When things got serious, when people truly reached the point of no return, it was impossible to be certain how someone would react. In this case, he was fortunate: no one broke rank. With a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief, he continued.

     “Then the first order of business is to debrief Nick Campbell.”

     Nick was sitting across the table from Dean Blaine, in between Mr. Transport and Professor Pendleton. The soft glow of fluorescent lighting reflected off the sunglasses set in front of him. Though he’d worn them in, this underground base was too dim for him to navigate properly with them on. It would take weeks of practice before he was able to deal with low-light environments while wearing them once more.

     “I’m going to take a guess, and say you mean that I should spill my big secret. The one that I thought was too dangerous to be found in my head. That’s the one you want to me just spit out, right here, exposing everyone to it.”

     “Everyone here is trained, competent, and abreast of the risks,” Dean Blaine replied.

     “Maybe so, but I’m not sure it needs to be shared,” Nick said. “This whole secret taskforce is about Globe, the coaches, and the mole in the HCP, right? My secret doesn’t directly pertain to any of that. I’ve never been worried about Globe. What I know could piss off a totally different, far more dangerous enemy.”

     Dean Blaine would have loved to have glanced at Professor Stone to see what she was reading from Nick’s mind, but his neutralizing field encompassed everyone in the room. While it meant they were safe from abilities that might overhear them, it also meant things like telepathy were off the table. He tried to think of how best to phrase the counter-argument, but Professor Pendleton beat him to it.

     “Right now, we’ve got nothing but disparate data, little events and pieces of knowledge that don’t fit together. You might be right, your thing might be completely unrelated, but it might also tie together other pieces we know in unexpected ways. We’re currently in the dark, and that means we have to grab on to every tidbit of information we can get. So talk.”

     “If that’s really what you want.” Nick drummed his hands on the wooden table, carefully looking over the few faces in the room with him. They were people proven trustworthy, presumably, but once upon a time, the same might have been said about George or Persephone. Still, sooner or later, he would have to speak up. If these were the people who composed the inner circle, then he would just have to make do with it.

     “I first realized something was wrong when I was breaking down our team dynamics last year. When stepping back and independently assessing each member of every team, my own included, I noticed a variable that didn’t make sense. One of my team wasn’t the same as the others. She wasn’t on the same scale of power, not by a long shot.”

     “You’re talking about Mary,” Professor Fletcher surmised.

     “Wrong direction,” Nick said. “Alice. Alice was a four on my scale, plus, she had no other discernible skills or talents. That made her the weakest member of the entire HCP class, and without much room for growth.”

     “The current scores would disagree with you,” Mr. Numbers pointed out.

     “Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious. I know that Alice is incredibly powerful now, but we aren’t talking about now, we’re talking about then. And back then, Alice was so weak that I had to really ask myself how she’d even gotten into the HCP in the first place.”

     “Fliers have demonstrated great usefulness before,” Dean Blaine said. “Though, admittedly, most of them got through in the Subtlety category.”

     “Look, you’re all missing the point.” Nick picked up the sunglasses and began absent-mindedly fiddling with them. “Whether Alice would be a good Hero doesn’t matter, not as far as this discussion goes. My point is that, so far as anyone could possibly know, she was too weak to ever be a serious danger to others. Add in that she grew up in a house with every manner of protection, and that makes her an anomaly.”

     “I see. You aren’t talking about the Hero class,” Dean Blaine said.

     “Exactly. She’s the oddball among us test subjects, the former Powereds. Vince is a walking natural disaster, Mary was in so much hell from voices that she lived in the woods, Hershel was losing his mind, Roy was heading toward jail, at best, and my own prodigious abilities have caused countless dollars in damage throughout the years. We were all trouble, for ourselves, others, or both. Alice was just a girl who floated when she got too happy. She clearly didn’t make the test group on the same criteria we did. Having met her father, I’m guessing he used his money and power to force her through.”

     “Spot on,” Mr. Transport confirmed. “Charles Adair decided she would be in the program, and he wields enough clout that Mr. Numbers and I had to go along with it.”

     “You can hardly blame the man. He saw a solution to his daughter’s problems and wanted to help her,” Professor Stone said.

     “See, I’d agree with you there, but it ignores one major issue: we’re the beta group. Maybe the alpha, I don’t know for sure,” Nick admitted. “What I do know is we’re the first successful batch. I’ve scoured every source of information I’ve got, and if there were any other converts before us, then they must have held that test in the arctic and killed every survivor. Now, I’m no expert on biology, but I did read the fine print on the releases we signed, and it strikes me as very odd that a man with that much power would demand that his daughter be in a highly experimental and dangerous first trial. Not just demand it, but use his resources to force her in. Why not wait and make sure it was safe first?”

     “Charles Adair is highly influential; it’s possible he got his hands on the research and believed it would work,” Mr. Numbers pointed out.

     “It’s possible, but going all-in with the only family he’s got left?” Nick set the sunglasses back on the table. “I’m a crazy gambler with the power of luck, and not even I’d take that chance.”

     “Nick,” Dean Blaine said, his tone steady as he stared at the cunning young man spinning his web of words. “Please move on so that we can see the point you’re drawing toward.”

     Nick nodded. “Like I said, I noticed this early in our sophomore year. Then Alice had her Halloween incident, when a head-walker named Abridail said her mom was alive. We all discounted it as a weird dream, because most of us have lost people we love and understood how the subconscious would do that. Of course, when Vince’s Big Papa went and confirmed the guy’s existence, that changed everything. It meant that her mother might really be out there, and that caused me to reexamine the facts as I knew them.”

     “Why would Shelby being alive change what Charles did?” Professor Pendleton was damn good at hiding his feelings, but even he could scarcely contain his anxiousness to see what Nick would say about his little sister.

     “Because Charles Adair loved her,” Nick said simply. “He loved her so much that he founded the largest Powered charity in the world in her memory, though he likes to hide that fact as much as possible. When I learned about Alice’s home life, when I did that research for you last Christmas, everything I found pointed to a man who dearly, desperately loved his wife. And at the end of sophomore year, I began to realize just what kind of terrible things we can do for the people we love.” Nick didn’t need to mention his own mind-wipe and expulsion, or the level of murderous reaction he’d been able to coax from Vince. Everyone here already knew what he’d done, what he was, and that his ruthlessness was at least part of why they’d brought back him from oblivion.

     The room waited silently as Nick took a moment to compose his thoughts. “Some of you may disagree with the theory I reached, I’m the first admit it’s somewhere between shaky and insane. That said, the fact remains that if I am right, even a little bit, it’s dangerous information to have. So, let’s look at the facts we have before us. Here’s what I had strong reason to know: Shelby Adair was a Powered. Shelby Adair was still alive. Charles Adair had the money and influence to fund research on how to turn a Powered into a Super. Alice Adair was crammed into the first trial of the procedure despite the risks involved.” Nick paused for just a second, licking his lips in a rare display of nerves. “And . . . Alice Adair is, genetically speaking, the closest living person to Shelby Adair.”

     “No . . . not even Charles would go that far,” Professor Pendleton whispered.

     “Say it, Nick. Say what you’re plainly hinting at. If you’re going to make the accusation, then have the courage to speak it out loud,” Dean Blaine said.

     “Fine.” Nick let out a small sigh. “None of us—Vince, Mary, Hershel, Roy, or myself—none of us were part of the real experiment. We were a cover, a reason to hide what was truly going on. Patching up Powereds who were dangers to society and themselves, that’s not a hard sell to make. But the truth is that we were just tacked on extras. There was only one real test subject for the procedure; one person that Charles Adair wanted to see the effects on.”

     Nick ran his fingers through his sandy hair, and looked at the room of faces once more.

     “I believe that the only reason this procedure exists is because Charles Adair wanted to test it on his daughter before using it on his wife.”

     164.

                    “Anything else?” Dr. Moran’s voice wasn’t probing or pleading; she made it clear that this question was up to Vince to answer. If there was another piece of information he wanted to convey, another topic he wished to discuss, she was presenting the opportunity. If not, then they could move on to the next topic.

                     “No, like I said, it was a pretty normal Christmas break. Mrs. Daniels made us lots of home-cooked food, we hung out with a few of Hershel’s old LARPing friends, and then we trained whenever we could.” Vince leaned back in the chair, far more relaxed than he had been when these sessions first began. Despite his initial skepticism of both Dr. Moran and what she offered, there was no denying that he’d been feeling far more stable and centered since they’d begun actually talking about what was going on inside his head.

                     “Training over break? Nothing too ostentatious, I hope.”

                     “Just light sparring in Hershel and Roy’s backyard. Don’t worry, there’s no way I’d risk accidentally burning their house down just to squeeze in a little extra practice,” Vince said.

                     “And it’s certainly not as though you need it. I heard about the results from the semester exam. It seems you’ve made great strides of improvement. In fact, I was a bit surprised to see how efficiently you went after your targets. In your earlier Close Combat test as well, you had no hesitation in attacking your fellow students. Even the female ones.”

                     This wasn’t the first time Dr. Moran had tried to broach this topic; she’d been skirting the edges of it since the test had first occurred. The change in Vince’s demeanor seemed to be rooted in what he’d experienced over the summer, and he was exceptionally tight-lipped about that subject. Still, she brought it up when there was occasion, because, as much as it was her job to accept the patient’s wishes, it was also her duty to help them deal with their issues. She wasn’t expecting anything different in terms of results this time, but Vince managed to surprise her.

                     “That was one of the things I had to learn to get past during . . . when I was fighting Coach George all summer.” Vince’s body language grew more closed off as he drew his limbs to his torso; however, he pressed on. “Up until then, I was always strong enough to hold back, or at least try to, and only got serious when it counted. Fighting George made me hit a lot of my limits; forced me to either grow past them or give up. I had to stop hesitating when I fought him. I had to stop holding everything back, and instead, learn how to control the power I struck with.”

                     “It must have been terrifying for you,” Dr. Moran observed, more from how he was reacting to the memory than from his actual words.

                     “At first, it was really scary. Trying to hurt someone, hitting them with all I had . . . I was so afraid I was going to accidentally kill him. But, in a way, I guess it was a good thing. Do you know what happened when I went against George with every ounce of power I could muster?”

                     “From the story you reported when you first came back, I’d assume it failed to defeat him.”

                     “Exactly.” Vince nodded, curiously excited about the fact that he’d spent a whole summer losing. “I barely slowed him down, and that was sort of awesome. I know it sounds weird, but I’ve always been scared of my abilities, of what could happen if they went wild. Fighting George showed me, for the first time, that they aren’t unstoppable. I’m not unstoppable.”

                     “It sounds as though the experience made you feel free to start truly testing what your powers could do.” This much, Dr. Moran had been able to figure out from the way Vince was conducting himself in battle; the real victory was in getting him to say it out loud.

                     “It did. This was the first time I’d thrown everything I had at something and not managed to win. It was impossibly frustrating at first, but eventually, I realized that because I’d been able to do that, I hadn’t really been training my abilities, not like everyone else. My only strategy had been to fight hand-to-hand, or throw energy all over the place. Learning to actually use my ability . . . I guess it made me less afraid of it.”

                     “That tends to happen with most things in life,” Dr. Moran said. “We fear the unknown, in the world and in ourselves, but once we’ve faced something, and learned about it, that is when fear gives way, and we find a new sense of control.”

                     “Sort of makes me regret how long I spent trying to avoid using my abilities in the first place.”

                     “Then I’d advise you take the lesson you learned and apply it to other things in your life,” Dr. Moran said. “Don’t always shy away from things that confuse or scare you; face them head on. Unlike your abilities, they may not always be there, and instead of regretting wasted time, you’ll have to look back on missed opportunities.”

                     “I’ll keep that in mind,” Vince said. His body had spread out once more, but the look in his eyes had grown distant. Clearly, her words had provoked a train of thought in his head; one she could make a fairly educated guess on the content of.

                     “At any rate, we have a little time left before your session is over. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss? Perhaps the situation you told me about with your former lover, Eliza?”

                     The tips of Vince’s ears went slightly red, a controlled blush that nonetheless told Dr. Moran she’d hit close to her mark. After coming clean about the whole story with Eliza, Vince had pointedly refrained from talking about her again. Her . . . and the other woman her presence had created a conflict with.

                     “No, nothing new on—” Vince stopped himself mid-sentence, then started again. “Nothing I feel up to talking about.”

                     “That’s perfectly all right, Vince. We’ll get there whenever you’re ready.” She had to hand it to him; he’d been doing a much better job of acknowledging subjects he was avoiding, instead of just pretending there was nothing to discuss. The boy was honest to a fault, and now, he was starting to turn some of that truthfulness inward.

                     Dr. Moran couldn’t guarantee that Vince would make it through the program, nor did she consider it her job to do so. All she could hope for was that Vince could face his future with a well-adjusted mind, and that she damn sure intended to help him with.

     165.

                    Jerome and Eliza sat patiently as they waited for Nick to finish making himself a drink. He refused to talk about where he’d been, and despite their best efforts, he’d managed to slip every tracker and bit of surveillance they’d stuck on his person. This wasn’t especially shocking; while Eliza and Jerome had been living this life for many years, Nick was born into it. He’d been training since he could crawl, and he’d taken to the lifestyle like an alcoholic to free whiskey. Even when he was a Powered, he was still one of the most skilled and terrifying people in the state. No, it was not shocking that he was able to ditch them when he wanted.

                     What was surprising was how utterly glib he insisted on being about the whole thing. He should have been clucking his tongue and making them feel inferior for their lacking skills. Instead, he’d come home in a cheery mood and gone right to the liquor cabinet, breaking out a bottle of high quality gin.

                     “I don’t suppose you’ll actually tell us where you were,” Eliza said, talking loud enough to be heard in the kitchen.

                     “Clandestine meeting with beings of immense power about dealing with a conspiracy that might reach back several decades.” Nick poked his head from around the corner and rolled his eyes. “Where do you think I was? I went to go do some surveillance on Nathaniel and didn’t want you two bungling things up by tagging along.”

                     “We’re more than capable of staying unseen,” Jerome said.

                     “Just like you’re capable of keeping a tail on someone, or anticipating a surprise attack in the parking lot?” Nick walked out of the kitchen with his freshly prepared drink in hand. “Sorry. kiddos, but sometimes Daddy has to run the big boy errands and doesn’t have time to babysit.”

                     Eliza watched their “boss” as he took a seat on the couch and propped his feet up on the table. He was different. He had been, ever since that whole sleeping for a day and then vanishing fiasco. At first, she’d wondered if he’d been compromised, mentally taken over by some previously undiscovered type of Super who could actually control brains. His meeting with Ms. Pips had put that worry to bed, though. Surrogate mother or not, she’d have sniffed out whether he was compromised and put a bullet right in his forehead. But Ms. Pips still trusted him, which made the change in demeanor more odd than worrying.

                     “So tell us, oh Great One, what did you manage to find out?” Eliza asked.

                     “Nathaniel has sown fields of information that all point to him being holed up in a suite at the Merida downtown. This is, unsurprisingly, false. He’s actually in a room at the Twin Clouds hotel.” Nick pulled a small card from his pocket and tossed it unceremoniously onto the table. “That’s the address, but neither of you is allowed to go near it. Instead, I want a surveillance routine established for watching the Merida. I want him to think he’s got us fooled.”

                     “And all the while, we let him do as he please, free from observation. This seems like inviting another ambush,” Jerome said.

                     “Relax, I took care of it,” Nick said, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “From what I can see, Nathaniel is still a few weeks away from making any moves, which makes him our secondary priority.”

                     Eliza kept her eyes leveled at Nick as he did his best to appear unruffled by her and Jerome’s visible scrutiny. Less than a week. That’s how long they’d been back at Lander, and in that time, Nick had already found the location where Nathaniel was hiding. Last semester, it had taken the better part of a month with all three of them working hard. Now, he was claiming to have knocked it out in a few days, and was acting like it was no big deal. Demeanor changes were one thing, but it was impossible for him to have turned that much more competent in the span of only a few weeks. No, the only thing that could account for such a shift in capabilities was the acquisition of new resources. He’d gotten his hands on something, or someone, that made the job a whole lot easier, and Eliza could make a few guesses about what.

                     “If Nathaniel isn’t our priority, what the hell is taking his place?” Eliza asked.

                     “Why, something you’ll be able to get on board wholeheartedly with,” Nick replied. “Revenge.”

                     “I like what you’re selling, but given the business we’re in, you’ll have to be a bit more specific,” Eliza said.

                     “Of course. Last semester, someone had the unmitigated gall to try and spy on us— someone who isn’t even part of the world we live in. I don’t know about you, but I take a bit of offense to that. The very idea that we could be so easily watched and catalogued, it’s downright disrespectful,” Nick said. “Of course, when you add in the fact that they were trying to drum up information on a man who could be a terrific asset for us, as well as being Eliza’s former hook-up, it takes on a whole new dimension of aggravating.”

                     “Nicholas, you heard Smitt’s words, just like us. The man who gave him orders works for the government—the Department of Variant Human Affairs, at that. Given what all of us are, and our ties to Vegas, is this really an enemy we should be going up against?” Jerome was accustomed to being the voice of reason amidst the hot-headed tempers that permeated a crime syndicate. He’d always had a knack for staying detached from what was happening in the moment, focusing on the big picture win instead.

                     “If we were going against the DVA, then you’d be dead-on,” Nick agreed. “But Chapman hired Smitt on the side; he stepped out from his official role in the department. Whatever the repercussions are, he’ll either have to deal with them on his own, or tank his career by admitting to shady dealings. In this case, the repercussions are us.”

                     “I’m happy as anyone to see that asshole go down, but do you have a plan?” Eliza asked.

                     “I have steps in mind,” Nick said. “And the first of those is research. Find out everything you can about Ralph Chapman. The full work-up: friends, family, vices, weaknesses, everything. If he cries during romantic comedies, I want to know what scenes make him teary.”

                     “Give me a week.” Normally, Eliza would have bucked against the plan more, for show, if nothing else, but she could still remember seeing Vince’s picture tucked inside that folder, still remember the anger she felt when she realized who they were going after. If the target was someone after Vince, she was all in. “Just promise me you’re not going easy on this guy.”

                     “Of course not,” Nick assured her. “There’s a precise method to this sort of thing. We identify a person’s weaknesses, then we put pressure on those spots until they give in. Or, alternatively, until they break. In this case, either outcome suits me just fine.”

     166.

                   The first Friday of the new semester found an unusual number of students in the Melbrook dorm. From the moment class let out, Hershel, Alex, and Chad had gathered in the living room with large rolls of fabric, and sewing machines checked out from the costuming department of the drama club. No one asked Alex how he’d managed to procure them, and he didn’t volunteer the answer, so it was left unaddressed, even if Hershel did throw curious glances at him from time to time.

                     The other residents of the dormitory filtered in more slowly; Vince arriving first, then Mary, and finally Alice. Vince only paused to throw his backpack in his room, then joined the others to start helping out. Though he had minimal skills, he was able to do some basic assisting that made the work easier on the others. Mary took one look at the scene before her and headed to her room. She knew she was getting roped into this eventually—that was one of the prices of a relationship—but there was no way she was volunteering to get involved before she had to.

                     Alice looked on with dismissive curiosity when she first got home, and it seemed like she’d be following in Mary’s footsteps as she went into her room. After fifteen minutes, though, she emerged, book in hand, and began reading on the living room couch. A keen observer would have noted that her eyes frequently left the page to stare at the four boys working, and that the pages in front of her were rarely flipped. She kept up this façade for a solid half hour before finally giving in and speaking.

                     “Okay, explain to me why you have to dress up to go see a movie?”

                     “We don’t have to. We’re doing it because it’s fun.” Alex didn’t glance over at her as he spoke, his attention rapt on the line of seams he was currently sewing into a garishly bright, red material.

                     “Right, but why? What does dressing like a” —Alice looked at the most completed costume, a green and yellow ensemble that Hershel was outfitting with sequins— “I’m guessing space hooker, what does that bring to the experience? Wouldn’t you rather just go watch the show in normal, comfortable clothing?”

                     “When you go to a nice restaurant, you dress up, don’t you?” Hershel said.

                     “Sure, but that’s because it’s expected when you go into a place like that.” Alice set her book down on the couch, not even bothering to try and save her place.

                     “That’s true for most people, but you’re super rich. You could walk in wearing a potato sack, and they’d serve you,” Hershel pointed out. “But even putting your status aside, aren’t there days when you get up a little early and really go the extra mile to look more put-together?”

                     “There used to be a lot more, before all my weekdays entailed hours of training and exercise,” Alice sighed. “I still do it on weekends occasionally though, so yes.”

                     “Well, there you go.” Hershel finished the sequin pattern he was working on and rotated the fabric around, starting on a new section. “Dressing pretty doesn’t technically add anything to your day; you do it because you enjoy it, and you like how it makes you feel. For us, showing up at an event like this in really good costumes makes us feel good, and maybe a little bit admired. There is no greater point. It’s just fun.”

                     “To his credit, after being informed of this tradition I did some independent research, and it does indeed seem to be a widespread, if somewhat niche, practice.” Chad was stitching on a shield-shaped patch as he spoke, his needle moving in precise, unerring motions. He didn’t have Hershel’s flair, but the young Super had already proven himself capable of producing quality product. “As I have not yet participated, I cannot validate his claims of it being fun; however, there do seem to be enough documented cases to make it a viable opinion.”

                     “If nothing else, I’m enjoying working with everyone on the outfits,” Vince added.

                     Alice stared at them for a moment, savoring the ridiculousness of the scene before her. These four boys represented some of the most powerful people in various classes at Lander. Between them, there was enough raw, destructive force to tear apart a city if left unchecked, and yet, here they were, sewing together costumes to wear to a movie premiere. It was enough to make her laugh, until she remembered that there was also a fearsome gravity manipulator sitting on the couch watching them. Was this what the Hero world was like? Bouts of danger interspersed with a ridiculously mundane daily-life? Somehow, she doubted it. Angela was probably right. Once they left Lander, they entered the real world, and it probably wouldn’t be so kind a place as to let them play dress-up for movie showings.

                     “When are we going to watch these things, anyway?” Alice rose from the sofa and walked over to where Alex had set down his binder of designs.

                     “It almost sounded like you said ‘we’ for a minute there,” Hershel replied, making an effort to mask the grin on his face.

                     “That’s because I did, smartass. If you two love these movies this much, then I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

                     “We’re going to have a viewing night in three weeks, so you should try to ask off from work soon,” Vince told her. “It’ll be at Nick’s apartment. Alex and Hershel made all kinds of threats about what they’d do if he tried to turn it into a horror movie marathon instead.”

                     “After some convincing, I talked Shane and Angela into joining us as well,” Chad added. “Though, only Shane required being talked into joining.”

                     Alice snorted under her breath. It would probably take the combined might of everyone to keep Nick in line, and the movies on track. That thought—the idea of bickering with the real Nick, her Nick—filled her with more joy than she’d expected.

                     “Has anyone roped Mary into this yet?” Alice asked.

                     “She’s been avoiding us every time it comes up,” Hershel said.

                     “Well, leave it to me. If I’m going to spend a weekend night watching old sci-fi movies, Mary is damn sure going to be there to share my pain.”

                     “Want us to make you a costume?” Alex asked, finally looking up from his task.

                     “Let’s not go overboard; I just agreed to watch the movies. That’s all.” Despite her words, Alice kept on flipping through the design book, taking note of a few outfits that didn’t look entirely horrible. She already knew that, eventually, she would probably cave and join them, but that didn’t mean she was giving in easy.

                     Especially not until she’d forced Mary to jump on board too.

     167.

                    Supper with Supers was slow, business not yet having picked up from the winter break. Sizable as the town was, losing tens of thousands of students who made the pilgrimage home to visit family inevitably led to a downturn in business. It would take a few weeks to pick back up as people settled back in, and there would be a nice boost on Valentine’s Day as last-minute diners realized all the fancier restaurants were already booked. Once spring hit, things would be fully back in swing, and over summer, there would be ample business from children out on summer vacation. None of which changed the fact that, on the first weekend back from break, there were only four tables sat throughout the entire restaurant.

                     “Brenda says that if we don’t get anyone in the next half hour, you and I are cut,” Lacey told Vince. They were paired together in a section of the restaurant, one with a single elderly man steadfastly slurping down a bowl of soup.

                     “Huh?” Vince blinked and quickly looked at the senior server, trying in vain to hide the fact that he’d been spacing out. “Oh, we’re cut already?”

                     “No, I said we will be in half an hour, if we don’t get sat.” Lacey followed the path his eyes had been set on and noticed they were directed right at the hostess stand, where Camille was organizing the menus for what had to be the fourth time this shift. “But way more interesting than that: you were checking out the hostess, weren’t you?”

                     “I . . . no, that would be . . . improper . . .” Even if the fumbled words didn’t give him away, the panic in Vince’s eyes would have certainly keyed Lacey into the truth.

                     “Relax, I’m not going to tell her or anything. Hell, I’m just glad to see you finally take an interest in someone. You know Brooklyn has been trying to test you out for a couple of months now. For a while, we thought you swung the other way, but you didn’t respond to Juan’s advances either, and that guy is smoking.”

                     “I don’t entirely understand what you’re getting at, and I have a sneaking suspicion I’m happier that way,” Vince said.

                     “Proving that you’re smarter than that costume makes you look. So, the hostess is your type, huh? Short, smart, shy, quiet; I can see where a lug like you would go for that. Think she digs you back?”

                     “I know she does.” Vince was as surprised as Lacey to hear the words come out. He’d held back on talking about it with the others, even with Dr. Moran, because, in the scope of everything else they dealt with, it just seemed so ridiculous a thing to worry over. With Lacey, it was different. She was mundane, and so was this issue. It didn’t seem so crazy to open up to her.

                     “She told me how she felt before break, told me to take my time sorting out my own feelings. Camille hasn’t pushed the issue, but I’ve felt strange around her ever since, like the more I see her, the more she’ll expect an answer.”

                     “From your laser-vision a few seconds ago, I bet I could put in a pretty good wager about how you feel,” Lacey replied.

                     “Yeah . . . I do like Camille. She’s smart, tough, courageous; she’s amazing. But I also have this . . . ex from a long time ago. I’ve been trying to get over her for years. In fact, I think my feelings for her soured my last relationship. I was making good progress, but then she popped back up a few months ago, and now I don’t know what I feel. I just . . . it doesn’t seem right to drag Camille into this if I’m not sure about my feelings. I don’t want to hurt her.”

                     “Let me ask you something, does our hostess know about any of this? Like, at all?” Lacey brushed a rogue hair out of her face, knocking her mask slightly askew, which she immediately readjusted. Brenda was a cool boss, but she was harsh about keeping in costume.

                     “All of it. I’ve known her for years now, and I tell her pretty much everything.” Vince chanced a quick glance toward their only customer, who was still slowly putting down the soup, spoonful after spoonful.

                     “Just making sure.” Lacey reached toward Vince’s face, as though she were about to straighten his hair. At the last minute, she pressed her middle finger to her thumb and flicked Vince directly in the nose.

                     “Ouch!” Vince grabbed the wounded appendage as his eyes reflexively watered. “What the heck?”

                     “Stop being a big dumb-dumb. If the girl likes you, complications and all, then it’s not your job to protect her from bad outcomes. She’s an adult. She can make her own choices about the risks she’s willing to take, and it sounds like she’s decided you’re worth it. Not sure I get why, but we all have our own tastes.”

                     “But—”

                     “No. No buts. Feelings are messy. If you’re waiting around for the perfect situation, where no one has anything on the line, then you’re going to die alone and probably with a massively swollen forearm. Newsflash: every relationship a person has ends in failure, save for one. Maybe two if you count getting remarried after they kick off, but the point is, we all go in with a ninety-whatever percent failure rate. It’s just like when you were learning this job; you screwed things up until you started getting them right. If you really want the girl, and she still wants you even knowing the score, then you’re not holding back out of goodness or decency. You’re doing it out of fear.”

                     Vince rubbed his nose as Lacey finished her speech, topping it off with the same wide smile she used to greet the customers. “You might have a point,” he admitted after a few minutes.

                     “See, I told the other trainers you were teachable.” Lacey patted him on the arm and glanced at the lone table. “I’m going to go get the water pitcher and top off Mr. Soup. You do whatever you think is best.”

                     Vince watched her head off toward the back, still momentarily dumbfounded at the harsh truths she’d laid on him. Lacey might not be able to run faster than a car, or lift a bus, but she definitely had knowledge and skills that he was lacking in. And if there was one thing that life at Lander had taught him, it was to accept lessons wherever they came from. He turned and walked down the carpet, past the other sections, arriving at the hostess stand facing the empty lobby.

                     “I can’t give you the next table,” Camille said, glancing up from a dry-erase diagram of the restaurant. “There are way too many others ahead of you.”

                     “Actually, I think we’re getting cut soon anyway,” Vince said. “But that wasn’t what I came over for. I wanted to tell you that Alex and Hershel are putting together this big outing in a couple of weeks for a movie premiere. It’s going to be fun, I think, and I’d really like it if you came along.”

                     “Sure, I’ll pitch the idea to Thomas and Violet,” Camille replied.

                     “That’s great, and they’re more than welcome to join us. Just know, though, I really want you to come. I . . . it just won’t be the same if you’re not there.”

                     “Oh.” Camille turned back to her menus and diagram, willing herself not to turn into a tomato. “Yeah. Count me in.”

     168.

                    Alice took a deep breath, emptying her mind of stress, fear, and expectations. That last one was the most difficult, given what she was here to do, but she hadn’t spent the last few months working on meditation training with Mary for nothing. She tried to push at the boundaries of her mind, opening up the pathways. According to the texts they’d read, this was supposed to “open one up to the cosmic energies of the universe,” which she took to be new-age bullshit. It did, however, make it easier for someone with mental powers to access her mind, and that was something she very much wanted to achieve.

                     She felt the presence on the outskirts of her mind; it took willpower to not reflexively shove it away. This one had a different sensation than Mary’s entrances, which had grown so familiar during their training that the two barely had to work at it anymore. No, this was older, stronger, and somehow more distant. Somewhere, in the physical body she’d dulled her awareness of, Professor Stone was still holding her hand, pushing her awareness through the connection between them. For a time—it was impossible to say how long—that was all there was: a lingering presence on the outskirts of her mind.

                     Her first hint of change was when she felt a pull coming from somewhere in her memories. Alice’s awareness drifted through them, weaving throughout her first year at Lander, trying not to cringe at the entitled debutante she’d once been. The trip was mercifully short; as she plunged into the second year, she began to slow down. She saw their first meeting as a team, and the scavenger hunt Nick had sent them on. She saw the team trial, felt the surge of pride that had run through her as she grabbed the enemy’s flag. Then it was Halloween, and she was creeping along. The horror house, being separated, and ending up at a table with Nick, Mary, and Rich. Time slowed even more as Rich banged on the table, their eyes turning to his. As she fell into his gaze and the world began to shift, the progress stopped entirely.

                     “Are you ready?” Professor Stone asked. She was standing at the edge of the table, a place she hadn’t been the first time around, waiting patiently for Alice to respond.

                     “As I’ll ever be.”

                     Professor Stone nodded, and the memory shuddered back into motion. The world fell away in a fog, and then reshaped itself as Alice found she was at a luxurious spa, being waited on hand and foot. She knew this place as soon as she saw it. Not in the way that she’d been there before, just that everything about it somehow felt like home; that fleeting sense one could only capture for a moment upon returning to a familiar place. The entire place practically radiated that sentiment.

                     “This is my subconscious core, right?” Alice said. She was watching a different version of herself be pampered—not without a bit of jealousy—amazed at how Past-Alice seemed so unconcerned about the sudden change in her surroundings.

                     “By all accounts, that’s where Rich put you all. He stuck you in your home base, somewhere that you’d be safe and happy,” Professor Stone replied.

                     “Interesting.” Alice wasn’t at all surprised that her idea of home wasn’t the mansion she’d grown up in—a part of her had always recognized that house for the empty place it was. She wondered if this spa was still what she imagined her mental safe place to be, though. Somehow, she doubted it. After everything in the past year, Alice suspected that if Rich hit her with the same whammy, she’d wind up in the Melbrook common room, surrounded by friends. And maybe a few of the attendants doing pedicures; they were really showing some top-notch work.

                     For a time, which was the only thing that could be said about the passing of moments in this place, nothing happened. Then a man stepped from the fog. He wore a well-made suit with no tie, his cocoa-colored skin showing through the open buttons of his shirt. He looked around the area a few times, then approached Alice’s chair.

                     “My, this is a strange scenario.”

                     “I didn’t realize there were any other customers here today. Please, take a seat and join me.” Past-Alice motioned to an open chair, which the stranger took after stepping into her view. The Alice watching all this play out tried not to be too hard on her past self for not thinking this odd; after all, losing a sense of reality was part of Rich’s ability.

                     The man introduced himself as Abridail, and accepted a glass of champagne from Past-Alice. He went on to explain that he was a dream-walker, and that he had visited Alice many times before. When he mentioned having a message, Alice felt her nerves tighten and had to force them down. Now, when she was this close, she couldn’t afford to put up any accidental mental walls. She had to see it through, to learn what on earth he’d told her.

                     “This message of yours, who is it from, anyway?” Past-Alice asked.

                     Abridail drained the last of his champagne in a single gulp. “That’s the part that generally piques your interest in the first place. The truth of it is, I’m here on behalf of your mother.”

                     “You must be mistaken,” Past-Alice said. Her eyes drooped a bit, and the attendants rushed over to bring more champagne and comfort. “My mother passed away when I was born.”

                     “I’m afraid that’s not true,” Abridail informed her. “Though, I’d agree that your mother isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘living,’ she does still draw breath. And her incapacitation didn’t happen until you were almost a year old.”

                     “I don’t believe you.” Past-Alice’s sadness had slipped away, replaced by a quickly mounting anger as she stood. In the distance, Alice and Professor Stone could hear the rumble of thunder. “If my mother were alive, she’d have come for me. Everyone talks about how wonderful and loving she was; she’d have never left me alone. My mother would have found a way to get to me.”

                     “My poor, dear child. She did. I am that way.” Abridail didn’t rise to meet Past-Alice’s ire. He stayed seated and calm, like a mountain in the fury of a storm. Past-Alice stared at him for an uncountable moment, then lowered herself back to her seat.

                     “Let’s say I believe you. What’s this message supposed to be, anyway?”

                     “Your mother wants you to know that she loves you very, very much. She’s proud beyond words at the woman you’ve become, and at what you have the potential to turn into. Shelby loves you every day, and she wants you to know that she doesn’t regret any of it. When you find out the truth, it’s important to her that you know that. She has no regrets. And she doesn’t want you to search for her, if you can help it.”

                     “If my mother were alive, why on earth wouldn’t I look for her?” Past-Alice asked.

                     “Because, most of the time, when you look, you find her, and that means you uncover the truth.”

                     “The truth about—” Past-Alice’s voice crackled into static as the world swirled into fog once more. Slowly, things reshaped around them, turning back into Screamtopia’s lounge area, where Past-Alice was groggily waking up.

                     “You have to be fucking kidding me!” Alice yelped, ineffectively trying to shake her past self. “That’s it? That’s all I got? Not a GPS location, or a town, or even the goddamned country she’s in? He gave us nothing!”

                     “He told you that your mother loved you and thought of you every day,” Professor Stone said, setting a hand on Alice’s shoulder. “Perhaps it is just me, but that seems quite a ways off from nothing.”

                     “But I wanted to find her.” Alice let herself lean against the older woman as the anger fell away, replaced by the same knot of emptiness she’d carried since being old enough to realize she was one parent short.

                     “Yet, it seems she doesn’t want to be found,” Professor Stone pointed out.

                     “I don’t give half a goddamn about whether she wants to be found or not. If my mother is out there, then I’m going to look for her.”

                     “Then you’re in luck, Alice. Hunting down the unfindable is one of the skills Subtlety Heroes specialize in. You’ve been getting exactly the training you need to make that possible, so long as you’re following the rules, of course.” Esme Stone allowed one of her own smiles to break through the instructor veneer she wore so expertly. It was a small gesture, but one that Alice didn’t miss.

                     “Of course, Professor.”

     169.

                   “The man is good; I have to give him that.” Nick rifled through a set of papers, one of countless stacks that were spread across his dining table. There were piles of folders on the ground, smushed into white banker’s boxes that were piled atop one another. Many of these documents were highly sensitive and would have set off a frenzy of activity if people realized they were missing. Fortunately, the originals were still perfectly intact in their respective storage locations. Eliza couldn’t get away with copping constant attitude without being as a valuable an asset as she was.

                     “Mid-level grunt on a path to the Senate, then he suddenly changes course and routes himself toward the DVA,” Eliza said. “Once there, he manages to trade favors and schmooze his way up the ladder in only a few years. He definitely knows how to play the game; if he hadn’t switched goals, he might very well be in that Senate seat by now.”

                     “Instead, he’s personally indicted no less than eighteen Heroes on reckless endangerment charges, and managed to get the sentences for several others ratcheted up beyond what was originally proposed.” Nick folded his current stack shut and set it on the table. “Despite the fact we make a living from illegal activities, I’m pretty sure this guy loathes Heroes even more than we do.”

                     “It’s not like Heroes come busting down the casino doors or anything. Long as we keep the violence to a minimum, they aren’t much of an issue,” Eliza pointed out. “But yeah, this guy hates them with some kind of passion.”

                     “Obviously, it’s tied to losing his daughters,” Jerome added. He’d been reading through the files slowly and methodically, the way he approached every task given to him.

                     “Clearly. His career jump occurred only days after Raze accidentally destroyed the San Witmer bridge. My guess is he thought the DVA revoking Raze’s Hero Certification wasn’t harsh enough, and he decided to take an active hand in keeping other Heroes in line,” Nick said.

                     “Didn’t Raze go off the reservation anyway?” Eliza dropped a manila folder onto the stack already accrued at her feet. It landed with an audible thud, which would have made a room of people with less self-control jump. Instead, Nick merely rolled his eyes.

                     “That’s the official story. He refused to take the punishment, destroyed the building he was in, and went into hiding. Since then, there’s only been sporadic sightings here and there.”

                     “The official story? You say that like you think there might be something else.” Eliza cocked an eyebrow. Something about Nicholas still seemed off to her, but as long as the job was done, she didn’t plan on pushing the issue. Besides, he’d given her leeway when she decided to stay on the job despite discovering Vince was nearby. The least she could do was show him a little trust in return. For the moment, anyway.

                     “Let’s just say that I’m not inclined to take anything I read about The Class of Legends at face value,” Nick replied. “Too many secrets; too many mysteries. For all I know, that could be the case with every Hero ever to don a mask, but it’s at least true with those ten. At any rate, they aren’t our problem right now. The grief-crazed father bent on tearing down as many Heroes as possible is, given that he’s set his sights on my . . . asset.”

                     Vince was, of course, far more than that to Nick, which was precisely why the pretense of detachment was necessary. Neither Eliza nor Jerome were particularly adept at putting pressure on someone’s most vulnerable spots, but they were perfectly capable of making reports to Ms. Pips. Having things he cared about, especially outside the Family, made them a weakness that could be targeted. His Lander friends were powerful, but they’d never be prepared for the sort of attacks Ms. Pips would use against them. They were all too innocent, too decent. That was why Nick had to be the one who kept them safe from the things that lurked in the dark.

                     “Here’s what I don’t get: Globe shouldn’t be too high on Chapman’s list in the first place,” Eliza said. “Sure, he killed his teammate, but the rest of his team immediately tried to kill him in response. When he popped up again, it was a surprise to everyone. Based on his record, Chapman usually goes after Heroes who got off light, or who he thinks will only get slapped on the wrist due to their popularity. Neither of those cases applies to Globe, so I don’t know why he’s got such a hate-boner for the guy, let alone for his son.”

                     “My working theory is that he harbors a grudge against The Class of Legends as a whole, since it was Raze who destroyed the bridge that killed his daughters, but I have to admit, that’s a bit thin,” Nick said. “Perhaps he sees the amount of destruction Vince could cause and wants to stop him before he ever gets the chance.”

                     Eliza snorted, shaking her head and sending her dark curls sailing through the air. “If that’s really his game plan, then this guy is a lot stupider than I would have expected.”

                     “How so?” Nick asked. He agreed with her assessment wholeheartedly, but was curious to know the reason why Eliza had formed it.

                     “Taking Vince out of the program just robs him of the opportunity to get his power under control. It won’t stop him from using it.”

                     “Non-Hero Supers getting involved in stopping criminal ones is a serious crime, especially if other people are hurt or property is damaged,” Jerome pointed out.

                     “And Vince will completely understand that, right up until he actually sees someone in trouble. As soon as that happens, he’ll jump in, and no laws or regulations are going to stop him.” Eliza glanced out the window, looking at the Lander campus that was only a few blocks away. “That big moron can’t help himself, even when he really should.”

                     “I agree completely,” Nick said. “Vince is many things, but capable of ignoring people in need probably isn’t one of them. And since having a jailed vigilante with ties to us is far less lucrative than having a renowned Hero, we’ll just have to stop whatever Chapman is trying to accomplish. The next step in that will be finding out exactly why he’s coming after our silver-haired acquaintance so hard.”

                     “Unless you know of a place with more files, I doubt we’re going to stumble over anything new,” Eliza said.

                     “No, nothing typed on a page will answer this mystery. I think it’s high time we took the direct approach.” Nick pulled a single piece of paper from the pile and tore off the top corner, then set it down in front of him.

                     “Let’s make plans to pay Ralph Chapman a visit and ask him for ourselves.”

     170.

                  A loud banging filled Nick’s apartment, the sort that would have sent him diving for one of the many weapons covertly stashed throughout the home, if not for the fact that he was expecting it. He walked through the living room and glanced at the dining table, which had been moved from its small nook near the kitchen to a central location and cleared of any and all files pertaining to his extra-curricular activities. Those objects existed in the other world he inhabited, the one filled with intrigue, lies, and blood. Eliza and Jerome had moved them to their apartment earlier that morning.

                     Nick pulled open the door, nearly taking a fist to the face from Vince, who’d been responsible for the initial banging. Thankfully, Vince was able to stop his blow and avoid bloodying Nick’s nose, a circumstance that would have put quite a damper on the evening.

                     “Good to see you.” Vince wrapped his arms around Nick, pulling his friend in tightly for a hug. Nick was hoping the outpouring of affection would taper off once enough time had passed that everyone was no longer terrified he might up and be gone again.

                     “You too, come on in. Drinks are in the fridge, and chips are on the counter.”

                     Vince slid past him, followed by Hershel—who thankfully stuck to a handshake as he struggled with the duffel bag on his shoulder—and then Mary, who merely greeted him with a wry smile and a slight nod. Alice was last, and she gave him a side-armed hug; far from the ridiculously strong one Vince had offered, yet still close enough to establish physical contact. Nick took the hint, returning the embrace, then shutting and locking the door behind him.

                     “All right, Hershel, tell us what you’ve got tonight,” Nick said.

                     The others had already settled in at the table, pulling a variety of mismatched seats together so that everyone had a place to sit. Only Nick knew that the table had come with a very nice, matched set of chairs, which he’d had to throw away to keep the disheveled, ill-organized appearance of a college student.

                     “I’ve got all the standard stuff: Risk, Sorry, Trivial Pursuit, things like that. I also brought along some more obscure options. Riding Hellhounds, Save the Day, and Mad Gods are three of my favorites.” Hershel spoke as he pulled box after box from the cramped duffel bag he’d lugged along. It was no surprise that he was the one to propose a game night as a weekly activity; Hershel’s adoration of all things dice-related remained soundly intact.

                     “Let’s take Risk off the table; we’ve all got class tomorrow, and I have a feeling Hershel and I would end up in a grudge match that takes days to resolve,” Nick said. It wasn’t just bluster, either. Though he was confident he could take down the smaller Daniels brother, Nick respected Hershel’s experience and battle acumen enough to assume he’d put up a hell of a fight.

                     “I don’t really know how to play any of these,” Vince admitted. “My father taught me a few card games growing up, but that was basically it.”

                     “On that note, maybe we shouldn’t play Trivial Pursuit either,” Mary said. “Given Vince’s deficient knowledge of pop culture and modern history, I doubt he’d enjoy it very much.”

                     “We could try Sorry. That’s pretty straightforward,” Alice proposed.

                     “So much so that it’s hardly even worth playing,” Nick replied. “Since Hershel was such a sport about lugging those things across campus, I say we play one of the weird ones he brought along.”

                     “It wasn’t hard or anything,” Hershel said. A year ago, it very well might have been a challenge for him to cart the duffel bag off campus, but all those months of training were showing dividends in more than just his slimming waist. “But I’m not going to pass up the chance to play one of those, so thanks.”

                     “I still think it sucks that you can’t come to Melbrook,” Vince said.

                     “Why? I actually like our arrangement,” Nick replied. “You lot have to do all the commuting, and I don’t cause undue suspicion by showing up at the place I was kicked out of. Besides, the most important part of that dorm is not the place itself.”

                     “I know, it’s us, your friends,” Vince said

                     “No, it’s the beer I had hidden in my room.” Nick rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion. “Beer that I’ve since replaced and is sitting in my fridge. Get over yourself, Silver.”

                     His friends weren’t particularly fooled by the act anymore, but no one called him on it. They were trying to settle back into some sense of familiarity—as much as they could with Nick outside the program, anyway—and him wise-cracking his emotions away was turf everyone was comfortable on.

                     “Okay, so it’s between the three games. Riding Hellhounds is a game where all the players are stuck in the underworld, performing for Hades. We race hellhounds around the track, trying to win and get set free. There’s lots of ways to do sabotage and stuff too, not to mention obstacles in the path,” Hershel explained. “Save the Day is about running a Hero team; you draw members, organize them, then roll to see how you do in various encounters picked from the deck. You win different tokens for each success, and we total them up at the end to see the winner. Mad Gods is sort of weird, though. How familiar is everyone with the Cthulhu mythos?”

                     “Let’s do the dog-racing one,” Alice suggested. “It sounds fun, and to be honest, I don’t really want to spend my night away from the HCP pretending to be a Hero. I could use some time off.”

                     “I’ll second that,” Mary added. “Let’s start easy and work up to the more complex ones.”

                     “No objections here; I love that one,” Hershel said. “Vince, Nick, you guys okay with Riding Hellhounds?”

                     “It can’t be harder than learning about LARPing,” Vince said. “So I’m fine.”

                     “Count me in, too. Anyone want a beer or soda while Hershel sets up the board?” Nick asked. Alice and Mary both raised their hands, though only Alice accepted the drink with alcohol, and Nick made his way into the kitchen.

                     It was probably still a risk, meeting up like this every week, but it was a necessary one. Unusual as those potential future Heroes were, they were still important to Nick. Professor Pendleton had been right: their lives weren’t going to be getting any easier, not if those people made it to Hero status. He had to enjoy his time with them now, while there was still a chance.

                     Besides, even Nick had to admit that some of Hershel’s games sounded pretty fun.

     171.

                    Dean Blaine was finishing up some paperwork—which he would send away, only to have it be replaced with almost magical speed, creating a cycle he personally considered Sisyphean—when his office door was flung wide open. The bald man standing in the frame was as broad and strong as Blaine remembered him, though his midsection had begun to sag as retirement took its toll.

                     “Zero! Guess who’s back on campus?”

                     It was the same way he introduced himself every year, yet time after time, Blaine had to fight down the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose when the booming voice roared through his office. Instead, he looked up from his paperwork with a placid smile and motioned for his guest to sit.

                     “Victor, always a pleasure to see you, but we’ve talked about this many, many times before. Zero is gone; I’m just Dean Blaine these days.”

                     “Uh huh. Tell you what? I’ll believe that just as soon as you start to.” Victor stomped through the office, not out of intent, but merely because he was a heavy man who knew no other way to walk, and all but fell into the chair Dean Blaine had pointed out. “Damn good to see you again, though. Seems like these talks are the only times we get to hang out anymore.”

                     “Time is a commodity that seems to only grow more precious with every year. My students require a good deal of looking after, and I doubt your players are much different. With superhuman abilities come superhuman egos and issues, after all.”

                     “You don’t have to tell me, I remember the crazy bullshit from these halls all too well. On that note, got any good prospects for me before I give them the talk?” Victor’s smile was still wide and affable, his body language sincere, but Blaine would have had to be far greener to miss the hungry glint that gleamed in his eyes.

                     “Must we do this every year? I’m not telling you where my students stand in terms of advancement, especially given that it could radically change depending on how they perform in their final assessments,” Dean Blaine said.

                     “Come on, you can’t throw a few bones to an old friend? Once the failures are announced, there’s a damn bum-rush to snap up the best ones. Sure would be nice to have a few leads on where to focus my energy.” Victor leaned back in the chair and rested his feet on the corner on Blaine’s desk.

                     That level of gall would have earned almost anyone else an ejection from Dean Blaine’s office, but even he admitted that he held a soft spot for Victor. It was hard not to. Aside from standing on the same stage at graduation, they’d been friends for most of their time at Lander. Victor had even been in the weekly poker game. Blaine knew that his friend didn’t mean to come off as manner-less and brusque; Victor simply lacked delicacy in nearly every form imaginable.

                     “Feet off my desk, Victor,” Dean Blaine sighed. They’d had this dance many times before, and after so many years, he’d allowed himself to begin skipping the middle parts and arriving at the destination they both knew they would reach. “I won’t discuss who is likely to pass or fail, but I could alert you to who would certainly be worth obtaining, should they need a new future path. This assumes, of course, that you will not be using this information to sign them for less than they deserve.”

                     “Hey now, you show me one Lander kid, just one, that I’ve given a bad deal to, and I’ll show up to the next live game in a bright-pink ballerina’s outfit.” Victor did, to his credit, put his feet down as he spoke.

                     “True, you are always fair to our students, though I’ve heard of some less than stellar deals offered to the Supers formerly of Korman University.” Dean Blaine’s mouth twitched at the edges as he fought down a smirk. “Any reason why that school’s alumni don’t deserve the same treatment?”

                     Victor glowered at Blaine from across the table. “You just love bringing that up, don’t you?”

                     “It was the first time someone lost an Intramural match by being ejected from the hemisphere.”

                     “It also took them three days to find me and teleport me back,” Victor grumbled. “I didn’t even get to watch the other fights, which were apparently fucking amazing.”

                     “That was your fault for tearing off as soon as you realized where you were. If you’d stayed put, they’d have brought you back in mere hours.” Dean Blaine reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out the stack of papers he’d prepared in advance of Victor’s visit. Ever since the former-Hero became the default Super Athletics Association representative at Lander, they’d been having some variation of this meeting once a year. “Here are the dossiers on this year’s class. As a still-certified Hero and freelance consultant, you’re held under all the usual gag orders in terms of passing it on.”

                     “Read and burn, I know the deal. They gave us a whole course on it when I got my consultant license.” Victor accepted the papers and began to flip through them. “Any you’d recommend starting with?”

                     “So far as the usual physical abilities go: Sasha Foster is a super-speeder with mid-range peak acceleration capabilities, but higher than normal levels of endurance. Alex Griffen is an advanced mind with exceptional high levels of control, albeit some personality quirks to go with it. Mary Smith is another advanced mind; she lacks Alex’s level of control, but has more telekinetic force than Heroes that have been on the job for years. Also in the physical group is Roy Daniels, who was a low to mid-range strongman until last year. If you check his latest assessments, I think you’ll find it interesting.”

                     Victor’s eyes widened as he flipped to Roy’s page. “That’s a hell of a growth spike. He’s not at the high-end yet, but damned if he isn’t running toward it full-tilt. Damn, with that kind of power, he’ll probably make it through. Too bad, I can always use a good strongman, though the advanced minds come in pretty handy as well. Now, forgive me, but I do have to point out that it seems you ignored someone pretty important.”

                     “You interrupted me before I was finished,” Dean Blaine replied.

                     “Please, if you were going to mention Chad, you’d have told me about him first. He is top of the class, after all; been there since the very first assessment.”

                     It was easy to forget that beneath Victor’s dense appearance and dull features was a mind much quicker than he liked to let on. Even knowing him as long as Blaine had, he still found himself underestimating the former Hero from time to time.

                     “Seems you did a little research of your own before our meeting,” Dean Blaine said.

                     “Half the reason I even got licensed to consult for the HCP was so I could be let in on all these little progress reports,” Victor replied, no sense of shame in his still shining grin. “Wouldn’t be very smart of me to go to all that trouble and then not use the perks.”

                     “Perks, indeed.” Dean Blaine resisted the urge to rub his temples, but only barely. “Chad was left out because there was no point in talking to you about him. You always want to know about the best people to make offers to, should they become available. Chad Taylor does not fall in that category.”

                     “Waaaaaait a minute.” Victor leaned forward in the chair, his bulk making it groan as he did. “Are you telling me that you already know Chad’s going all the way? That’s unlike you, Blaine. Usually, you keep it neutral until all the tests are done.”

                     “Don’t be ridiculous. Chad Taylor is in good standing, but we both know that the senior year will test more than just fighting and tactics. He’s as capable as anyone else of washing out. But, if he does, then he’ll just apply to the program the next year, and the one after that, and the one after that. I didn’t bother bringing up Chad because there’s no offer you could make him at this point that would keep him from continuing to try and become a Hero.”

     172.

                    As the students walked in to their Wednesday gym session, they noticed a muscular man with a cleanly shaven head standing in the middle of the room. His uproarious laughter was echoing off the walls as he slapped Professor Pendleton on the back. Even the tall Subtlety instructor was smiling; a rare thing to see outside of when he was inflicting some fresh torture on his students, though Dean Blaine looked somewhat pained as he stood nearby. The HCP juniors fell into their usual half-circle for greeting a guest speaker, and after a few moments, Victor’s humor subsided, allowing Dean Blaine to be heard.

                     “Several times this year, I’ve told you all that you would be hearing from a representative of the Super Athletics Association. Today, it is my pleasure to introduce you to that man. Many of you may recognize Victor Pakulski, as, in addition to serving as a chairman to the SAA’s board, he also coaches a football team known as the Fort Worth Juggernauts.”

                     “Four-time Epic Bowl Champions, Fort Worth Juggernauts, if you want to be specific,” Victor interrupted.

                     Dean Blaine shot his friend a long, hard stare, and then continued. “Anyway, Victor is here to talk to you about the SAA, how it works, and what sorts of options you can expect if you should opt to try and sign on with the organization.” With that, Dean Blaine stepped back and Victor bounded forward.

                     “I’m sure most of you already know this, but I like to start off by going into the history of the SAA a little bit. We were founded in the early seventies, after the world became aware of Supers and the Hero Certification Program took hold. It was then that people decided that it wasn’t fair for a person who could break the sound barrier to be running down the same field as a bunch of humans. To their credit, that does make an unbalanced game. On the other hand, watching Supers play against one another was too popular to ban completely, and thus, the Super Athletics Association was born. Unlike single agencies, such as the NBA, we run all different kinds of sports, so if you want to play pro, you’ll be dealing with the SAA.”

                     Victor looked around the room, noting that, while some students were politely interested, none were truly engrossed in the subject matter. He couldn’t blame them. At this point in his HCP career, he’d been just as certain that he was going all the way. Every class reacted this way, as though what he was talking about couldn’t possibly pertain to them. And yet, before graduation day came, at least half of them would be gone, and suddenly, what he was selling would seem a lot more enticing.

                     “Now, most players on our various SAA teams are professional athletes and Supers who have trained their entire lives to enter their respective league. Most, but not all. As a rule, we do recruit some Supers with HCP experience. Even if they don’t know the game in particular, making it this far in the program speaks to a level of power and skill that can often be translated into success on a field. Sometimes, we get a bust, other times, we get a real monster, like Jade Norris.”

                     A few students perked up at the name, recognition washing over their faces. Victor loved pulling that card out of his deck; it was always guaranteed to yank a few wandering minds into the discussion.

                     “That’s right, Jade “The Comet” Norris was an HCP washout when she was first signed back in the early nineties. This was when co-ed teams were still a thing people fought about, as if a woman who could bench a truck was somehow inferior to a man with the same power. Any of you who are sports fans know Jade broke dozens of records, both as a receiver and, later on, a quarterback. In fact, a lot of her records still stand to this day, though I’ve seen a lot of people try to crack them. Fame, wealth, adoration, and last I checked, a standing sponsorship deal with no less than ten major brands; not bad for a backup plan.”

                     Some of them were definitely listening now. Not many people had the mental fortitude to tune out a discussion about piles of money and easy living that might just be theirs for the taking. Of course, Jade was a legend for a reason—not everyone had talent for a sport just because they were good at fighting. True, there were things like boxing or MMA that they could easily fit into, but the big money lived in America’s largest loves: Basketball, Baseball, and, at the top of the heap, Football. That was why coaches like Victor had to cast a wide net in recruiting. It took roughly ten disappointments to find one unpolished jewel.

                     “That’s just an example of someone who didn’t finish the HCP. We also have a lot of former Heroes on our rosters as well. Hanging up the cape is a damned hard thing to do, and I should know. Once upon a time, I wore one myself. Metaphorically, anyway—actually wearing capes is long out of fashion. Point is, I spent the better part of a decade out there, up to my knees in action every day, until one day, I couldn’t do it anymore. I was getting too slow, the close-calls getting too close. I realized that if I didn’t walk away from the life, I’d be carried out of it in a box.”

                     Victor’s gregariousness fell away, a solemn expression taking the place of his beaming smile. “I won’t sugarcoat this for you: making that choice was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. To stop living in that world, to see people you know and love still entering the fray while you sit on the sidelines . . . personally, I think it’s the hardest part of being a Hero. The only way I could keep from going crazy was to find some action, somewhere, and that’s why I signed on with the SAA. It isn’t quite the same, nothing replicates being a Hero, but my worst injury days didn’t involve severed limbs or ruptured organs, and there’s something to be said for that. Then, I began to really enjoy what I was doing. Of course, the five-star hotels and ability to afford fine dining didn’t hurt either, if you know what I mean.”

                     The seriousness began to melt as Victor turned the conversation back to a positive note. Explaining what the SAA was, and what they did, was so simple that it didn’t really necessitate a speaker. Victor didn’t come out to get them amped about playing football instead of saving lives, nor did he show up just to bug Blaine for insider info. No, Victor Pakulski made this pilgrimage every year to make sure the kids knew what no one had told him and his peers: there was life after being a Hero.

                     They didn’t all have to die with their capes on.

     173.

                    While Victor was speaking to Hero hopefuls, Ralph Chapman was getting lunch. Much as he liked to keep an eye on things in the Hero Certification Program, it was simply logistically unsound to watch over the whole program day after day. Dropping in infrequently, at key times, that was how one kept people on their toes and still found time to get one’s own work done. As for Victor, the Super once known as Bullrush, Ralph Chapman had no desire to hear that loud man’s brash voice. Though he’d left the Hero world with a clean record, Ralph had simply never enjoyed that Hero on a personal level. Too much destructive potential; really, destruction was all Bullrush could do. Seeing him filled Ralph with questions about what sins might have been covered up to protect that goofy Hero’s positive image. It was ire that he didn’t need before eating, so he skipped the speech altogether.

                     Instead, he went to a nice diner near his office, one he’d discovered on his first week and still found to be scrumptious. Walking in, he greeted the hostess with a polite nod, settled into a booth with his laptop, and began to do some work after giving the waiter his order. It was just like every other time he’d come to the establishment . . .

                     Right up until the young man slid into the opposite side of his booth. Chapman looked up from his computer screen, hoping it was simply a misunderstanding, but bracing for the possibility of an attempt on his life. He found neither confusion nor malice staring back at him. Rather, he was greeted by a friendly smile gleaming on a face that also hosted a pair of sunglasses. The young man had a small bag of chips open in his hand, which he turned and held up.

                     “Spicy flavored. Want one?”

                     “No, thank you.” This clearly wasn’t an accident, so this strange young man must know who he was. What remained a mystery was what he hoped to glean from ambushing a DVA agent in broad daylight.

                     “Don’t blame you. Spicy isn’t really a flavor in the first place, you know? It’s supposed to be an addition to other flavors. Saying this is the spicy flavor is like having one where the description is just ‘salty.’ We’re really letting standards slide when it comes to junk food.” As he spoke, the young man popped a few more of the very chips he was denigrating into his mouth.

                     “I’m certain the FDA is right on top of it. I can even pass along your complaint if you’d like, Mr. . . .”

                     “Nick. Just call me Nick, though your last fellow knew me by the name Dig Bixby.”

                     A hot coal of worry began burning at the lining of Chapman’s stomach. This was the man Smitt had tried, in vain, to pin down for weeks. Who was likely responsible for driving him out of town. Nick, if that was his name, likely knew about the nature of Smitt and Chapman’s relationship. Suddenly, the intrusion shifted from an annoyance to a problem.

                     “I’m not sure I have any idea what you’re talking about.”

                     “Really? That’s a little disrespectful. I mean, I offered you my chips, I even gave you my real name, and you’re going to try and bluff me with a flat-denial lie. That hurts, Ralph. It really does. And here, I came to you with the truest hopes of friendship.”

                     Ralph Chapman considered the young man carefully. He was college-aged, though likely on the downhill side of the experience. Despite the frame he tried to hide under winter clothing, there were still telltale signs of impressive fitness. All of that, plus the ties to Vince Reynolds Smitt had uncovered, significantly narrowed down the possibilities of who he was.

                     “So then, Nick. You’ll be Nick Campbell, last year’s expulsion case.”

                     “Somebody has been looking at the ‘no-no’ files.” If Nick was surprised to have his identity deduced so quickly, it didn’t show on his face. “But yes, you got it in a single guess. I’d shake your hand, but, you know, chip dust.” He raised his orange-colored fingers to illustrate the point.

                     “Given the situation surrounding a certain student, I felt it proper to read all files about his associates, regardless of their classification level.”

                     “Hey, I’m not here to judge,” Nick replied. “In fact, I’m glad you’re the snooping type. Saves me the trouble of telling you, having you doubt me, and then you digging it up and finally believing me. This way, we can have a worthwhile discussion.  And really, who has time for all that, anyway?”

                     “You should, technically speaking. You’re out of the program, in a very permanent fashion, and should have no memory of the entire experience. Given the circumstances, it seems that’s not the case.”

                     “With all due respect to the professor, she did a hell of a job popping my top and scrambling my memories. But she, and really all of you in that process, forgot a very important rule about the world.”

                     “Do tell.” Chapman didn’t like this young man. He didn’t trust the glib way Nick was admitting to things that should have been hidden away with every ounce of cunning he had. Telling a DVA agent that you’d regained sealed memories made no sense; which meant that either Nick was an idiot, or Chapman didn’t yet know what game they were actually playing.

                     Nick leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. “There are millions of Supers out there, and with enough money, you can always find one with the talent you need. If you can break it, someone else can fix it, Ralph.”

                     “Perhaps so, but now that I’m aware of you breaking protocol, what makes you think there won’t be a warrant out for you by the time my food gets here?” Chapman shot back.

                     “Because we’re friends.” Nick leaned back, all air of seriousness gone, replaced with another wide smile. “And friends don’t do things like tattle on each other. It’s why I didn’t send that massive pile of evidence, including some choice Smitt recordings, off to the DVA’s Internal Affairs division as soon as I got them. Friends protect each other; we don’t narc the other out.”

                     “Can you cut to the quick of this?” Chapman said. He felt uneasy talking to Nick, as though the longer he spoke, the more he was giving the failed Hero exactly what he wanted.

                     “Glad to.” Nick crumpled up the chip bag and set it down, then took a spare napkin from the table and began wiping off his fingers. “I debated on how to approach you for a long while, Ralph. I thought about extortion, or threatening loved ones, or all the usual ways I’d come at someone who dared to try and pin me down. But the more I studied you, the more I realized how similar we are. You don’t have any family to use—my condolences, by the way—and you’re not the sort to cave in to someone trying to blackmail you. You’d bring them down with you just for spite. At the end of the day, Ralph Chapman, you’re just a man who is driven by a single purpose, and that means none of my normal tricks would really work on you. So I decided to take a page out of Vince’s book, and try a whole different tactic.”

                     Ralph braced himself. If Nick was mimicking Reynolds, then whatever attack he had planned was bound to be outrageous. Instead of explosions, shattering glass, or any other signal of destruction, though, Ralph only saw Nick extend his recently cleaned off hand.

                     “I decided to forgive you, Ralph Chapman. You didn’t know the beehive you were poking, and I’m not going to punish you for the accident. We’re square. You can walk out of this diner and never worry about your bosses finding out you went off the books. Leave, and you’ll never see me again. Not even if you try.”

                     Tentatively, Ralph stretched out his fingers and accepted Nick’s handshake. They gripped for a moment, and then it was done.

                     “Of course, leaving will also mean you lose out on the treasure trove of inside knowledge I have, which no one else knows I have, from my time in the program,” Nick added.

                     “Given what you did for your friend, I doubt you’re going to tell me anything that will damage him.”

                     “No, but only because there’s nothing to tell,” Nick replied. “All I can give you is the truth, actual facts that can be used as you see fit. That’s what I’ll be wanting from you, as well. Simple, pure, friendly, informational exchange.”

                     “Why on earth would you think I’d deal with someone like you?” Chapman asked.

                     “Because you stepped outside the lines with Smitt, which means you’re desperate for information. I’m not chiding you for it; I’d have done the same thing. Well, I’d have done it better, but that isn’t the point. What matters is that I already know you’re willing to make deals and compromises, if it means uncovering the truth. So, Ralph Chapman, I’m proposing you stop doing bargains with imps.”

                     Nick smiled again, this time with such a strange force that Ralph actually wondered if he was misremembering the man’s powers.

                     “If you want to make deals, you should do them with a proper devil.”

     174.

                    As Victor’s speech ended and the class began filing out, Will moved with them, mind already on his next destination. After a few steps, however, he began to notice that he was being pulled backward. It wasn’t a strong tug, in fact, it was quite easy to miss if one weren’t especially perceptive, but it was there all the same. One quick glance around the room confirmed the culprit; Alice Adair was staring at him from several feet away. No sooner had their eyes locked than she made a quick motion with her head, tossing it toward one of the halls that ran alongside the gym.

                     Will gave a slight, nearly imperceptible nod, and the force pulling him back abruptly vanished. He had an excellent idea of what Alice would want to discuss, though he was unsure what answer he would give her. Alice was powerful—after seeing her fight in the last exam, only an idiot would question that—but Subtlety often required more than raw power to succeed. She could just as easily be a liability as an asset, if he agreed to team up with her. Ultimately, it would be her pitch that decided things for him.

                     After killing a little time in a nearby bathroom, waiting for the rest of the class to wander off, Will made a path toward the side hallway where Alice was waiting.

     *             *             *

                     “Crushed it!” Victor announced, slamming the door to Dean Blaine’s office open as the two stepped through. A few feet behind them, walking with a curious mix of weariness and excitement, was Professor Pendleton.

                     “I will say that I think the talk went well,” Dean Blaine agreed. “The students seemed receptive to what you were saying. I hope that, when the inevitable comes for some of them, they are open to finding success and happiness with your organization.”

                     “Are you kidding? I’ll bet I have a few ask me about getting contracts before I leave the school. Money, fame, and you don’t risk death. Who could resist?” Victor asked.

                     The truth, as all of them knew, was that every student in attendance could resist, and would. There was a reason Victor didn’t give his speech to those lower than juniors; before that point, there were still those seeking glory over duty. By the time they made it this far, each and every Super in the HCP was dedicated to becoming a Hero, no matter what other offers might come their way.

                     “I don’t know, if none of the boys tried to follow Clarissa home, I doubt you’re going to sway them,” Professor Pendleton said.

                     Immediately, Victor’s eyes grew wide, and his bravado withered. “Cl . . . Clarissa was here? You found her?”

                     “Not easily,” Dean Blaine said, giving a scathing glance to Professor Pendleton. Old a joke as it might be, teasing Victor about his crush just seemed cruel. “I had to reach out to a lot of people that don’t like being found in order to set up a meeting. She’s done the best she can to vanish from the Hero world.”

                     “Can’t say I blame her, poor thing.” Victor walked over and sat down in a normal, measured way. It was a stark contrast to his usual bullish behavior. “After Globe and Intra died, that just left her, Black Hole, and The Alchemist for the DVA and media to pick apart. Since she was the only other one from The Class of Legends on that team, those jackals refused to believe she didn’t know something. Enough of that hounding, especially after losing two friends, and any of us would have flipped the bird at this whole costumed world.”

                     “She’s doing much better now,” Professor Pendleton assured him. Much as he liked to rib Victor, it was no fun to actually bring the big man down. Clearly, his last jab had struck closer to the heart than he intended. “Had a bit of life in her eyes again. Hell, a few times, she almost seemed downright happy.”

                     “Happy, huh? I’ll cross my fingers and hope that’s true. After what she went through, the woman deserves a bit of happiness. Like the rest of us have found.”

                     “Ah yes, I was known throughout my cell block as ‘The Joyful Jailbird.’” Professor Pendleton took a seat besides his old friend and classmate, a wry grin on his face.

                     “And I, in my time as dean, have learned that this is quite literally one of the worst jobs in the entire Hero community. Do you have any idea how hard it is to corral just south of a hundred Supers, many of whom are freshmen, when they are under the influences of alcohol, sexual attraction, and living away from home for the first time? Honestly, the fact that not one HCP school has devolved into a drunken fire orgy is a credit to the Heroes that have gone before us.”

                     Victor tilted his head. “A drunken fire orgy?”

                     “Every year, something in the river trip gets set on fire. Even when no one present has flame-based powers, it still happens. Every year. I honestly have no idea why,” Dean Blaine said. “I just know that if those kids ever do cave in to all their post-pubescent instincts, there’s going to be fire involved.”

                     “Well, at least our class didn’t . . . oh, nope. Phil and Joshua lit up some trees during a drunken sparring match,” Professor Pendleton said. “Only way we got away with it was thanks to Casper healing the trees.”

                     “Back when Casper wasn’t such a pain in the ass,” Victor said. “And, of course, before Joshua was dead and Phil was a damn fugitive. Maybe a little fire wasn’t so bad, by comparison.”

                     Dean Blaine and Professor Pendleton exchanged a brief glance. They’d been waiting for the conversation to take a certain turn, one that was inevitable when these three people were together, and now, it was here. With a slight clearing of his throat, Dean Blaine began to speak once more.

                     “Actually, Victor, I was hoping to speak with you about the whole Globe incident. Learning he’s still alive has opened up some new questions, ones we are seeking answers for.”

                     “You and half the Hero world, I’ll bet,” Victor said. “What would I know, though? When that went down, you and I were on a team half a country away. We only saw the others at team-ups and reunions.”

                     “But others were working in their city,” Professor Pendleton pointed out. “Heroes that have since gone on to retire, and some of whom decided to keep paying the bills by playing in the SAA.”

                     Victor’s broad face tightened as realization dawned. He carefully leaned forward in his chair, considering the expressions on the faces of both the men before him. “So, that’s what this is about. You want me to use my influence to tap some intelligence resources.”

                     “It does seem more likely that those with any memories would talk to you before a DVA representative,” Dean Blaine said. “And after all, isn’t trading intelligence what friends do?”

                     Victor suppressed a sigh; there was no point in it. He’d always known the bill for all those leads Blaine gave him would come due eventually, though Victor had really been hoping it would just involve a nice dinner and a gentleman’s club. Blaine had him over a barrel; all he could do was play ball.

     175.

                    As Nick prepared his living room, he took a few moments to make sure everything was properly set up. He’d had Eliza duplicate a few chairs, along with loads of beer and snacks, so there was room for nearly everyone to sit. The television and DVD player were both working fine, as was the jerry-rigged surround sound he’d created using old speakers. Lastly, and most importantly, Jerome and Eliza were under penalty of death if they dared interrupt the evening’s festivities, so the night could go off undisturbed.

                     Nick heard them all coming before they ever knocked on the door. It was impossible for a herd that large to move without drawing attention, even if they were trying to be polite to his neighbors. Rather than making them bother with formalities, Nick flung open the front door and greeted his friends.

                     “Come on in, you damn buffalo. We’ve got some terrible movies to watch.”

                     “Just as long as they’re the right terrible movies,” Alice warned. Despite her attempts at a stern face, she wore a cheerful smile as she waltzed into his apartment.

                     “You wound me. All this time, and you think I would dare undermine our agreed upon viewing?”

                     “All this time, and I’d be an idiot to think you wouldn’t try,” Alice shot back.

                     “Touché. Lucky for all of you, I gave my word. Plus, Hershel agreed to help me organize a slasher marathon somewhere down the line.”

                     “Don’t remind me,” Hershel sighed, following Alice in. He had a small bag that Nick already knew was full of collector’s editions DVDs, ones that had likely already been watched dozens of times over.

                     “And don’t count the rest of us in for it, either,” Mary added. Unlike Alice, she looked as though she were genuinely trying to suppress grumpiness, rather than feigning it. Still, she held Hershel’s free hand and smiled when he looked at her, doing all she could to hide her disinterest in these awful sci-fi films.

                     “I always thought I’d like to be in a slasher movie,” Angela said. “They usually go for the trampy blondes, and I’d love to see the look on some half-baked monster’s face when they got a load of me.”

                     Nick had to admit, if only internally, that attacking Angela would likely be the last action of any person, psycho or otherwise. “Pleasure to see you again. What brings you to my humble abode?”

                     “Well, once I found out you had my boyfriend dressing up in a costume, I just had to get in on this shit,” Angela replied. She jerked a thumb backward, toward where Chad was talking with her brother. “The real shocker here is that he was able to talk Shane into coming. I’d have had to threaten and scheme for weeks to get him to go along with this sort of thing.”

                     “Perhaps it’s because Chad simply asked that I said yes,” Shane told her.

                     “Or it’s ‘cause, deep down, you’ve always wanted to dress up like a space wizard. Knowing you this long, I’m putting my money on the latter.” Angela headed into the apartment, eyeing the place critically as she did. Despite her carefree demeanor, it didn’t escape Nick’s notice that she was scanning for exits and points of potential attack in this new environment. The girl wasn’t considered the resident Lander champion for nothing.

                     “Based on my reading, there are no wizards in Space Puncher,” Chad told Shane. “There are, however, My’rth Na’Garea, which serves as a corollary to what we consider the magus of ancient—”

                     “Nope, enough, don’t want to know,” Shane said. “I agreed to come watch movies, not get a lesson about the movies before I even saw them. Let’s just do this thing.”

                     Shane and Chad entered, both young men exchanging polite nods with Nick. Officially, Nick wasn’t supposed to know who Shane was, but since this had been an open invite event, and Nick promised not to ask questions, there was no issue with him being in attendance.

                     The same was true of Sasha, who was engaged in a furious debate with Alex over some point of trivia that Nick neither recognized nor cared about. They exchanged greetings with him, which he returned, though it took effort to hide his surprise at seeing Sasha present. After last year’s team match, she’d shrunk away from them for some time. Then again, she had made amends with Camille and come along on the beach trip, so it wasn’t entirely strange that she’d been dragged into this event too. Of course, the real surprise was that a jock like Sasha had any interest in these movies to begin with.

                     The final guests of the evening were Vince and Camille, who looked so damn awkward standing next to each other that Nick was tempted to shout an obscenity, just to shake things up. They were making conversation about work—something about new seating charts—that was enough to make anyone not involved in their shambling attempts at small talk want to grind their teeth together, or just tell them to stop dancing about and kiss already. Instead, Nick accepted Vince’s hug, then gave a much less familiar one to Camille, and shut the door.

                     With everyone gathered, it was time to kick back, watch some terrible sci-fi and forget all about the madness of the HCP, if only for an evening.

     *             *             *

                     When Ralph Chapman stepped into the apartment he had leased near the Lander campus, he made a mental note to fire whoever did security for the building. It was the second time that day he’d found himself staring at a young man he didn’t know, and this time, it was in his residence rather than at some diner. The whole bit was starting to wear a bit thin.

                     “Right, then,” Ralph said to the young man with bright orange eyes sitting on his couch. “You here to threaten, kill, or deal? If it’s threaten, I should tell you I don’t back down easy. If it’s kill, then enjoy the short life you have before the DVA catches up to you. And if it’s deal, then I’m going to fix myself some coffee.”

                     “You should put on a pot of the good stuff,” the young man said. “I’m here to make you an offer that I think you’ll greatly enjoy.”

                     “Must be my lucky day, then.” Ralph Chapman went to the cabinets and pulled out a bag of his best coffee. On the off chance he did end up being killed, there was no sense in letting it go to waste.

                     “Yes, I’m aware you took a meeting with Nicholas Campbell earlier today. It was while watching him that I became interested in you, and goodness what a blessing that was. You are quite the fascinating person, Ralph Chapman. But forgive me, I should introduce myself. My name is Nathaniel Evers, and I think the two of us are going to be fast friends.”

                     “I don’t really have friends,” Ralph replied.

                     “No, but you do have enemies, people you want to see destroyed. In that matter, our interests line up nicely. It seems Nicholas cares about some of the people you hold in contempt. And nothing would give me more pleasure than to see something Nicholas loves be torn apart.”

                     Ralph pulled out a coffee mug and some of the pink, fake sugar packets he enjoyed, and then headed over to the couch while the coffee brewed. He took a seat across from the young man and locked gazes with his orange eyes.

                     “Why don’t you tell me exactly what it is you’re offering?”

                     Nathaniel smiled, a grin too wide and showing too many teeth for it to be taken as any sort of friendly gesture. “I want to help you destroy the Hero students at Lander.”

     176.

     Roy slammed his bat into the concrete target, sending a spray of rubble across the room at a velocity that would have injured any caught in the shower. He spun around, double-checking the room just to be certain all his targets were neutralized. Since they were all stationary concrete pillars with faces painted on, there should be no way for new ones to pop up, but he’d learned early on not to put anything past Professor Cole.

                     “A minute and a half,” she said, watching him from the sidelines. “You’re getting faster, albeit at a slow rate.”

                     Roy bit back a remark about how quickly he could tear through these things if he didn’t have to use his bat to do it, and instead walked over to rejoin the rest of the class. Today was a Friday, which made it form day, where all they did was attack motionless targets to show Professor Cole how quickly they could move while keeping their attack-form proper. Roy liked to think he did okay at this part, and that was probably as good as he was going to get. Whether it was in Close Combat or Weapons, Roy Daniels could only incorporate so much strategy and style before his brute nature took over. For a long while, he’d thought that was a weakness, but his training over the summer had shown him what an asset it could be as well.

                     “Good job, everyone,” Professor Cole told them, her voice slightly muffled by the ever-constant cloth bandages obscuring everything but her eyes. “Shower up if you’re done with the physical stuff, otherwise, head on to your next class.”

                     Everyone began moving, so much so that Roy nearly missed her next words. “Daniels, hang back for a moment.”

                     And here it was, the moment he’d been waiting for. She’d tell him he wasn’t taking the class seriously enough, and that he shouldn’t bother applying to keep it next year. It was what Roy had expected from the beginning; he’d always known he was on a Close Combat course. That was the path of the strongman. At least, it was the path of the good ones.

                     Once the rest of the class had filtered out, some tossing curious glances back as they went, Professor Cole began to speak.

                     “I want to know if you’re thinking about continuing my class next year.”

                     Roy appreciated the fact that she got right to the point. No need to dance about if she was just going to give him the boot. “Don’t worry; I’ll be out of your hair come semester’s end.”

                     “Pardon?” Professor Cole cocked her head to the side, one of the few ways she had to convey surprise with her obscured face. “Daniels, I’m asking because I want you to stay in the Weapons course. I want you to make it your specialty. Of everyone here, you might be one of the people best suited to wielding a weapon.”

                     “Let’s be fair here, I wield a baseball bat. That’s only a weapon in dire circumstances and gang movies from the eighties,” Roy said.

                     “Though it’s got a modern shape, you’re actually wielding a club,” Professor Cole corrected. “A heavy instrument meant to impart more force on a focused surface area. That’s one of the very first weapons mankind ever used, and the classics never go out of style.”

                     Roy glanced at his bat with newfound interest. It was already beginning to show dents in a few spots, even after it had been fixed up after the final. Professor Cole had told him that she could get a more durable one, but there would be a proportionate increase in the weight. Before year’s end, he’d likely have to make that upgrade—at least, if his current rate of increasing strength held.

                     “Okay, the weapon might not be bad, but let’s lay our cards on the table: I’m shitty at wielding this thing.” Roy gently swung his bat a few times through the air. “I can connect a fair amount, but when the class spars, most of the others can parry my swings easily.”

                     “True, there is little grace in you,” Professor Cole agreed. “However, in those sparring sessions, you have to stop your swing when another student blocks you. What if you didn’t stop? How many of them could halt your blows?”

                     “Um . . . maybe Violet,” Roy said. “If she did her density shift quickly enough.”

                     “I concur. The point I’m trying to make is that you’re measuring yourself in this class as a weapon user, and in that area, you do fall short. But you aren’t a weapon user; you’re a strongman with a bat. If I can impart even a few bits of knowledge and training into that thick head of yours, you’ll be categories more powerful than you would be with just your fists.”

                     “Most strongmen do fine with their fists,” Roy reminded her.

                     Professor Cole rolled her green eyes so slowly that, for a moment, Roy feared she might be suffering a stroke. “And that is exactly the problem. Strongmen are, at a base level, uber-humans. They are exactly like mundane people, only with their physical abilities dialed up. Fundamentally, there is nothing different about what they can do, only the scale on which they can do it. Which means they should all still be using weapons. All that stops them is tradition and pigheadedness.”

                     She thrust a bandaged finger down at Roy’s bat. “Do you know why baseball players don’t punch the ball? Because no one, no matter how strong they are, can ever impart more force with a blow than with a bat. The two scale together. A version of you who wields that weapon will always be more powerful than that same version of you without it.”

                     “Do you give this talk to all the Close Combat people?” Roy asked.

                     “No, because, for most of them, Close Combat is the right choice. They use moves, and counters, and strategy. Their hands are important for what they do. You, Daniels, hit like a train and absorb blows like a tank. Force is what you do, it’s who you are. And that bat in your hand will give you more of it, always and forever. Just think about it during these next few months. I’d hate to lose a student with your potential. Having one of my pupils be top of the heap has been pleasant. I’d like to keep the streak alive.”

                     It wasn’t hard for Roy to figure out who the professor was referring to. In Lander, there was only one true king of the students, though, technically, she was a queen. “Much as I’d like to be as strong as Angela, I’ve already lost the chance to hold the top spot all four years.”

                     “No one really cares who holds first place the longest,” Professor Cole told him. “All that matters is who finishes with it. You’re in a damn strong class, Daniels. Some of the ones who are middle-pack in your year could be top dogs in others. If you really want to make a run for the number one position, you’ll need every tool available. Just think it over, that’s all I ask.”

                     Roy tightened his grip on the cold metal bat and slowly nodded.

     177.

                    When Alice had learned about Hershel and Alex’s obsession with a sci-fi movie, she assumed that is was another one of those niche things that they, and doubtlessly a few devoted nerds across the nation, cared a great deal about, but that didn’t matter to the public at large. Even as she’d gotten sucked in, allowing herself to be talked into the movies and then the premiere, and then even into wearing a costume, she had been under the impression that this was a small thing she was doing because her friends enjoyed it. She was fully anticipating being looked at as a weirdo when they showed up to the theater, and as such, had brought a long, tan trench coat to minimize her time being humiliated.

                     As the group stepped around a corner and the cineplex came into view, Alice realized, for the first time, that perhaps Hershel and Alex might not be as alone in their love of the movies as she’d expected. The line for tickets already stretched to nearly the end of the block, and they had arrived four hours early. Online purchasing had been disabled for the premiere; at this event, the only way to get in was to hold a spot in line. She’d been confused about the policy at first, but now, it made ample sense. Even more than just the number of people, though, she was amazed by the number of attendees in costume. Standing there, with her trench coat making her look moderately normal, Alice was the one who seemed out of place.

                     “Holy crap,” she whispered, amazed at the dense crush of people waiting to see the next in a series that was inarguably awful.

                     “I know, right?” Hershel agreed. “We’re lucky more people haven’t shown up yet. We should actually get a decent spot in one of the theaters.”

                     With that, the group was moving again, each in some manner of strange outfit that Alice dimly recognized from her viewings of the film. Vince had been painted blue and given prosthetic ears. Chad was dressed like some sort of cyborg. Mary and Camille wore a matching set of hooded costumes with different color schemes. Nick looked like a pirate in space pants. Shane was wearing a black uniform with silver trim. Sasha rocked what seemed like parachute pants paired with a silver top that exposed her toned stomach. Hershel was wearing a multi-colored robe, along with a single horn in his forehead. Alex was sporting insect wings, and a purple vest. But Angela may have been the most garish of them all: wearing a corset made of golden metal that Alice suspected had been formed by her powers rather than a crafter. As for Alice, she was wearing a nearly skintight gown that actually seemed quite regal, if one ignored the open spot on the stomach and the high slit up the side. Whatever universe Star Puncher took place in, it seemed sex appeal was still all the rage. Alice would have complained, but some of the guys were wearing less than her, so at least it was equal humiliation.

                     She slipped the trench coat off and stuffed it into the small bag that Hershel had insisted everyone bring. At the time, she’d thought he was being ridiculous, but now, having portable chairs, along with water and snacks, didn’t seem like such a bad plan. Yanking out the small seat, she set it up on the sidewalk as her group settled into their spot in line.

                     “You did a great job on these costumes,” Sasha told Alex. “The others don’t seem half as authentic.”

                     “It was a team effort,” Alex replied. “And I saw a few near the front that looked pretty damn good. We definitely didn’t embarrass ourselves, though, and that’s what matters.”

                     “You’re wearing a vest and wings, and you don’t feel embarrassed? I’m impressed,” Angela said.

                     “Should I even point out that you’re in a metal corset and short shorts?” Alex shot back.

                     “You can if you want, but why would I be embarrassed about that? Shit, I’ve worn less than this to go to the grocery store.” It was hard to tell when Angela was joking; the woman seemed to be so without shame or limits that anything was possible for her. Deep down, Alice sort of admired that. While she didn’t ever want to be quite as free as Angela, it was impressive to see the way she handled every situation with confidence and surety.

                     Behind them, more people were getting in line. It appeared Hershel was right; this thing was far from being done growing. Alice noted that these new people were also in costume, though theirs didn’t seem as well-crafted as what the boys had been able to churn out. Alex, Hershel, Chad, and even the novice Vince had done a shockingly good job in creating outfits for everyone who wanted to come. Some had been a bit more enthusiastic about attending than others, though; Alice was fairly certain that Mary had negotiated no less than three date nights in exchange for her participation that evening.

                     Alice glanced over at her friends, noticing that Mary was holding Hershel’s hand and smiling as he talked about what he hoped to see in the upcoming film. The small girl couldn’t have possibly cared less about the movie, but she was making sure he enjoyed himself fully, just as Hershel had done for her countless times. Since freshman year, those two had been united. They had the kind of love that was quiet, and easy to mistake for familiarity, yet it seemed unshakable. Much as she adored them both, it was hard not to feel jealous of them, at least occasionally.

                     “Coffee?” Nick had plopped down next to her and produced a cold bottle with a premade mocha drink from his own bag. “Figured you might need the caffeine to stay awake, since you passed out during the originals.”

                     “Shhh.” Alice elbowed him in the ribs, but then accepted the drink. “I don’t want Hershel or Alex to know I couldn’t stay awake through the last movie.”

                     “Dear girl, your snores told the room more efficiently than any words I could ever hope to conjure,” he replied.

                     Alice stared at Nick for a long few seconds. “I do not snore.”

                     “My mistake. In that case, I have the number for a good doctor whom you should let check you out, because no one should be making those sorts of noises from just breathing.”

                     Nick’s smart mouth earned him another shot to the ribs, which he managed to partially avoid. True, it wasn’t holding her hand or taking her out to dinner, but Nick was showing his affection in the way he always had, and she was returning it in her own way. It was, unquestionably, an unhealthy way to deal with the feelings between them, and it wouldn’t be able to suffice for much longer.

                     But, for the moment, it was enough.

     178.

                    As the horde of costumed movie-goers streamed out of the theater, the street became thick with excited chatter. Countless conversations dissecting and celebrating the same cinematic moments floated through the air as the joy of what they’d watched burst forth from their lips, unwilling to be contained. The group composed primarily of those from Lander’s HCP junior year was no exception, as Hershel, Alex, and Sasha went back and forth over the choices that had been made, as well as the nods to the previous series. Mary walked ahead with Alice, determined not to be drawn into the conversation against her will, while the others walked behind, trying to make sense of the discussion.

                     “So, what did you think of your first costumed movie premiere?” Hershel asked at last, his eyes darting between Chad and Vince.

                     “The movie was good,” Vince said. “I mean, bad, but good bad, right? Anyway, I had fun with you all, and that’s what matters.”

                     “My assessment concurs,” Chad agreed. “I feel that, in truth, the act of actually seeing the movie was ancillary to the experience. It simply served as an impetus for us to do something unusual, and spend time together creating the outfits. The camaraderie seems to be the core of the enjoyment, more so than the film.”

                     “Most people just refer to that as hanging out,” Angela told him, patting her boyfriend on the shoulder. “And they don’t have to talk like a physics professor to say that it’s fun.”

                     “And what concern is it of mine how most people act?” Chad gave her an exaggerated wink, and Angela nearly lost a step. If Chad was trying to be sassy, he must really have been having a grand ole time.

                     They continued walking down the street to the cars, happy and relaxed, but still staying aware of their surroundings. Years of training—for some, a lifetime of it—had conditioned them to always be ready for a situation to turn dangerous. It was a shame, in a way, that even on a night as innocent as this one, each was prepared to go to battle in a heartbeat. Fortunately, both for them and for any ambitious muggers that might be prowling the night, no such trouble occurred before they reached the parking lot.

                     As the group reached their cars and began to pile in, Chad spoke up once more. “May I have a moment? There is something I would like to say.”

                     The others nodded; some even put their keys away before turning to their blond friend currently dressed like a space cyborg.

                     “I must confess that I came to this event viewing it as more of a trial run than anything else. I generally do not engage in frivolity when such time could be spent training, and this event has demanded many hours from me. From the outside, it seemed silly, but I pressed on because I wanted to understand what makes people do these things. Since I was a child, I’ve kept a distance from those unlike me, people I thought would slow me down. The only two friends I’ve had are Shane and Angela, both of whom I didn’t meet until college. Now, having actually gone through such an experience, I can say that, while joyful, there was no significant net gain from doing so.”

                     His friends—for that is who they were, whether Chad realized it or not—remained silent, allowing him to continue. The young man wore an open expression as he struggled to find the words he was searching for. Chad might have been one of the strongest Supers in the HCP, but when it came to basic socialization, he was the weakest of the lot. That said, he was trying to improve, and anyone who had fought Chad Taylor knew what he was like when he decided to train.

                     “There was no net gain . . . yet I find myself compelled by the idea of doing it again. Even though it represents a less efficient way of managing my time, I still find the idea preferable to going back to my old system. It seems, as such, that perhaps I am not quite as suited to solitary living as I suspected. I say all this for two reasons; the first of which is to thank you for opening your doors and letting me in. You were under no obligation to treat me like one of your own just because I moved in, yet you did so without hesitation, and I am exceptionally thankful for it. The second reason I say all this is because I have decided how I would like to use the ‘king for a day’ ability I won in our wager.”

                     “Hang on, you guys made a bet with Chad?” Nick interrupted.

                     “At the semester finals,” Vince told him. “Whoever came out on top got to plan activities for a whole day, and the others have to go along with it.”

                     “Yeah, I figured that out from the context,” Nick said. “What I meant is that you all made a bet against Chad?”

                     “And they nearly won it, too,” Chad told him. “But in the end, I pulled out slightly ahead, and as such, I have decided what to do with our day. I’m thinking of using it during spring break, assuming we can all get off work.”

                     “Brenda told us that we’re free to take the whole week, since business drops off significantly,” Mary said.

                     “And there’s no way in hell you’re getting hours,” Angela said. “Half the reason for the Cowgirl Rodeo is that no one comes out around here during break, too much other cool shit, so they’ve got to make the money while they can.”

                     “What about you?” Chad asked.

                     “I wasn’t a part of your little bet, so I get to wait and hear what the plan is before I sign on board. You’re a doll, but if you think I’m spending my last spring break doing some sort of ultra-training, then you severely underestimate my love of sunbathing and margaritas.” Angela waggled her eyebrows and stuck a hand on her hip. “But, if it’s fun, then I can get off as much time as I need.”

                     “I’m not sure how much fun it will be, though I hope a lot,” Chad said. “I actually want to spend a day doing normal activities. Perhaps going to a beach, or an amusement park, or on a hike . . . forgive me, the idea just struck, so I don’t have much of an itinerary yet. The point is, I think I’d like to see more of what I’ve been missing. What normal people have grown up with.”

                     “We can deliver on most of that,” Shane said. “Though, with this group, I think true normality has been off the table since we stepped on campus.”

                     “Perhaps so,” Chad agreed, turning to look at his costumed friends, who could just as easily be his adversaries the next time he stepped into class. “But perhaps our ‘normal’ is not so bad either.”

                    They filed into their respective cars and began heading back toward campus. For most, this would mark the end of a night they would look back on as a rare glimpse of what normal life could be. For one of them, however, there was still work to be done before the night was through.

     179.

                     While everyone else went to their dorms or apartments after parting ways in the parking lot, Nick Campbell drove his car to a different destination. He pulled up in front of a large, gated brick building, one among dozens of identical others, and killed the engine. Emerging from the car, he took a moment to check his reflection and frowned. It would have been nice if there had at least been time to change after the movie. Such was the price of efficiency, however, and Nick sauntered through the front door without an ounce of compunction over the fact that he was technically trespassing. These buildings were undergoing renovations that had stalled due to a drop in the company’s revenue; there was nothing to steal, and no reason anyone would care to do more than offer up a perfunctory effort at guarding them.

                     Inside, Nick found the vast area largely empty, save for a few lamps, a duffel bag, a portable generator, and several people. Two of them he knew instantly; they were the ones who had texted him with the need to meet up, after all. The other three were strangers, so far as he was concerned, though Nick had a feeling that, before the night was out, he would know intimate details about each one.

                     “I see you weren’t gentle with them,” Nick said, noting the blood, bruises, and occasional missing tooth decorating each of the three men’s faces.

                     “You wanted the problem handled fast and quietly. That sort of ruled out delicacy as an option,” Eliza said. “Did any of the others notice?”

                     “I don’t think so,” Nick told her. “You two intercepted these hooligans before even our resident telepaths could pick up on their thoughts. Good work, by the way. I appreciate you helping me give them a night of normalcy.”

                     “Might be their last,” Jerome grunted. “These three were definitely hired by Nathaniel.”

                     Nick leaned in close to one of them, noting the twinkle of fear in the large man’s blackened eye. Poor fools, they’d had no idea what Nathaniel was sending them into. If Jerome and Eliza hadn’t intercepted them, they would have been walking up to a group of impossibly powerful beings and trying to harm them. While there might have been repercussions for the HCP students after the fact, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that the criminals were essentially being thrown into a meat grinder.

                     “So, you started the fun without me.” Nick pulled himself back from the man he’d been eyeing and turned to Eliza. “Did they say anything else?”

                     “Just that he reached out to their gang through some connections and offered a lot of money to beat down a group of kids outside the theater,” Eliza replied. Her tone was even, more so than it had been when she and Jerome first pounced on these three. Much of her anger had already been vented by battering their bodies; now, she was content to leave them in the horrifying hands of Nicholas Campbell.

                     Nick nodded, then walked over to the duffel bag and unzipped it. He reached in tenderly, wary of slicing himself on one of the sharp objects contained within. “It seems that Nathaniel Evers is letting us know that the game has resumed.” He rooted through the bag carefully, searching for a specific tool. It was important to start these things off with the right tone. Made things go much more quickly.

                     “A warning shot? That’s unlike any of the Evers,” Eliza said.

                     “No, not a warning shot. A threat,” Nick corrected. “He’s making it clear that he intends to go after my friends this time, not simply limit our battle to him and me.”

                     “You already knew that,” Eliza said. “That’s why you’ve had me and Jerome on watchdog duty since we got back.”

                     “What I knew is irrelevant. What matters here is what Nathaniel was trying to communicate. In this case, he wants our resources spread thin. Protecting me was one thing, but if I have to worry about him coming after any of my associates at any given time, then we’ll be running around futilely, trying to cover more than we could possibly hope to.” Nick’s hand closed around the instrument he’d been looking for, and a half-smile crossed his face.

                     “This is too much,” Jerome said. He looked at the three men who seemed increasingly worried the longer they watched Nick rustle through the duffel bag. “Infighting between the families is one thing, but Nathaniel’s actions could bring down the full weight of the HCP, and all the Heroes who’ve come from it, crashing down on his people. The Evers family would never sign off on something like that.”

                     “Certainly not,” Nick agreed. He picked himself up from the ground and walked over to their hostages, a single item in his hand. “Which means that either Nathaniel never meant to truly harm them and knew we would intercept such inept pawns, or he has begun to take action without running it up the proper chain of command. Knowing Nathaniel, the latter seems infinitely more likely.”

                     Nick leaned over and set the item he’d taken on the ground. It was a generic chocolate bar, picked up hours earlier from a gas station outside of town. The three men looked at it, then him, then back at the bar again.

                     “Here’s the deal, gentlemen. One of you, and only one, is going to get an all-expense-paid trip to Vegas, where you will be handled by the finest thugs and forced to sleep in the most cramped of compartments. But, if you do as you’re told and play ball, you may find accommodations improving as things progress. We’re a hungry organization, and there’s always room for those who can follow orders and complete tasks. That offer is only good for one of you, however. The other two will remain here, and are going to tell me just so very many of the things I want to know. Tidbits of information you may not even have realized you could conjure will be plumbed from the depths of your minds.”

                     Eliza and Jerome went around and took hold of the bonds keeping the three men in place. With a few quick tugs, the ropes would give way in seconds.

                     “Of course, seeing as we’re big on go-getters, and the job you’re getting won’t be an easy one, there’s a little admittance test to pass. First of you to grab this chocolate bar, unwrap it, and take a bite is our winner. All manner of violence is both allowed and encouraged. Anyone who tries to chomp through the wrapper, or does something as dumb as go after one of us, is disqualified, and will have the honor of dealing with me when I’m in a less pleasant mood.”

                     Nick took a few steps back, then gave the nod to Jerome and Eliza. “All right, you fucking animals, let’s see which of you can claw your way out of this pit.”

     180.

                     “I’m sorry, but so far, we haven’t found anything,” Mr. Transport said.

                     Sean Pendleton nodded, keeping himself calm. It was a skill he hadn’t always had. Back in his younger years, he’d been brash, with something of a temper, though never anything that compared to Victor’s. It was only training, and his experience on the job, that had taught him to stay calm no matter what he was dealing with. So he was calm as he took the news. He calmly rose from the table where Mr. Numbers, Mr. Transport, and Dean Blaine were still sitting, and he calmly lifted his chair up and smashed it against the wall into many calm pieces.

                     “Sean!”

                     “I’m fine,” he said, dropping the splintered remains onto the concrete floor. “I’ll clean it up later.” Sean stepped over the mess he’d made and grabbed another chair, bringing it back to the table.

                     The upside to holding their meetings in the abandoned Hero bunker was that they didn’t have to worry about whatever prying ears and eyes might be in Lander, and they could make a mess as needed. The downside was that they had to clean up those messes themselves, which had left Sean sorely missing the janitorial staff, especially when he kept getting the same bad news over and over.

                     “I understand you’re frustrated, but you knew this wouldn’t be a simple task,” Dean Blaine replied. “You searched for years on your own and came up with nothing; Charles Adair has only had more time to bury leads since then. If Shelby is out there, she’s been put in a place specifically designed to foil even those of us with resources and training.”

                     “Normally, this is exactly where we would be able to shine,” Mr. Numbers said. “Unfortunately, given Charles Adair’s deep involvement with our organization, it would be folly to assume that we can trust any of the others. Even if he doesn’t have them in his pocket, his wealth and power would make it tantalizing to sell us out to him. Pity, Mrs. Tracking would be able to handle the whole ordeal in no time.”

                     “Don’t count on it,” Sean said. “I went to every Super with location abilities I could find, none of them turned up a thing. Maybe he’s got someone with neutralization powers at her side, or some other ability that masks her, but Shelby is not that easy to find.”

                     “Perhaps you’re right,” Mr. Numbers said. In truth, he’d already suspected such a possibility; it was only his faith in his team member’s capabilities that had prompted a belief she might succeed.

                     “All we know for sure is that, from each angle we come at, Shelby Adair turns up as dead,” Mr. Transport told them. “We’re using every channel we can without alerting someone that we’re looking, and none have turned up even a single scrap of information. Outside of Alice’s dream visitor, there has been no corroboration that Shelby Adair is alive.”

                     “Right now, we have a single unconfirmed outlier claiming a different situation than countless other trusted resources,” Mr. Numbers said. “I don’t wish to be insensitive, but I presume you both know what the logical conclusion to draw in such circumstances is.”

                     Sean looked up from the table, his long-practiced calm quickly melting away. For a moment, his body seemed to shimmer and turn see-through as his emotions attempted to overwhelm his control of his power. That ended with a single glance from Dean Blaine, though it did nothing to stop the building storm of Sean’s wrath.

                     “Don’t you say it. Don’t you dare say what you’re thinking. After all these years, I finally get a clue to finding my sister, and you want me to write it off? Why? Because we don’t know if we can trust the person who gave it to us?” Sean lifted himself from table, this time knocking the chair back from the force of his legs. “Newsflash, Numbers, we’re having a secret meeting in an underground bunker because we have no fucking idea who we can trust! We’re hiding from friends, fellow professors, even family in my case. All because no one is trustworthy. Well guess what, this Abridail guy might be mysterious and unknown, but he sure as shit seems to believe what he’s selling. You heard Esme when she told us about Alice’s dream. I’m not ignoring what he’s offering just because your ‘sources’ seem to disagree.”

                     Mr. Numbers stood as well, meeting Sean’s aggression with a fierce voice of his own. “I was merely pointing out the logical explanation, so that we could focus on—”

                     “Enough.” Dean Blaine didn’t stand up, or raise his voice. He didn’t even look at them when he talked. He simply spoke with the expectation that he would be listened to; that others would obey. Shockingly, that is precisely what happened, as both Sean and Mr. Numbers quieted down and stared at him, waiting to hear what he had to say. Zero might have been a greater warrior than Blaine, but years of training and dealing with Supers had made Blaine the far superior leader.

                     “Mr. Numbers is right; we can’t afford to spin our wheels like this forever. With only one dream-walker’s word to go on, it’s not a productive use of our time. Not with Globe still at large, and a possible mole in our school. Assuming Shelby is alive, Charles has clearly covered every route we might use to find her, which makes looking around like this pointless.”

                     “But—”

                     Dean Blaine held up a hand, halting Sean’s objection before momentum could build. “That said, Sean is also right. We can’t afford to ignore the possibility that Shelby really is still out there just because Abridail isn’t someone we’ve dealt with. Even aside from the moral aspect, I can’t be the only one who finds the timeframe of all of this too coincidental. I don’t see the thread connecting them yet, but all that madness happening around the same time, and both with events centering on Charles and Phil . . . no, this is worth pursuing. Demands pursuing. But we’re not going to get anywhere by groping about blindly.”

                     “What do you suggest?” Mr. Transport asked.

                     “We’re going after the only solid lead we have: we need to find Abridail,” Dean Blaine declared.

                     “How? It’s obviously a fake name, and without a name or picture, there’s no locator than can run someone down,” Mr. Numbers pointed out.

                     “Obviously, we won’t be able to find him, since he took such pains to not be found. However, we do have the capability of drawing him out,” Dean Blaine reminded them. “He has been involved in the entry of two students’ dreams thus far: Alice and Vince. These occurred only when their mental defenses were shut down by Rich Weaver’s unique ability. Thus, it seems if we want to learn more from, or about, Abridail, the best option is to have Rich put them under again. Lucky for us, I happen to be the one in charge of the student’s curriculum. And I think a supplemental lesson may just be in order.”

     181.

                      “. . . and I forgot to check if the toaster was plugged in. After that, I had to be in a specialized facility that could contain me—I was a bit out of control at the time—and while I was there, the people found me. That pretty much catches us up; at least on the stuff I’m allowed to talk about.” Vince dumped a few more pink, fake sugar packets into his coffee, trying to mask the subpar flavor. He didn’t entirely know why Eliza insisted on having their meetings here; there were certainly nicer coffee spots around town. Nonetheless, it was nice to talk with her, to see what had happened after they . . . parted. It was good for him, as well. No longer the girl in his memories, Eliza was becoming real to Vince again, and that was aiding his efforts to move on.

                     “You know, part of me wants to say how ridiculously unbelievable that all is, but knowing you, I actually don’t have much trouble believing it,” Eliza replied. “You’ve always seemed to live the most unpredictable life.”

                     “Back at you,” Vince said, smiling over his steaming mug. She never showed it, but those smiles still made her stomach flutter, just a touch, when she saw them. Perhaps it was because she’d thought she would never see them again. Or perhaps it was because the first one was wedged so firmly in her mind.

     *             *             *

                     “Stop! Thief!”

                     Vince’s breath was ragged as he pounded through the dense forest. A rogue branch scratched at his face, but he didn’t so much as break stride. He needed to keep running if he had any hope of catching the dark-haired woman bounding ahead of him through the forest. A sudden slope nearly caught him off guard, but he managed to keep his footing and add the increase of momentum to his speed. As he burst out of the brush and saw the woman scrambling to get up, he realized that she hadn’t been quite so quick at catching the slope.

                     “Stop!” Vince yelled.

                     The young woman turned around, eyes wild as she hurried to regain her footing. The wince that raced across her face was well-hidden, but told Vince all he needed.

                     “You sprained your ankle in that fall.” His voice came out worried, kind, a far cry from the demanding hollers he’d been belting at her.

                     “Here’s an idea: fuck you,” the girl spat. “Why are you running me down, anyway?”

                     “Because I saw you steal that man’s wallet,” Vince replied. “So I had to stop you.”

                     “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me. A park full of people, and the only one who notices my lift is the one who thinks he’s a damned Hero.” She shuffled, changing position slightly. As she did, her foot knocked over a small glass jar sitting in the grass.

                     The clinking drew Vince’s attention to his surroundings for the first time, as he realized that this clearing wasn’t entirely empty. Set up near them was a large contraption of tubes and barrels. Empty milk jugs and glass jars were scattered about, as if they’d been knocked over, and footprints dotted the ground nearby. He could smell soot and recently doused flames as well. While he had no idea what the thing was, it was evident that he and the thief’s trampling had scared off whoever was using it.

                     “I’m not a Hero, I’m just not letting you rob someone,” Vince said, turning his attention back to the girl. “It’s everyone’s obligation to stop bad things when they see them happening.”

                     The girl tilted back her head and let out a harsh, angry bark of laughter. “You are just too much! Did your grandma tell you that when tucking you in at night? The only obligation any of us has in this life is to not die. I stole that rich-looking bastard’s wallet, and tonight, I’ll have a place to sleep and food to eat. Tough shit on him for not being better at keeping up with his stuff.”

                     “No,” Vince said, trying to stay calm. He could still feel the fire nearby; whoever ran off hadn’t killed it entirely. Fire made him nervous; it was the energy that he seemed to draw most frequently. As long as he stayed away and kept his emotions in check, it should be all right, though. “No, tonight you’re going to be in jail, after you return that man’s wallet.”

                     “That a fact? You know, if you hadn’t started yelling, he wouldn’t even know the thing was gone. You screwed me real good here, Tights, and I’m not letting you cause any more trouble.”

                     “My name isn’t—”

                     “I don’t give two shits what your name is.” The woman pointed over her shoulder, past the barrels and still smoking fire. “I’m leaving, and you aren’t going to stop me.”

                     “Yes. I am.”

                     She took off like a shot, barreling forward in spite of her sprained ankle. It would be easy to catch her, but Vince still hesitated. The thief would run right by the metal container with the fire. Better to go around the far side, just to be safe.

                     Vince hurried forward, weaving his way around the strange contraption. He was careful and sure-footed, but as he saw the girl make a break for a nearby section of brush, Vince decided to cut it slightly closer so he wouldn’t lose her. Unfortunately, this was one step too close to the fire, which his tired body called out to without his permission.

                     The flames roared out of the oven heating the moonshine still (for that is what it was, even if Vince didn’t know it), tearing across the pipes and barrels as it flowed into Vince. For a moment, the girl paused in shock at what she’d just seen, while Vince regained his footing after the unexpected surge of energy. As they stared at one another, a new sight caught Vince’s eye. Some of the other pieces of the still had caught fire, and he could already feel the rapidly building energy.

                     He barely made it in time, but he slammed into the girl, knocking her low and putting his own body over her. There was no time for words, no time for anything before the whole thing blew and the fireball cascaded across the clearing. In the seconds before Vince’s body would be seared—his damned unreliable power refusing to the take the fire in when he actually wanted it—all he could do was try and comfort the girl. So he smiled. He smiled to try and show her that everything would be all right.

                     Then the fire came, and Vince’s world dissolved into a world of pain.

     *             *             *

                     “Anyway, we’ve mostly been catching up on my stuff,” Vince said. “Tell me about things in your world. How the heck do you know Nick, for one thing?”

                     “Oh, Vegas is smaller than you’d think, especially among the locals,” Eliza told him. Vince’s question had quelled the butterflies his smile had summoned. It danced too close to the topic she had to avoid, no matter what the cost. “My life is pretty . . . well, obviously, it’s not boring, but it’s more mundane than you’d probably expect. It’s not bad, though. I always have food and a place to sleep.”

                     “I’m glad,” Vince said.

                     Eliza was glad too. For a long time, she’d wondered if the price had been worth it. Now, staring at Vince from across the table, knowing where his life had ended up, she had no doubts.

     182.

                    The spring sun warmed the tepid air, forcing those on campus who had donned sweaters to strip down to their short sleeves and tie the extra garments around their waist. Winter had held firm for a long while during this year, but at last, the icy grip was fracturing beneath the indomitable passage of time. Soon, there would be no more jackets or pants to be seen on the Lander campus, save only for those worn by professors and staff who didn’t have the option of showing up to class in shorts.

                     Hershel, for one, missed the chilly weather as he plodded along the smooth sidewalk that wound through the entire Lander campus. It was easier to run in the cold, easier to ignore his aching joints and the damp feeling of sweat coating his face. For the past several weeks, he’d actually been enjoying his morning runs; it was an invigorating way to start off the day, not to mention it was an easy way to wear himself out. Hershel wasn’t even sure whether interval-sprinting until he was nearly sick helped Roy; he just knew that he wanted to contribute. Roy was doing his best every day, and he’d been grappling with what Professor Cole told him for weeks now. Hershel couldn’t really help make that decision; it should fall on the one who would actually be wielding the weapon. All he could do was put forth every bit of effort he had to make Roy just a little bit stronger.

                     The brisk sound of methodically moving feet reached Hershel’s ears, and he quickly moved to the edge of the sidewalk. Chad zipped by, giving Hershel a quick nod of greeting, and kept right on running. He kept his speed contained while on campus, but every morning-jogger knew him on sight. Hershel wasn’t even sure what time Chad got up to start training, or when he stopped and went to bed. All he knew was that, in the entire time since Chad had moved in, Hershel had never gotten up early enough to beat him.

                     It was frustrating at times. Chad was already so strong, had started out so far ahead of them. Why couldn’t he ever just slow down a little bit and let the others catch up? Why did he have to be the one training the hardest, on top of being the best? Of course, Hershel knew that Chad’s relentless training was likely a huge part of why their blond dormmate was at the top of the class, but it didn’t change the fact that he wanted to close the gap between them. Roy could do it. Hershel genuinely believed in his brother, and, to an extent, in himself. They had a year and some change left, best case scenario. It wasn’t very long, but it might just be enough.

                     Hershel swallowed a large gulp of air and pumped his legs, determined to set a new personal best time on this morning’s run. He didn’t know how much each individual session helped; he just knew that it did. And that was all he needed to push as hard as he could go.

     *             *             *

                     Roy jogged into the gym to find most of the other students gathered around Dean Blaine, who was patiently waiting for the rest of the class to arrive. Roy scanned the room, but didn’t see any unknown person that might be delivering a guest speech, so that probably meant this had something to do with their upcoming midterms. Close Combat had already told the students to expect more of the same, as Professor Fletcher wanted to chart each student’s growth in one particular exercise. Roy wondered if perhaps the dean was throwing in some sort of twist to liven things up. He certainly hoped for that, anyway. Fighting the Sims in the semester final had been a real rush, but it left Roy wanting more genuine battles than what the controlled sparring sessions offered up.

                     “Starting this week, we’re going to be doing a new bit of training,” Dean Blaine announced as the final student fell into place nearby. “As a rule, the HCP focuses on training your reactions, defenses, and skillsets from a purely physical standpoint. However, with this year’s class, we have the very rare opportunity to offer you a chance at training your mental capabilities as well. Rich Weaver and Selena Wilkins, please step forward.”

                     Both of the students complied immediately, though they seemed just as clueless about what was going on as the rest of the class.

                     “Tell me, both of you, what is the maximum number of people you’ve successfully used your abilities to enthrall at once?”

                     “Five,” Rich said without hesitation.

                     Selena seemed to consider the question carefully, turning over different memories in her head. “Can you define what you mean by ‘enthrall’? My power has different levels of influence. I can push a lot of people at once, but if you’re talking about a complete mental takeover, then I don’t think I’ve ever tried to do it on more than three people simultaneously.”

                     “For the purposes of this discussion, let us stick with the complete mental takeover aspect,” Dean Blaine replied. “So then, five and three, respectively. Very impressive in a one-on-one encounter, but quite limited in a large-scale brawl situation. It has been brought to my attention that, since this year’s focus is on dealing with multiple opponents, you would both benefit from training that focused on mentally binding as many people as possible and seeing how long you can hold them. This will give you the chance to truly test, and then stretch, the large-scale limits of your abilities.”

                     Dean Blaine looked away from those two, turning his gaze to the other eighteen students, who were wondering why this discussion had any impact on them. “As for the rest of you, this training will also offer you the incredible chance to have first-hand experience in dealing with those who attack your mind, rather than your body. As anyone who has faced Mr. Weaver or Ms. Wilkins is surely aware, their abilities are quite formidable. Breaking out of such powers is no small feat, and is, in fact, impossible for the vast majority of people. Some of you, however, may possess the strength of will and self-awareness to free yourselves, and if so, then this exercise will offer you the chance to learn how.”

                     It was all about the framing, as Dean Blaine had learned so long ago. Tell the students you needed to use them for an experiment and people would shy away. But tell them it was for training, training they couldn’t easily get elsewhere, and one could have them breaking down doors to beg for such an opportunity.

                     “We’ll be scheduling sessions for Mr. Weaver and Ms. Wilkins to undergo their training starting today. Each session will be watched over by myself, two other professors, and a healer, so you need have no fear about what will happen to your bodies when you are under. While everyone will be given the chance to test their mental escape skills, any extra spots we have will be first come, first serve, so make sure you sign up early if you want more bites at the apple.”

                     He could already see several of them getting riled up, eager for the opportunity to prove they were one of the few who could break such restraints. While the real goal of this had little to do with actual training, Dean Blaine wondered if perhaps he might get some unexpected results from a few of the students anyway.

                     If so, he’d have to look into adding similar training to the planned curriculum.

     183.

                   Angela was going to miss her house. She would also miss her friends, her school, her rivals, and her boyfriend; but all of that was too emotionally sticky to dwell on so soon. There would be time for it all later, when the end had arrived and she was forced to confront the overwhelming sense of loss she’d face at being taken away from almost every component of her life for the last four years. Until then, however, all Angela allowed herself to admit was that she was going to miss the house she rented. It was small, but serviceable, and it had been her little oasis ever since sophomore year. Each day, when she pulled into her driveway, she allowed herself a few minutes to take in the sight of it, every tree in the yard and chip of paint on the exterior.

                     Sadly, when she pulled in on a late spring evening after hours of training, Angela didn’t get the opportunity to revel in the sight of her home. A car was already pulled into her driveway, one she recognized in an instant. It was a simple sedan, built for the pragmatic and budget-conscious. She’d rolled her eyes on the first day Shane drove it up, and she rolled them again as she stepped out of her red sports car. The damn thing was ancient, halfway to broken down, and practically drank gas, but it went fast and felt cool; which was more than enough of a trade-off for Angela.

                     “You’d better have dinner on the table,” Angela announced as she waltzed through the front door. She’d long ago given Shane a key to the place for emergencies, but she’d also made it clear that she liked her space and didn’t enjoy drop-in visits.

                     Shane was sitting on her couch, reading from a book so boring that she dearly hoped it was for one of his classes. He looked up at the sound of her voice. “No one could get a hold of you by phone.”

                     “And that means busting into my place is okay?” Angela’s hand groped through her purse, finally clutching onto the small electronic device. She pulled the silver flip-phone from the purse’s depths—Angela steadfastly refused to upgrade to one of the fancy touchscreens that devoured people’s lives—and checked the screen to find it unresponsive. A quick mental calculation reminded her that she hadn’t charged the thing in at least a day, which would account for it powering down.

                     “It is when I’m supposed to deliver official family news.” Shane shut his book and stood up from the couch. “Grandfather has announced his intention to come watch your showing at the Intramurals.”

                     “Aw, that’s so sweet. I haven’t seen Paw Paw actually make a trip since your freshman Parent’s Day weekend.” Fumbling about on a table near the couch, Angela produced a small charging cord and plugged her phone into it. She wondered how many calls she had missed. At least Chad was the type who would assume she was just busy training, and not that she was avoiding him. The boy was as low-maintenance as they came, which was one of the many qualities she enjoyed about him.

                     “You know Grandfather doesn’t like such undignified nicknames,” Shane told her, his face still pinched. It was obvious he cared more about something that was unsaid than what she called their grandpa, but Angela had no inclination to make it easy by calling him out on it. He had to learn to speak up for himself if he wanted to get things talked about.

                     “He doesn’t like it when most people do that. I can get away with it,” Angela said, tossing in a wink for good measure.

                     “Because you’re his favorite.” To his credit, Shane was able to keep his body language from turning truly aggressive, but he didn’t quite manage to stop all of the resentment from leaking into his voice.

                     “Because I’m his widdle granddaughter, silly. And, more importantly, since I’m an adult, I can call him whatever I want. So can you, for that matter. He just acts tough, anyway; don’t act like you don’t see the happy twinkle in that old curmudgeon’s eye when I use cute nicknames.” Angela finished getting her phone set up, and then dropped her purse on the counter as she headed toward the kitchen. Training had been especially harsh as Intramurals drew closer; she was famished.

                     “It’s happening at Intramurals, isn’t it?” Shane didn’t yell at her; he didn’t even seem as angry as she’d expected him to be. He just spat the words out while glaring at the floor. It was good, but she wasn’t going to let him slide by playing the pronoun game. Soon, Angela would be gone; she had to do all she could for her little brother while time remained.

                     “What’s going to happen?” Angela stopped her trek to the kitchen and glanced back at Shane over her shoulder. “Me kicking ass? Totally. Me putting Lander on top? Yup! Me being hoisted onto people’s shoulders and worshiped as a goddess of battle, showered in gold and champagne? Well, that one is dicey, but I like to think—”

                     “The name.” Shane took a deep breath and looked up from the floor to meet his older sister’s eyes. “He’s going to come watch you perform, and if you do well, he’s going to officially offer you the name. It has to be then; you need a Hero name when you graduate. Assuming you win, which you always do, Grandfather is going to make you the new Captain Starlight.”

                     Angela took her time responding. She was impressed he’d managed to get that much out, and she didn’t want to treat it flippantly. Shane didn’t like to talk about the gauntlet that had been thrown down between them so many years ago. He’d just buried himself in training, and study, and effort, all dedicated toward showing that he had more potential than his sister. That he should be the one to carry on the Captain Starlight legacy.

                     “Honestly, I think that’s a fair assumption,” Angela said, all trace of humor momentarily gone from her voice. “With him, it’s hard to say anything for sure, but the timeline issues you pointed out are valid, so there doesn’t seem to be any other way for it to go down.”

                     “Then . . . it’s over. I won’t have the chance to demonstrate any kind of skill that can prove my worth before your big battle. Unless you royally screw up, he’ll give you the name. He has to. You’ve stood at the top of your class since you got there, and I still haven’t beaten Chad even once. Captain Starlight doesn’t belong to someone in second place.”

                     “Captain Starlight also doesn’t give up until the battle is over,” Angela said, her voice suddenly fierce. “Don’t you dare fucking lay down and die on me. Not after all we’ve been through.” She strode across the room and grabbed her brother by the collar of his shirt, as if she could shake the very ennui out of him.

                     “I’m going to win, Shane. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. You’re going to keep chasing me. And maybe, at the very end, you’re going to pull off some sort of insane bullshit that I will have never expected and you’ll steal victory out from under me. Because that’s who you are. You’ve spent your whole life trying to get out from other people’s shadows; you refused to quit no matter who your rival was. Don’t lose that now, little brother. It’s the thing that’s made you so good, that’s kept you in the running. Don’t lose your real power.”

                     Shane stared at her with wide, uncertain eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Angela be serious about something, let alone give him encouragement. As quickly as it came over her, the solemn expression vanished, and she released him, heading back to the kitchen.

                     “I’m going to make oven pizzas. Since you’re already here, you may as well hang out and have some. Clear off the table and get us some beers.” Angela paused to look back at him one last time. “And if I ever hear you talk about giving up again, I will personally beat your ass so hard that they’ll need five healers to put you back together.”

                     Shane nodded and watched her leave. She was a madwoman, there had never been any question of that, but she was also right. It wasn’t over yet. And he couldn’t stop now. Shane DeSoto would fight on until the very end. If she won, then so be it, but it wouldn’t be because he didn’t do everything he could to surpass her. He’d keep chasing her, just like he had since they were children.

     184.

     Roy dropped his bat as Will’s weird gizmo made his entire body explode with the sensation of needing to be scratched. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but at the same time, it made focusing nearly impossible. Then it was over, and Professor Cole blew her whistle.

     “Roy Daniels has been taken down by the team of Murray, Murray, and Sullivan. Time: five minutes and thirty-six seconds. Good job, everyone.” She made a few notes on the clipboard, her bandaged fingers clearly having no issue holding the pen. When that was done, Professor Cole checked the stopwatch in her hands, seeing how much time was left in the class.

                     “We’ll go ahead and call it a day here, people,” she announced. “Not enough time to do another bout before the bell. But everyone gather close, because there’s an announcement I want to make.”

                     Violet offered Roy a hand up from the ground, which he accepted. While a younger Roy might have been bothered at being bested by Will, Jill, and Violet, after so many matches, he found it impossible to take an occasional loss personally. Especially against Will, whose weird doo-dads were almost impossible to predict. The tricks from his staff were never as showy as what he built into Jill’s suit, but they were curiously effective. Will knew how to fight like a weakling, and that made him vastly more dangerous than someone who’d spent a lifetime being strong.

                     “As all of you who can read a calendar should be aware, we’re coming up on mid-semester exams,” Professor Cole said, speaking as her seven students fell into place. “For most of your classes, this will be much like what you did back in the fall: you’ll be teamed up to fight another student meeting you as a team. I’m sure your professors will throw in a few changes to keep it fresh, maybe having you fight more people or changing up the terrain. Originally that was what I’d planned for you as well, but after seeing your growth this year, we’re going to do something a little different.”

                     Ears perked up and weariness seemed to slide off her student’s faces as the prospect of a new challenge was dangled before them. They’d thought they knew what to expect, but now, there was a chance of dealing with the unknown, which obviously filled each of them with intrigue rather than dread. That was one of the many reasons why they still stood before her, when so many others had fallen by the wayside.

                     “In the Hero world, there are some people who are better suited to certain types of battles than others. I’m not just talking about our specialties, Subtlety and Weapons and Control and all that. I’m talking about how our skills and powers can be best utilized in the field. For example: someone who generates a lot of damage, but has limited ability to direct it, would be most often called in on situations where the enemies are all confirmed and civilians have been evacuated. There’s a technical code for that kind of thing, but we just called it ‘Scorched Earth,’ and I don’t think you need me to tell you why.”

                     The serious expressions that met her eyes told her that no, she didn’t need to explain. They were far enough along to understand the burdens that came with Hero work. At least, to understand them as best they could without actually being in the field.

                     “Now, I was not the sort they called in for Scorched Earth. I was, however, especially good at dealing with large groups of Supers that would band together and fight. In a sense, the focus of this year’s training was what I happened to be best at: taking on multiple enemies at once. In fact, I have so much experience at it that I can often evaluate how well my opponents coordinate and work together, just from taking them on as a group. So, that’s what we’ll be doing for our Weapons midterm.”

                     “Wait, we’re fighting you?” Britney said, comprehension quickly dawning.

                     “That’s right. We’ll do it in two matches, since there are seven of you, one team of four and one team of three. I’ll pick your teams, but you won’t know them until right before the match begins.”

                     “Why not?” Terrance asked. “We learned about teamwork last year, and it’s assumed we’re working on Hero teams when we get into the field. Why can’t we have the chance to plan and coordinate?”

                     “For one thing, because this is an exercise in thinking like the enemy,” Professor Cole told him. “Gangs of Supers are sometimes well-trained and cooperative, but most of them fight without planning or teamwork. I want you to feel what that’s like from their end, to understand what’s going through their heads in the chaos of a fight. But, the other reason I don’t want you prepping is that life as a Hero doesn’t always go to plan. Sometimes, you have to work with strangers, because they are there and the job needs to be done. Coordinating on the fly is a learned skill, so it’s our job to get you practice in it whenever we can.”

                     “Are we expected to win this bout?” Will asked. His eyes were already sparking with thought as he tried to imagine what sort of abilities Professor Cole had. All she’d ever shown was tremendous skill with weapons, and a refusal to appear before her students without the many layers of clothing and bandages. There were oceans of possibilities there, but nothing concrete.

                     “You’re damn sure expected to try,” Professor Cole said. “But I’m going to be grading you based on tactics more than results; what strategies you employ, how you work together, when I see real thought going into your attacks, that sort of thing. Oh, and here is something important: you are all expected to come at me full-force. Treat me like a Sim, no holding back. If you don’t come into this fight with all you’ve got, you won’t last long enough for me to make a good assessment.”

                     “I guess we’re supposed to assume that nothing we can do will hurt you, then,” Roy said. As the only one in the class who had earnestly fought a professor before, he knew all too well just how powerful they could be.

                     “As third-years, it’s entirely possible one of you could injure me, which is why I’ll have some safety precautions taken,” Professor Cole replied. “But in the twelve years I’ve been teaching this course, those precautions have never been needed. Don’t be afraid, and don’t hold back. I want to see what you all can really do.”

     185.

                    The bartenders were washing out the last of their glasses, while the shot girls finished changing out of their uniforms in the back. At Six-Shooter, those who worked the bar had a more strenuous set of closing tasks than the other workers, since they were also the ones who frequently got the most business and therefore made the most tips. Chad and Roy had already finished their glasses and had moved on to emptying the beer bins when Roger Brown, the owner and their boss, stepped out into the empty club and coughed loudly.

                     “Excuse me, can I get everyone to huddle up for a moment?” His voice didn’t come across as urgent; nothing about Roger ever struck anyone as particularly emphatic. Even when dealing with irate or drunk customers, he had the same level of half-interested calm that defined dealing with him. Strangely, it had a calming effect on others, and made everyone want to deal with him more rationally. “Shot girls in the back, that’s you too,” he said, raising his voice slightly to be heard.

                     Several girls, including Alice and Angela, came out to hear what their boss had to say. Many of the employees looked confused, but a keen eye could spot a flicker of excitement dancing in Angela’s eyes. Alice noticed that gleam only a second before Roger started talking again, which robbed her of the chance to put the pieces together.

                     “As I’m sure you all know, in two weeks, spring break will be upon us. For the bar, that means we’ll be almost completely dead. Feel free to take off if you want; honestly, if no one feels like working, I’ll just close the place. It’s not worth the cost to run it for so few customers anyway. But, before that happens, Six-Shooter has an annual tradition to send our college students off in style. On the last day when classes are held, a Friday this year, there’s an event at the bar. We call it the Cowgirl Rodeo, and it’s about as bad as the name implies.”

                     Roger had to pause for a moment, as Angela had started clapping wildly from her spot in the back. He waited, watching her until she finally stopped the applause, though the wide grin on her face remained unabated.

                     “Thank you for the enthusiasm. Some of you may have heard of or even been to this event before, but I’m going to cover the basics so everyone knows what they’re in for. The Cowgirl Rodeo is a tournament held each year on the night before spring break starts, only the games we play are lewd or alcoholic, and the competitors are all young women. There will be things like a bull ride, a no hands shot race, and the ever popular three-beer roping contest. Whoever wins the most points will receive a thousand dollars for their team, as well as some bar merchandise.”

                     Already, he could feel some of the glares coming from his employees. Despite his usually unflappable nature, this was the part of the speech every year where he had to force himself not to rush through and explain. It was important he treated this calmly, so their reactions would mirror it.

                     “I know some of you are going to be uncomfortable with this kind of event,” Roger said, meeting the eyes that were glaring at him the fiercest. “And if you don’t want to work that night, I’m not going to make you. Or you can work in the back if you need the pay. No one has to be associated with this in any way if it makes them uncomfortable. I want to be clear on that from the outset. Yes, it’s a busy night, but the potential revenue is not more important to me than my employees and their comfort in their place of work.”

                     Some of the glares softened, others remained hard. That was about what Roger had expected, so he pressed on.

                     “That said, for those of you who want to participate in the games, that’s perfectly acceptable. We open it up to everyone of legal drinking age, employees included. Since all the events are scored based on observable metrics, there’s no way for favoritism to come into play, which means we have no conflict in letting you all enter if you want.”

                     “Who would enter something like that in the first place?”

     Roger couldn’t quite make out the voice; it came from the back of the crowd of waitresses. Before he had a chance to try and guess the person so he could address them, another voice piped up, this one far easier to place.

                     “Me!” Angela declared, lifting her hand high into the air. “And this girl, too!” Angela grabbed Alice’s arm and thrust it skyward with her own, causing Alice to quickly try and pull it back while fighting off a sudden onset of shyness.

                     “People who want cash do it,” Roger said, giving up on answering the person directly. “Or people who just like to cut loose in these sorts of events. In the case of our own Angela, I suspect it comes from a love of being in the spotlight.”

                     “Guilty,” Angela admitted, finally letting go of Alice’s hand and nearly causing the more demure young woman to tumble onto her ass as she pulled free.

                     “The point is, whatever the reason, people enjoy it, and they enter of their own volition,” Roger continued. “As I said before, I understand that some of you will find an event like this objectionable, but the fact remains that our number of entrants grows every year. So, while I respect your desire not to be associated with something inherently a bit wild and perhaps lewd, I do expect you to treat those who choose to participate with respect. The goal of the night is for everyone to have fun, enjoy the start of their spring break, and of course, for the bar to make enough to sustain the week-long draught of people. If you don’t want to work that night, you are free to take it off with no ill feelings. But if you show up, I expect your game faces on. The night will be crazy, and we need to do our best to make sure everyone has a fun, safe time.”

                     Roger knew there would be some waiting in his office after this was over, asking not to be scheduled that night. He’d meant what he said, though; those who didn’t want to work such a shitshow were free to skip it, just as those who wanted to participate were allowed to sign up.

                     “One last thing: entry requires a team of two to three people. Anyone who wants to play in the games must be signed up by the Thursday before the Cowgirl Rodeo. Sign-ups are online, or in my office, whichever is easiest for you.”

                     Angela let out a yelp of excitement that caused everyone to wince, ending the meeting more effectively than anything Roger could come up with.

     186.

                    “Are we seriously doing nothing for spring break?” Jill flopped onto the couch, squishing herself between Thomas and Vince as the previews on the movie began to roll. Since it was Saturday, and most everyone was sore from all the training for mid-semester testing, people had gathered at the house shared by Violet, Thomas, and the Murray siblings for movies and lounging. After two lackluster comedies, Violet had coaxed everyone into agreeing to an action flick that promised lots of blood and very little dialogue. Despite the fact that they all saw too much action during the week as it was, they’d eventually let her wheedle them into it.

                     “That came out of nowhere,” Hershel said. He and Mary were sharing a loveseat, her head still resting on his shoulder from when she had struggled to stay awake through the anti-climactic climax of the last film.

                     “Not really,” Jill replied. “Alice told us about the Cowgirl Rodeo thing that she’s doing, and it got me thinking about spring break.”

                     “Hold up,” Alice said from her spot on the ground, back resting against the couch. “I never said I was going to do it. I said Angela wanted me to do it, but that I wasn’t sure.”

                     “Yeah, and how many times has anyone ever seen Angela not get what she wants?” Jill countered. No one had a good answer for that. Chad might have been able to supply one, but he was taking the person being discussed on a date that night, which rather proved Jill’s point in and of itself. “But I mean, come on, first year we had the river trip, then last year, we went to Alice’s awesome beach cabin. It seems nuts that our options this year are sit on our asses or just go home and see family.”

                     “You could always spend the time training,” Vince suggested.

                     It was Violet who responded to Vince, before any of the others could. Cupping her hands against her mouth, she let out a fierce breath, resulting in a sound that mimicked someone passing gas. “Fuuuuuck that,” she said, once she’d lowered her hand. “All we do here is train. A little break now and then is a good thing. I’m with Jill, I want to do something. I don’t even care what.”

                     “Have you considered being Angela’s partner in the Cowgirl Rodeo?” Alice said.

                     “Can’t, already going to make Jill or Sasha do it with me,” Violet shot back. “You’re still stuck with the big bad blonde.”

                     “Good luck with Sasha. She’s been all about the training lately,” Jill said. “I’ve barely seen her these past couple of weeks.”

                     “Which just makes you all the more likely to be my target,” Violet replied. She scooped her hand into the bowl of popcorn, spilling more than a few kernels in the process, and dumped as many pieces as she could hold into her mouth. This impressive act of eating was washed down by a swig of cheap beer, which could, in no possible way, taste good paired with the popcorn.

                     “I may be down for that, once we find out more about it,” Jill admitted. “But I’m talking about spring break proper. Someone has to be doing something fun.”

                     “It’s harder these days,” Camille said. She was on the other side of Vince, though there was still enough space between them to easily rest a small pillow. Progress with those two, like every other aspect of their social skills, was an exercise in slow steps forward. “Some of us have jobs, and even those who don’t have other stuff. Taking whole weeks to waste time isn’t as easy as it used to be.”

                     “Ohhh no. No, no, no, horseshit no.” Jill nearly stuttered as she spat out that proclamation of disagreement. “We are only halfway through college. Our carefree days cannot be fucking behind us. I do not accept this.”

                     “Whether you accept it or not, Camille isn’t wrong.” Will spoke from his chair—which had been stolen out of the kitchen—as he ate dried seaweed out of a cellophane packet. He’d offered his movie snack around the room, but there hadn’t been any takers. “Things are just more complicated now than they were when we first got here. I don’t anticipate seeing that trend change anytime soon, either.”

                     “That’s all the more reason why we should do something,” Jill said. She stood from her seat and addressed the room, rendering the already half-ignored previews completely inaudible. “Come on, we’re young and dumb and we have fucking superpowers. We cannot let an entire spring break pass by unmarked. I will not stand for it.”

                     “You just did,” Thomas pointed out. “You literally stood to make your point, which is as close to standing for it as I can picture.”

                     “No, I’m standing for the unwillingness to . . . because I . . . oh, fuck you. You know I’m right about this.” Jill fell back into her seat, barely resisting the urge to cross her arms.

                     “Maybe we could . . . throw a party?” Camille suggested tentatively. She caught a few surprised glances at her willingness to suggest mayhem, but most of the group knew her well enough to realize there was a bit of a maniac under her quiet facade.

                     “Right spirit, but it wouldn’t work very well,” Hershel said. “Most of our friends will be gone. A party would more or less be all of us, except we’d be playing drinking games instead of watching a movie.”

                     “And several of us don’t drink,” Mary interjected from Hershel’s side.

                     “Yeah, party was a good idea, just not for this occasion,” Jill agreed. “Besides, we can do a party any night. Spring break is about stuff we can only do during that time. It’s like Mardi Gras, except you don’t have to drive all the way to Louisiana to experience it.”

                     “I suppose going to the beach again is out,” Alice said. “Though I’d wager I could get the cabin again if needed.”

                     “Too far, and too many of us have jobs. Without the full week off, it’s harder to coordinate that sort of event.” Jill stared at the flickering screen as the previews finally ended and the film began to play.

                     “Well, how about you figure something out and run it by us,” Violet suggested. “And in the meantime, we all shut up and watch Blood Battler Five.”

                     “Oh, mark my words, I’ll think of something.” Jill’s eyes remained on the screen, but her focus was nowhere near the violent images flashing across it. She was racking her brain, trying to think of a way to commemorate their next-to-last spring break. It mattered to her, even if she didn’t want to come out and say why.

                     Besides, everyone already knew what she would tell them. Math wasn’t that hard to do, and it was obvious that, for some of them, this would be the last spring break they would spend as part of an HCP group.

     187.

                    Chad snared Sasha’s punch as it came within millimeters from his face, quickly turning her momentum into a powerful toss that shattered the concrete when she hit. If not for her enhanced endurance, Sasha would have been severely crippled, if not dead. As it was, she could tell as soon as she landed that she would either need to visit a healer or be walking with a limp for the next few weeks.

                     “And that ends Chad Taylor’s exam,” Professor Fletcher announced. “All four assailants were taken out in two minutes, forty-seven seconds. Anyone who needs healing, please head to the infirmary or see Ms. Belden. Otherwise, get clear for the next group.”

                     Before Sasha could pull herself up, Chad was standing over her with a hand extended. A stubborn, willful part of her wanted to take offense at the gesture, as though he were looking down on her in a metaphorical sense, rather than a literal one. But she pushed that piece of her aside, a task that was getting easier the more she practiced it, and accepted his help with hefting herself up. It was courtesy; something Chad showed most people he beat the hell out of. Heck, had the roles been reversed, she’d have felt compelled to do the same thing.

                     “That was a good punch,” Chad told her. “You nearly had me.”

                     “Like my dad always says: ‘almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.’ But thanks for the sentiment,” Sasha replied.

                     Roy, Violet, and Allen were pulling themselves up as well—the other three members of the dream-team selected to fight Chad Taylor for his mid-semester Close Combat exam. Sasha had been a bit proud at being selected, even if she couldn’t help but question the choice. She was proud of her skill, and of the effort she’d put into improving, but she also wasn’t blind to the truth: there were stronger classmates that could have been thrown against Chad. Sasha wasn’t sure if the professor was taking it easy on him, or if there was another reason for the choice; she had just been thankful for the chance to prove herself in the moment.

                     “Sorry we couldn’t put up more of a fight,” Sasha said, as they reached the bunker area where the rest of the Close Combat students were waiting.

                     Chad reached out and gently grabbed her arm, keeping her from going behind the clear barrier. “You four put up an incredible fight. There were two occasions where I nearly made a misstep and lost the match. Do not disparage what I consider to be an impressive effort.”

                     “Chad, you beat us in less than three minutes. I appreciate the effort to make me feel better—”

                     “I defeated you quickly because that is the only way I know how to fight, with efficiency and speed. I’m not like you or Roy or most other strongmen; the amount of physical damage I can take is lower, significantly so in some cases. My fights end quickly because I have to end them quickly. A lingering battle is too dangerous for me,” Chad told her.

                     “Huh. I never actually stopped to think about that,” Sasha said. The mini-monologue had taken her off guard; she was used to Chad being polite, but offering up post-match assessments was a new one. Then again, before this year, she could never have imagined seeing him dressed up for a sci-fi movie, either, so it seemed things were changing in all directions. Sasha decided to push her luck and see if she could get more insight.

                     “Any thoughts on why we four were picked to fight you, instead of some of the higher ranks like Vince or Shane?”

                     “Because you all excel at one-on-one combat,” Chad replied simply, tilting his head as though he were surprised she couldn’t already see that plainly. “Vince and Shane both have abilities better suited for dealing with multiple opponents, and fighting alongside them means the risk of getting caught up in their attacks. With teamwork and training, this can be overcome, but in a sudden match like this, their presence will lead to hesitation and missteps, weakening the team as a whole. For some opponents, that’s a surmountable goal; however, I watch for exactly those opportunities to capitalize on.”

                     “Damn, I need to have you narrate all the fights for me,” Sasha said. She nodded to the viewing bunker and pulled her arm free. “Come on; let’s get clear so they can start the next one.”

                     The two former combatants had scarcely made it inside before they heard Professor Fletcher’s voice booming through the room. “Next up: Thomas Castillo’s exam. Going against him will be Adam Riley, Allen Wells, Jill Murray, and Violet Sullivan. Wells and Sullivan, you all healed up?”

                     “Good to go!” Violet hollered. She was standing next to Camille, who was gripping the purple-haired girl’s hands in hers. Already, the slight bruises from the previous fight had vanished. Allen gave a nod from next to them; his own concussion had already been tended to as well.

                     Before anyone else could move, though, Thomas leapt out of the bunker and began to speak. “Professor Fletcher, if it is at all possible, I would like to request a different student be added to my exam.”

                     Professor Fletcher’s eyes narrowed, and in the span of a blink, he was across the room, standing next to Thomas. “You don’t like one of the people I put you against?”

                     “No, sir, it isn’t that,” Thomas replied. He kept his head raised and his eyes forward, refusing to show weakness. It was a gesture as much for him as for the others watching. “I want to fight Vince Reynolds. I need to, actually. You can add him on as a fifth, if needed. All I ask is that he’s in the exam. I have to be sure that I can deal with the threat he presents in genuine combat.”

                     “And what if you can’t?” Professor Fletcher asked.

                     “Then I’m not certain I belong here,” Thomas admitted. A chorus of gasps didn’t echo up from the viewing bunker, but he definitely received many uncertain stares for this declaration.

                     “If I can’t conquer my fear here, then how will I do it when lives are on the line, my own included?” Thomas continued. “Vince’s ability scares me, even after all the training we’ve done, but it won’t be the last one I encounter that does so. I want to be a Hero, not just in title, but in capability. Please, let me see if I have what it takes.”

                     “Vince, are you okay with this?” Professor Fletcher asked, glancing into the bunker.

                     “Yes, sir. I’ll do my part.”

                     The professor mulled it over for a few moments, looking down at his clipboard that was no doubt filled with match-ups, then staring into the bunker, and occasionally glancing into Thomas’s earnest eyes. “Despite the fact that we carefully craft these matches weeks in advance, and there is no technical reason for you to fight Reynolds, I’m going to allow it,” he said at last. “But Vince, I expect you to come at Thomas with as close to full-force as you can safely manage. Your classmate wants to truly test himself; pulling punches out of concern won’t do him a bit of good. Got it?”

                     “I do,” Vince agreed. “It was what I’d planned to do, anyway.”

                     “Good. Allen Wells, you can sit this one out. Everyone else, get ready. And Thomas, we’re going to have a meeting after this is over, no matter how the match plays out.”

                     “Understood. And thank you,” Thomas said, finally relaxing his body a touch.

                     “Don’t thank me just yet,” Professor Fletcher told him. “You just set yourself one hell of an unbalanced match. When this is all said and done, you might curse me up and down for giving you what you wanted.”

                     Thomas nodded and began jogging to the middle of the room, where the combat circle waited. Perhaps the professor was right, but he doubted it. This was something he needed to see for himself. If he came up lacking, then no one would have to tell him he didn’t belong in the HCP. Thomas Castillo would walk himself out the front door before anyone else had a chance.

     188.

     The first bolt to come at Thomas’s head wasn’t from Vince, much to the surprise of many of the onlookers. That honor went to Jill Murray, who fired off a shot from a device on her forearm as soon as Professor Fletcher started the match. While it might have been unexpected to those watching, Thomas knew his housemate far too well to underestimate her. He dodged to the side, simultaneously wrapping himself in the bright orange energy his body exuded. While his armor wouldn’t stop more powerful blows, it would be enough to handle minor attacks like that. As soon as he regained his footing, Thomas took stock of the ring.

                     Jill’s forearm blaster had retracted, but now, her hands were beginning to crackle with a white glow. That was a new one for Thomas, and he had no desire to see what her trick did. Vince had his arms out and seemed to be taking aim, which meant Thomas could expect either fire or lightning coming at him within seconds. Adam was on the defensive, clearly waiting until he either had the chance to grab Thomas and mimic him or chose one of his teammates to emulate. Violet was . . . nowhere to be seen, Thomas suddenly realized. With a confined space to work in, that only left one option for her location, and Thomas didn’t bother looking to confirm it. He darted forward, moving the energy encasing his body far more quickly than his legs would have been able to manage.

                     As fast as he was, Thomas still felt the wave of force, and the debris hit him in the back. He already knew the trick Violet had used; hell, he’d helped her train with it on a few occasions. She’d made herself feather light, leapt up into the air, then rapidly increased her density until she came smashing down with several tons of force. It was a hell of a surprise technique, and it had very nearly taken him down.

                     Since he was already running, Thomas decided not to waste a perfectly good opportunity. Altering his course slightly, he veered toward Adam, whose eyes went wide at the realization that Thomas’s defensive move had just become an offensive one. He tried to backpedal, but the choice to try and mimic his target quickly backfired as he found himself with nothing at his disposal but human strength and reflexes. Adam made a valiant effort, but Thomas extended several orange tendrils, grabbing his opponent and tossing him through the air. Knocking Adam out of the circle wouldn’t eliminate him—he was only disqualified if he left on his own—but the force of the impact would likely make it a moot point.

                     Searing pain brought Thomas’s attention back to the other three, one of whom still had a tiny spark of electricity dancing across his hands. Vince had hit him with a strong jolt, enough to pierce the energy armor and still do damage, but Thomas was under no illusions that such attacks were the limits of Vince’s power. He was testing Thomas, seeing how much he could take before ratcheting up the amperage. The next attack might very well be enough to stun him, which meant Thomas had to try and make sure another didn’t come.

                     His train of thought was derailed by a flurry of attempted strikes from Jill. Her hands were still crackling with the white glow, and as Thomas ducked and dodged, he realized that the longer this frantic scramble went on, the easier a target he became for the others. He couldn’t risk punching back, not without knowing what affect those glowing hands might have when she blocked with them, but he also couldn’t keep shuffling around. A rogue, wild idea entered his head, and beneath the bright orange glow masking his face, Thomas smiled. In all the training, and fear, and effort, he’d nearly forgotten the exhilaration of battle; of finding solutions in a moment that years of thinking would never bring to mind.

                     From Thomas’s torso, a massive hand extended out of his energy armor, bright orange and big enough to palm a person. It grabbed Jill around her midsection, taking her completely by surprise. True to training, she tried to refocus her attack, but her moment of confusion had given Thomas the chance he needed to grab her forearms with his hands. For a second, it seemed they were locked in a stalemate. Then the crunching of electronics filled the air as Thomas’s stomach-hand tightened, crushing Jill’s suit and the hardware contained within. He stopped as soon he saw sparks and smoke flying, and then tossed her away for good measure.

                     Violet slammed into him with what felt like the force of a large truck, sending Thomas hurtling to the ground. Rather than letting himself land, though, Thomas kept on rolling, willing the armor to move even as his own body was too slow. It was a good call, too, as he could see bright bolts of electricity striking the area he had been only moments before. They didn’t let up, and he kept moving; Vince was raining lightning down like an angry Zeus. Of the two remaining opponents, he was the bigger threat. He could use range, but if Thomas tried, he’d get his power drained.

                     To his surprise, Thomas realized that this thought, while scary, didn’t cause his mind to freeze up. It was just a fact, the same as the knowledge that he’d be taken out if Violet landed one of her drop-blows on him. Certainly, it would be painful and unpleasant, but Thomas wasn’t losing control at the idea of it. His smile grew wide and wild. At long last, he was truly back in the fight. Thomas could think of no better way to celebrate than by achieving victory.

                     Violet charged again, coming from the other direction as Vince’s electrical strikes. With a moment of sudden clarity, Thomas knew how he could attack Vince. Waiting until his housemate was only a few feet away, Thomas struck. A hand-shaped tendril of orange energy as thick as a tree trunk surged outward, grabbed Violet by the shoulder, and tossed her into the air. It took everything Thomas had to keep her suspended—she weighed so much it felt like he was trying to lift the ground beneath his feet—but he refused to let go. As her mid-air arc came to an end, Thomas took careful aim, and finally released. All in all, it was an unconventional toss, but it had sent the ultra-dense girl careening through the air.

                     Careening . . . directly into Vince Reynolds. Vince’s eyes went wide as he saw his temporary teammate on a crash course with him. Without time to dodge, Vince merely held up his hands. Violet hit his palms and abruptly stopped, dropping to the ground at his feet with a mighty crash. Vince let out a deep breath, no doubt thankful that he’d managed to absorb the kinetic energy. It was in that brief moment of relief that Thomas struck, slamming a powerful blow into Vince’s leg. The snap echoed through the concrete room as Vince dropped, grabbing his shattered shin in pain.

                     Thomas paused for a moment to reassess the situation. Violet was getting up, ready for another go, but Adam, Jill, and Vince were down for the count. In a purely physical fight, he had the advantage, which meant he had it in the bag. Thomas was thinking exactly that thought when a hand glowing with crackling white energy slammed into the base of his head, piercing his energy armor and knocking him out instantly.

                     “Just ‘cause the suit is down, doesn’t mean I am,” Jill muttered. The light faded from her hands as the last of her backup power ran dry.

                     “Thomas Castillo was taken down in five minutes, eleven seconds,” Professor Fletcher announced. It was too bad; if not for underestimating one opponent, Thomas likely would have managed to pull off a victory. Still, as he watched the orange energy fade from the tan young man’s body and caught sight of the smile lingering on his unconscious face, Professor Fletcher had a feeling that no one, least of all Thomas, would count this fight as a loss.

     189.

                    Ralph Chapman slipped through the front door of his apartment, unsurprised to find an intruder sitting on his couch. He let out a long sigh and hefted his groceries the rest of the way in, walking into the kitchen and setting them on the counter. As he finished dropping them off, he glanced at the knife block a few feet away, perched on the granite surface. For a moment, Ralph considered picking up a weapon to bring back with him into the living room. Ultimately, though, he left the kitchen unarmed. If this idiot decided to attack him, then that was the way things would go. It had been many years since Ralph Chapman feared death, and he saw no reason to start letting such a base urge rule his decisions now.

                     “I have a phone, you know,” Ralph said to his uninvited guest.

                     “But face-to-face is just so much more personable,” Nick replied. He had his feet resting on the coffee table and was idly playing a game on his smartphone, which he quickly put away at the sound of Ralph’s voice. “Besides, technology isn’t something I like to trust easily. Too many ways for it to be compromised.”

                     “Give us a little credit; DVA technology is as secure as it comes.” Ralph took a seat in his recliner, somewhat wishing he’d bothered to grab a soda while in the kitchen.

                     “Oh, so you want me contacting you through DVA channels? The sort that are often recorded and monitored for extra security?”

                     “Fine, you make a good point. But how do you know you won’t drop by when Nathaniel is paying me a visit?” Ralph asked.

                     Nick nodded his head out the window. “I have people keeping watch on him. Besides, I’ve caused some trouble for him back at home, which means he’s a little too busy to worry about you at the moment. Thanks for the heads up, by the way.”

                     “It was either telling you, or reporting it through official channels; I couldn’t very well just let him try and ambush a bunch of Supers in a public place like that. Innocent people could have gotten hurt.”

                     “Innocent people like the Supers he was targeting,” Nick pointed out. He didn’t push the issue much, partially because he realized that Ralph wouldn’t be coming around overnight, and partially because, at the moment, he needed this relationship to stay a step ahead of Nathaniel. “Was he suspicious that we intercepted his people?”

                     “He might have been, if I’d come off as accommodating,” Ralph replied. He got up from his chair and headed back toward the kitchen, deciding he did want that soda bad enough, after all. “As soon as he told me there was a problem, I lit into him about wasting my time and threatened to cut off contact. The boy was too busy playing defense to worry about making accusations. He did say something interesting, though.”

                     Nick waited until the older man had returned with his beverage before speaking; he found yelling in such a small place to be particularly tactless. “Dare I even ask what Nathaniel told you?”

                     “You should, though I’m not sure why you’d want to. He said that the next attempt would be much broader, and that there was no way for you to foil it.”

                     “So, then, he’ll attack multiple targets at once,” Nick surmised, leaning slightly forward on the couch. For a moment, his mask of composed boredom slipped away, and Ralph could see the wheels turning in Nick’s head. He’d read everything he could find about the young man from Vegas with the power to affect luck, and not one document had managed to capture what dealing with Nicholas Campbell was actually like. Ralph shuddered to think what he would have been capable of if Nick had actually made it to Hero status.

                     “Think he’ll do it publicly?” Ralph asked, more groping for something to say than because he needed the answer.

                     “Fits his motive. He’s trying to win favor with you by making them break cover, which means the more people around, the better. Of course, he’s also keeping it public because he knows that’s the only way some of them will break cover.”

                     “Don’t be ridiculous. Any of them will show their power if it’s for self-defense.”

                     Nick slowly shook his head, his eyes heavy as he contemplated countless situations. “Mary might, she’s a bit more skittish than she likes to let on, ever since the kidnapping. Alice is hard to say, but I think she’d find a way to escape. The only reason she whipped Nathaniel like a dog the first time is because I was in danger. Hershel has a complex about being helpless, so he might try and take on an attacker without Roy’s help, but that one is fifty-fifty either way. And Vince, your silver-haired white whale, would never break the rules unless other people were in danger.”

                     “Vince Reynolds has a history of fighting outside of class and losing control. I find it highly doubtful that he’d resist the urge to use his abilities, regardless of whether it meant others were getting injured,” Ralph replied. His tone was even, but firm.

                     “Vince has a history of getting jumped outside of class, and as for the self-control thing, only one of those times was his fault,” Nick said. His own voice was just as hard as Ralph’s; neither man was willing to give an inch on the issue. “Besides, there’s a pragmatic reason Vince wouldn’t use his powers: he wouldn’t need them. Aside from people with physically-based Super abilities, Vince is one of the best hand-to-hand fighters I’ve ever seen, and I grew up around a lot of fighting. Trust me, if he’s busting out the big guns, it means other people are in danger.”

                     “To be frank, I don’t trust you,” Ralph said, pausing to take a long swig of his drink. “But of the two criminals who have approached me, you’re the not the one whose plans involved endangering innocent bystanders, so at the moment, you’re the best of my bad options.”

                     “You’d be surprised how often people have called me that,” Nick said, leaning back into the couch with a wistful grin upon his face. “Though usually, they’re female, and quite a bit younger than you.”

                     “Very cute, but let’s stick to business. Are you going to be able to stop Nathaniel’s next attack?”

                     “If you can get us details: definitely. If he tries to surprise you with it: maybe,” Nick admitted. “I’m doing all I can to cripple Nathaniel’s resources, but a few things aren’t adding up. He’s lost a lot of favor with his family in the last few years, yet somehow, he’s bankrolled this revenge mission against me and been able to grab multiple goon squads. Until I can find and destroy his support structure, we have to keep reacting to his moves.”

                     “I’ll get as much out of him as I can,” Ralph said. He didn’t care for either of these children, but he would be damned if he allowed regular people to get hurt on his watch. The DVA and Heroes could only act in the aftermath, and he couldn’t order an investigation without more evidence; not without coming clean on every rule he’d broken in his pursuit of Vince Reynolds’s crimes. At the moment, Nick Campbell was his best shot at keeping Nathaniel Evers contained.

                     At least, until he was able to finally show the world what kind of monster Vince Reynolds truly was.

     190.

                    Roy sat in the single occupancy concrete cell and dearly wished he’d thought to bring his phone with him. Like every day when he went to class, Roy had set it in his locker when he changed into his HCP uniform. The delicate electronic devices were far too breakable to be brought into the sorts of sparring matches he regularly engaged in. That had been doubly so when he changed this morning, as he was heading into his Weapons mid-term, which certainly promised to be a tough one. Still, if he’d known Professor Cole was going to send the entire class into individual cells so she could test the groups separately, he might have risked it. After only five minutes of sitting around, he was going out of his mind with boredom.

                     For the umpteenth time since his incarceration, Roy picked up his bat and turned it around in his hands. It was still new enough to be in mostly the same shape as when he’d received it, but the few dents running along the side spoke to the hours he’d trained with the weapon to get accustomed to its weight. After a couple of weeks, he could wield it as easily as he had his first bat, which was no small accomplishment, given the difference in weight between the two.

                     If nothing else, Roy felt like he was getting worth from his Weapons training in terms of his workouts. Weights were all well and good, but trying to wield an object that weighed hundreds of pounds had tested him in ways he could have never seen with just lifting. Were he truly pressed on the issue, Roy might have admitted that he’d grown a certain fondness for his bat; that it no longer seemed like a haphazardly chosen tool to satisfy a professor’s demands, and was now, in fact, a part of his arsenal.

                     He still wasn’t all that good with it, though, not compared to the skill the other students had with some of their weapons. They could move with a grace and precision that Roy could scarcely manage with just his body, let alone with the cumbersome bat clutched in his hands. Roy had accepted that he would never be able to move as fluidly as Vince or Chad, and under Hank’s summer tutelage, he’d learned that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Moving with controlled power had a beauty of its own, and that was something Roy felt he could master, with enough effort.

                     The sound of his door sliding open nearly made Roy drop his bat, a mistake that would have no doubt cracked a large section of the concrete. Slowly, he rose to his feet and peered out the door. From above, a soft voice whispered to him over the intercom.

                     “Follow the stairs to the left, Roy. It’s time to show me what you can do.”

                     With Professor Cole’s voice still lingering in his ear, Roy walked slowly down the hallway. As he did, he noted that two more of the individual cells had been opened, meaning he was either the last in a group of three or next to last in a group of four. Personally, Roy hoped for the former. No one had said it out loud, but every Weapons student had assumed that Professor Cole would put the best three into the smaller group to make for a more balanced challenge. Aside from matters of pride and ego—of which Roy had plenty—he wanted to be in that more exceptional group so he could fight alongside the best his class had to offer. Despite her warnings about never losing, Roy was going into this fight with the intent to win it. He had to get strong enough to take on a professor if he was ever going to be able to properly pay back George for that freshman year beating.

                     Roy reached the end of the hallway and began climbing the steps, too aware of the heavy clunks from his boots echoing down the concrete corridor. When he reached the top area, he found four doors standing before him. The two on the left were closed, the one in the middle was open, and the last one was also closed. Inside the one open room, there were a few feet of space and another door at the opposite end, this one still closed. Roy might not have been as smart as Hershel, but he could put this one together pretty easily. Stepping through the only open door, Roy managed to not jump as it slid shut behind him. It seemed Professor Cole was pretty serious about keeping them in the dark over who was on their teams until the real fighting began. Roy wondered who he’d be fighting alongside, and he also began to ask himself why exactly Lander needed a chamber like this one. It couldn’t be just to support one professor’s favorite method of assessment. Sometimes, it bothered him how long he’d been at Lander without seeing all of its secrets. None of the students knew how deep Lander went, either literally or metaphorically, but it was often the topic of speculation when minds got to wandering.

                     “Attention students of the junior Weapons class,” Professor Cole said from a speaker overhead. “Here is the situation for your exam: A rogue Super has been located after a deadly encounter with police. She is presumed very dangerous, and has already taken multiple civilian lives. All Heroes in the area are being tapped to respond, which means you’ll be working with whoever happens to be on hand. Your target must be neutralized by any means necessary, so lethal force has been authorized. Stop her before she stops you. Good luck.”

                     Roy licked his lips and tightened his grip on the bat. Already, he could feel his fingers tingling as adrenaline surged through his system. Here it was at long last: a real fight. The sort where he didn’t have to be afraid of tearing his opponent apart. For the first time since his winter final against the Sims, Roy was being told to come out swinging with everything he had, and he could barely contain himself at the opportunity.

                     When the door in front of Roy finally swung open, he bolted forward, right into the action. It was where he was always meant to be.

     191.

                    As Roy hurtled forward, he caught sight of Will sprinting across the ground next to him, and heard a familiar yip of excitement as Violet hurled herself into the air. It brought a smile to his face as he realized that, aside from the professor calmly staring down their charge, there was no one else in the combat arena. He was on the three-man team; now, he just had to prove he had a right to be there.

                     With a grunt of effort, Roy ratcheted up his speed, leaving Will well behind. None of them knew what Professor Cole was capable of, but as the resident tank, it was his job to make her show it. Hit and get hit; that was what Roy could do better than anyone else in this match. Hell, better than anyone else in his class, really. He surged forward, raising the bat in his right hand, but keeping his eyes trained on the target. Heavy as the bat might be, Roy needed to try and overrun her to make sure she came out swinging. A dodge would tell them diddly shit, and would leave the others exposed.

                     At first, it seemed like Professor Cole would do nothing—she remained rooted in place despite the two hundred plus pounds of Roy Daniels bearing down on her. He was only a few steps away, close enough that he might have clipped her with his bat, when she struck. The cloth bandages around her arm snapped out, moving as quickly as a scorpion’s tail, grabbing Roy by his arm, torso, and leg, and hurling him over her on a crash course for the wall.

                     The impact registered, but Roy was largely unhurt as he quickly scrambled to his feet. In fact, he felt better than he had before the attack. He’d done his job; Professor Cole was finally showing them what ability she had. Roy didn’t exactly understand bandage manipulation; he merely trusted the others to make good use of the information.

                     By the time he reoriented, Professor Cole’s appearance had changed. Various weapons extended from her body, each with a hilt or handle firmly wrapped by those ever-present cloth bandages. She had a flail, two swords, and a hammer in her cloth grip, as well as a third sword held in her actual hands. The cloak on her back seemed to have flared out and extended further than usual; a detail that Roy filed away as probably important, but not something he could use at the moment.

                     A spiked chain flew at the professor from up high, moving so quickly that even Roy barely saw it from his vantage point. Professor Cole, however, had no such issue, easily knocking the attack away with one of her bandage-wielded weapons. Violet pulled the chain back up and glared down, clearly trying to piece together a new avenue of attack. Across the room, Will was holding his staff down low in a defensive manner, the wheels of his mighty mind turning as it processed the new information.

                     “If you all want to have any shot of impressing me, you’ll need to attack together,” Professor Cole informed them. “Otherwise, I’m afraid none of you will do well enough to earn a satisfactory grade.”

                     “Works for me,” Roy grunted, bringing his bat back at the ready. A charge wouldn’t work; he was assuming she could make a lot more of those cloth tentacles than she already had, which meant he’d just get flipped around more. No amount of muscle control would help him when she could grab his entire body. He was going to have to slug this one out up close and personal.

                     “Wait!” Will yelled, but it was too late. Roy was already pounding across the floor, bat at the ready. He pulled in close, then took a sudden leap forward, hoping to catch the professor by surprise. Rearing back as he came down, Roy slammed the bat at her, certain he could knock away any weapon she used to block with. After all, it was Professor Cole herself who’d told him that, in a real fight, power would win over parrying. Roy stayed vigilant as the swing came down, ready for any of the extended weapons to meet him mid-attack.

                     It was because of this that he was utterly unprepared for the shock of seeing Professor Cole’s cloak surge upward, coming between her and his bat like a flowing shield, suddenly turning stiff as he made contact. Roy expected the attack to be slowed as the cloak wrapped around it, maybe even for her cloak to somehow pull the bat from his hands. What Roy wasn’t expecting, couldn’t have anticipated, was what actually happened.

                     Roy’s extra-heavy bat, swung by a Super with incredible strength, bounced off the simple cloak as the blow was stopped completely. He was so surprised that he didn’t even notice the cloth tendrils that snapped out, grabbing his legs and throwing him across the room once more.

                     “What the fuck?” Roy sputtered as he pulled himself up for the second time. “I mean, goddamn, what is that cloak made out of?”

                     “My guess would be regular cotton, possibly with some of the extra-dense material you use as weights turned to thread and sewn in as well,” Will said. Roy noticed how close he was to his fellow student, and quickly realized that the professor had just used him for a ranged attack. Suddenly, Thomas’s trick in Close Combat seemed a touch less novel.

                     “No way is that thing made of cotton,” Roy said, hefting his bat to his shoulder.

                     “She’s a material manipulator,” Will replied. As they watched, Violet darted in for another attack, this time, getting up close and personal just like Roy had. Her drop attack missed by quite a ways, but it did succeed in making the professor dodge—the first time it had occurred during the fight.

                     “A material . . . oh, fucking hell. That’s why she wears all those clothes and cloth bandages,” Roy said, snapping to it at last. “You think her material is cotton?”

                     “It would be the only similar component in everything she wears. Based on what she’s shown so far, I think the material either has to be in close proximity to her or making contact with her skin for her to control it. Otherwise, she could have made our own uniforms attack us,” Will told him.

                     “So, she can use all that stuff on her like extra limbs; plus, it looks like she can turn the stuff hard and tough whenever she needs to defend.” Roy looked at his bat and noted a fresh new dent, right at the place where he’d tried to attack the professor.

                     “And that’s only what we’ve seen so far,” Will said. “Luckily, I have a pla—”

                     Will was cut off as Violet was hurled across the room, smashing into the wall next to them, only a few feet from the crater of Roy’s last impact. She hurriedly pulled herself up, just in time to hear the professor’s voice.

                     “All right, that should be enough time for you all to get adjusted. Now I’m going to start fighting for real.” Ends of bandages rose from her body, writhing in the air like thin white snakes. More and more kept coming; Roy lost count around two dozen, and the exact number no longer seemed relevant.

                     For the first time, they could see bits of Professor Cole that lay under the bandages, which, unfortunately, included the wicked grin that paired unsettlingly with the gleam in her eyes. Just as Roy was wondering how on earth he’d come at her, his concern was made pointless. Professor Cole rushed forward, bringing the fight to them.

     192.

                    Roy’s first instinct was to leap away. It was the move that would keep him safe, and allow him to see just what the professor could do, now that she was taking things seriously. And, in truth, if his fight had been one-on-one, it would have been the correct decision to make. But as his calves coiled and he readied himself to jump, his mind flashed to his time training with his father last year. It wasn’t his job to jump away from the danger. It was his job to put himself between it and the other people on his team. Hit, and get hit. That was the role of the strongman.

                     Letting out a yell so primal it took even him a bit by surprise, Roy surged forward, meeting Professor Cole midway in her charge toward them. He barely had time to catch sight of Will and Violet’s shocked faces before he clashed with his teacher, taking a hammer to the head before he’d even gotten close enough to attack her.

                     “Cute,” Roy said, glancing at the thick metal weapon quickly moving around for another swing. “But it’ll take a lot more than that to hurt me.”

                     “Oh, trust me, I’m aware,” Professor Cole replied. A pair of cloth tendrils, each holding a dagger at the end, shot out from behind her back, weaving toward Roy. For an instant, he prepared to take them, trusting his endurance to absorb such a paltry blow, but as his eyes watched their trajectory, he realized the attacks were too wide. He wasn’t their target, which meant he couldn’t sit back and just see what happened.

                     Twirling his bat around, Roy used it for its intended purpose and took a swing at the dagger on his right. The professor tried to move it out of the way, but Roy managed to keep his eye on the target, and he smashed the dagger head on, shattering it on impact and sending the pieces flying all over. With no time to rest, he reached around and grabbed the cloth tentacle holding the dagger on the left, intent on keeping it from reaching Violet or Will. To his shock, the cloth immediately went limp in his hand, and then began weaving itself around his arm.

                     “Good instincts,” Professor Cole said. “Even in a situation this hectic, you found your role and committed to it. But you need to work on your situational awareness.”

                     Whistling filled his ears, and Roy looked up, only to find the hammer he’d dismissed as useless barreling down at him. By his guess, the ceiling was at least forty feet high, and the cloth tendril holding the hammer had extended it all the way to the top. Now, it was being slammed down, gaining force with every inch it moved closer to him. Roy tried to jerk away and dodge, but the cloth gripping his arm held tight, as did the ones he hadn’t noticed snake out from the professor’s legs and grip him by the calves. She’d baited him into a trap, and he’d bit.

                     Roy braced for the blow from the hammer, but before it could land, a different force struck him from behind. It was Violet, who’d made herself dense enough to send Roy hurtling forward on a crash course with Professor Cole. There was just enough time for Roy to make out the flash of surprise flickering through her green eyes before he was airborne for the third time, as she flung him into the air rather than let him hit her.

                     Though he couldn’t see where it landed, Roy did hear the hammer’s impact as he hurtled into the concrete wall. He’d barely gotten to his feet before Professor Cole’s voice rang out through the chamber.

                     “Violet Sullivan has been eliminated by knockout.”

                     “Damn it, you crazy-ass density girl. You were supposed to be ranged.” Roy tightened his grip on the bat, anger beginning to quickly replace the guilt he’d felt at that announcement. He was the one who was supposed to be on the front lines; he was the one who was supposed to take the big blows. True, that last attack probably would have broken enough bones to bring him down, but that was his battle to fight. Roy was annoyed, and sad, and, more than anything, felt like he’d failed as a tank by needing to be saved, but none of those sentiments were any use on the battlefield. So instead, Roy just let himself get pissed.

                     “Hey, Will!” Roy’s voice carried through the air, grabbing the attention of both Professor Cole and his current teammate. “I don’t see us doing any good by wearing her down, so I’m just going to try and beat her one-on-one. If you’ve got any plans or smart guy inventions, use them while she’s dealing with me.”

                     “You sort of ruined the surprise by letting me overhear that,” Professor Cole pointed out.

                     “Nah, I was never counting on surprise in the first place. I just aim to be too much of a handful for you to worry about anything else.” With that, Roy undertook what he knew was his final charge of the fight. If she caught him again, he’d get another one of those sky-hammer attacks, and that would be the end of it. There was no more Violet to bail him out. All he could do was fight so hard that he made an opportunity for Will. Roy might not be able to be graceful, or brilliant, or skilled like so many of his other friends, but he could damned sure make a whole mess of trouble.

                     Roy knocked aside the first attacks without even slowing down, sending Professor Cole’s weapons flying away with single blows from his bat. As he drew closer, a web of cloth tendrils flowed around him, and it was all Roy could do to keep from getting snared again. He ducked, dove, and shimmied across the floor, sometimes only avoiding one of the cloth snakes by a few inches. By luck, talent, or sheer determination, Roy actually drew closer to Professor Cole again and had to parry more of her weapon strikes.

                     “For the record,” he grunted, sending a sword soaring to the ceiling, “I realize you’re going easy on us. I’ve fought a professor before; I know how powerful you all are.”

                     “It’s not that I’m going easy on you,” Professor Cole replied. “It’s that the goal of this fight, for me, isn’t to win; it’s to test how you all do. Coming out full-force wouldn’t make for much of an assessment, now would it?”

                     “Oh, I get the reason.” Roy leapt into the air, narrowly dodging a pair of cloth tendrils that tried to wind around him. “But it still pisses me off to have someone sandbag in a fight with me.”

                     “Perhaps one day, if you make it to Hero status, you can come back, and we’ll have a duel for real.”

                     “Nice offer, but I think I’d rather just beat you here.” Roy threw himself to the side, smashing away the hammer and a few tendrils, and opening up a clean shot for Will, who had been scampering about on the sidelines. Roy had no idea what the tech-genius was planning, only that he’d seemed to be looking for a line of sight on the professor. If Roy was wrong, then they were screwed, since he was now firmly in a place to be grabbed. But trusting your team was also part of being the strongman. He had to believe Will could accomplish something that he couldn’t.

                     The beam of light nearly hit Roy before striking Professor Cole directly in the chest. At first, it seemed like nothing happened, but then Roy noticed the slight drooping of all the cloth tendrils around him. He didn’t need the cue from Will; Roy knew an opportunity when he saw it.

                     Rushing forward, he reared his bat back with both hands and prepared to swing. She’d told them to come with the intent to kill, and Roy wasn’t about to disappoint, though he did aim for the shoulder, just to be safe. He moved with all the speed he could muster . . . but it was a heartbeat too slow. Just as he got within swinging range, Roy heard the thunderous rustling of countless pieces of cloth converging on him at once. Every part of him was engulfed, and he was hoisted off the ground, his strength useless against the firm but pliable prison binding him. He couldn’t see, and he could scarcely hear a thing—at least until the wrapping on his face began to fall away.

                     “Will Murray has been eliminated by injury,” Professor Cole announced. The last of the wrappings fell away, revealing Will slumped on the ground, arms dangling uselessly at his sides. “And Roy Daniels is eliminated by capture, though I can smack you on the head if you really need me to prove you’re out of this fight.”

                     “No, I can admit when I’ve been beat,” Roy said. He felt himself being lowered to the ground, where the bandages slithered off him and began wrapping themselves back around Professor Cole.

                     “You know, that might be the closest someone—besides Angela—has come to beating me in a long time,” she said, shaking her head as her face became less and less visible. “That beam of Will’s interrupted my central nervous system, and you capitalized without a second of hesitation. For a team that was thrown together, you did pretty damn well.”

                     “But we didn’t win,” Roy said.

                     “I meant what I said,” Professor Cole replied. “Get your certification, and the door is always open. I could use the practice, anyway. Now, get your team down to the infirmary; I’ve got another group of students to fight.” The excitement in her voice was palpable, a sentiment which Roy understood all too well.

     193.

                    Alice glanced in the mirror, pulled her still-damp hair back into a ponytail, and decided that would have to suffice for the rest of the day. Sometimes, she liked to stop by the dorm and primp a bit after her HCP classes and necessary shower, but after an exam day, she was too wiped out to do anything but trudge up to the surface and deal with her last topside class. At least, with Subtlety only having finals at the end of the semester, it meant that her testing was over for the week, save for when she had to jump in on other people’s trials. She’d put on a good showing as well, not that anyone was particularly surprised. Alice wasn’t certain how she’d stacked up in terms of overall power against the rest of the class, but she was unquestionably one of the top Control students in her year.

                     Grabbing a backpack and pausing to tie her sneakers, Alice headed into the hallway, on track for the lifts. Her mind was still in a post-battle fugue as she made her way across the concrete halls, which was why she didn’t notice Angela’s presence until the older girl laid a hand on her shoulder.

                     “Gah!” Alice yelped and jumped into the air, though she didn’t float or linger, simply dropping back to the ground as if gravity held sway over her.

                     “Whoa, calm it down there,” Angela said. “I called your name twice.”

                     “Huh?” Alice’s heart slowed down quickly; it was almost unnerving how fast she adapted to shocks and surprises these days. “Oh, sorry. Just had my exam, so I’m a little out of it.”

                     “Happens to the best of us,” Angela replied. She too wore a slight sheen and damp hair that spoke to time spent training, followed by a hurried shower. It was essentially the heading-back-to-class uniform for HCP students. It might have marked them as suspicious, if not for the fact that many students showed up in their pajamas, meaning people who had just showered were hardly the most eye-catchingly different of the lot.

                     “Anyway, tonight is the last chance for sign-ups on the rodeo,” Angela continued. “I wanted to see if you’d finally decided to come give it a go with me.”

                     “I’m still sort of on the fence about it,” Alice admitted. While it seemed like it would be fun, she wasn’t sure how comfortable she felt in that sort of spotlight. After nearly three years of trying to blend in and go unnoticed, any sort of mass attention made her feel uneasy. “Sorry, I know you needed a partner and everything.”

                     “It’s not a big deal. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll just join up with one of the other girls who asked me to be on their team. No hard feelings.” Angela gave Alice a soft punch on the shoulder, then started heading back down the hall.

                     “Wait, you had other options? I thought you were just asking me because you needed someone to sign up with you?” Alice’s words stopped Angela, who turned back around with a furrowed brow.

                     “Why wouldn’t I have other options? I do have my own friends, you know, many of whom work at the same bar as us.”

                     “Then . . . why were you trying so hard to get me to do the rodeo with you?” Alice asked.

                     Angela let out a long sigh and walked back over to Alice, promptly rapping lightly on her fellow blonde’s skull. “Because I like you, ding-dong. You’re a fancy bitch, but from what I’ve heard, you kick some serious ass. I thought it might do you good to cut loose and go a little wild. Your friends are nice people, but hardly the most unpredictable bunch.”

                     “You clearly didn’t spend enough time around Nick before he left, then,” Alice muttered.

                     “Oh, yeah, I heard some tales about that kid. Point being, he’s not here anymore, and I thought you’d like having some fun at the Cowgirl Rodeo. Plus, a thousand bucks is a thousand bucks, and we’d have kicked the shit out of those other broads.”

                     “You really think we’d have won?” Alice could feel some of Angela’s enthusiasm leaking into her, but she wasn’t quite sure how to stop it, or, truthfully, if she even wanted to.

                     “Two HCP gals like us? We’d have wiped the floor with all the others.”

                     “I’m pretty sure we can’t use our powers in bull-riding or three-beer roping, whatever that is,” Alice pointed out.

                     “What ‘that is,’ is a shitload of fun,” Angela told her. “You chug three beers, then spin around three times, and then you have to rope one of the bartenders carrying around empty keg shells. And we don’t need our powers to win. We’ve got years of training and physical conditioning under our belts that the others won’t have a prayer of matching.”

                     “I think two of my other friends are entering,” Alice said. “So that’s at least one more set of HCP girls in the competition.”

                     A devilish grin spread across Angela’s face, the kind that made Alice feel both curious and a bit terrified all at once. “Seriously? That’s awesome! I was really worried there wouldn’t be anybody worth taking on this year. If there’s going to be actual competition, then it will be way better than I was hoping for.”

                     “I think most people would prefer the easy win.” Alice wasn’t certain whether she was included in that group or not anymore. Certainly, when she’d started off in the HCP, she’d have taken a win over a challenge any day, but it was a rare week when Alice didn’t find her thoughts drifting back to last year’s aerial battle with Violet, or her duel with the Sims. Strangely, those memories conjured excitement in her, a type of fire she wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever experienced before.

                     “Most people are wimps and cowards,” Angela replied. “The best battles are the ones that push you to the edge, the ones that force you to find a way to get better, or stronger, or faster, all in the heat of the moment. That’s where greatness lives.” Angela shook her head, realizing she’d gotten a bit caught up in the excitement of having proper competition. “Anyway, thanks for the heads up. I’ll make sure to pick your replacement more carefully, now that I know there are real contenders showing up.”

                     “Like hell you will,” Alice replied. “We’re signing up as a team tonight.”

                     “Really? Did you find my speech that rousing?” Angela asked.

                     “No, but I realized that, of everyone here, you seem to be the one who enjoys all of . . . this” —Alice lifted her hands and gestured to the concrete walls around them— “the most. It might be nice to have half as much fun as you do, if only for one night.”

                     “Poetic and irresponsible,” Angela said. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

     194.

                    “Welcome, ye weary warriors, to my den of iniquity and ale. Partake all you like, as I hear you are in dire need of rest.”

                     “Evening to you too, weirdo,” Alice replied, giving Nick a brief hug as the group entered his apartment.

                     “What? I can’t get thematically in the mood?” Nick said, shutting the door and locking it firmly after Hershel and Mary had stepped through. Vince was already seated at the table, unpacking the bag he’d been tasked with carrying. “We’re playing ‘Stone the Villager’ tonight, so I thought I would talk old-timey.”

                     “Iniquity and ale?” Mary asked, staring at Nick with an exasperated expression he curiously found he’d missed in his time away.

                     “I provide the ale, the iniquity is on you lot to come up with. Though, Alice can save hers for tomorrow, since I’d hate for her to use up her whole stockpile before the big rodeo,” Nick said.

                     “Don’t you worry about my iniquity, I’ve got loads of . . . wait, why the hell am I even humoring this discussion?” Alice shook her head and sat down at the table across from Vince. “Stop being an idiot, and let’s just play the game.”

                     “Oooh, does someone perhaps have a touch of stage fright?” Nick walked over to the table, pausing to grab a soda from the fridge in the adjacent kitchen, and plopped down next to Alice. Once, he might have worried about such proximity sending the wrong message, but by this point, there were certain charades that weren’t worth the effort to keep up.

                     “I’ve fought massive mechanical opponents, a professor of the HCP, and lived with you for two years. You think a little mechanical bull-riding can rattle me?”

                     “To be fair, when you did those other things, you weren’t wearing skimpy jean shorts and a revealing top,” Mary pointed out.

                     “Hey now, that was just Angela’s suggestion for a team outfit. I didn’t sign off on anything yet,” Alice replied. Of course, she already knew that she would, which meant Mary knew that as well, making the entire act of denial a pointless endeavor. Still, Alice persisted, because it seemed like the proper thing to do.

                     “Personally, I’m just glad one of us is doing something fun for spring break,” Hershel said. He was setting up the board as Vince unpacked the components, carefully laying each tile down along the game board’s path. “All everyone else is doing is working.”

                     “Jill said she had something fun planned,” Vince reminded him. “She even made us all promise to take next Wednesday off. Plus, there’s Chad’s normal day.”

                     “Which will eat our Tuesday, so we need to make sure and tell Brenda,” Mary instructed. “She’s made it clear we can take what we want off, but only if we give notice.”

                     “Right, we’ll tell her when we work tomorrow,” Vince agreed. “So, that’s two fun things right there.”

                     “I reserve the right to see what Jill comes up with before I yield to the idea of it being fun,” Hershel said. “Though, Violet mentioned that she was bullying Will into helping, so that will at least make it interesting.”

                     “Sometimes I wonder where he finds the time to cook up all those doo-dads,” Vince said.

                     Mary snorted out an involuntary bark of laughter, causing the entire table to look at her. She took a moment to compose her before finally speaking. “What? He said ‘doo-dads.’ I’ve never heard anyone under seventy use, or even think, that word before. It caught me off guard.”

                     “Vince Reynolds, one of the few men to take a telepath by surprise,” Nick announced. He quickly got up from his seat and hurried over to Vince, grabbing the silver-haired young man’s hand and lifting it in the air like a victorious prize-fighter.

                     “And what will you be doing with your spring break?” Alice asked as Nick sauntered back to his seat. “Heading to Vegas for a whirlwind of liquor and gambling, followed up by watching some showgirls?”

                     “Perish the thought,” Nick said. “Then resurrect it and put it on a pedestal, because it’s a fantastic one. But no, sadly, I’ll only be able to manage a quick trip back home at the most. The rest of my time will be spent here, frequenting your various eateries and work establishments so I can pester you while you should be working. Truly, it is a noble endeavor I undertake, but someone must bear this burden.”

                     “Are you really just hanging around Lander?” Hershel asked. “I mean, you don’t have a job, you can go wherever you want.”

                     “Ah, but where else would I want to go, than where my dear and wonderful friends are?” Nick said, grabbing Alice in a side-armed hug that she immediately began twisting to extricate herself from. “Besides, there’s more fun to be had here than in Vegas. You can only see the same shows so many times before it gets a bit repetitive.”

                     Mary managed to avoid meeting Nick’s eyes; there would be little point in the gesture. She knew why he was really staying, about the mounting danger they all faced, but only because it was impossible for him to hide such things from her. It was at the forefront of his mind when he saw everyone, if for no other reason than that he had to employ constant security precautions to make sure their meetings didn’t end in an ambush. Only Mary knew the truth, but she said nothing as Hershel finished setting up the game board.

                     Knowing what was after them would make most of the others want to take action, and that would be their undoing. Nick was right; the only strategy at the moment was to work behind the scenes, and do as much damage control as possible. If they confronted Nathaniel Evers out in the open, they would certainly be able to neutralize the problem, but it would cost some of them their chances of being a Hero, at the very least. If things went truly awful, it could take a toll far more devastating than a mere career.

                     As the banter continued and Hershel began passing out action cards, Mary did chance one long glance at Nick. He was smiling, making jokes, and playing the fool as usual. Sometimes, she wondered how he could bear all that he knew, and all that he’d done, with such a carefree grin plastered perpetually in place. It was a gift that both amazed and scared Mary the longer she knew him. In all their years together, she still wasn’t certain whether Nick was technically on the side of good or evil.

                     All she knew was that he was on their side, and for that, she was infinitely thankful.

     195.

                    As the miniature caravan of three cars pulled into the Six-Shooter parking lot, Alice ogled the generous mass of vehicles that had already arrived. Having worked at the bar since the start of the school year, she was accustomed to seeing it slammed, but never so early in the evening. The sun had barely dipped behind the horizon and already, a line of people extended out the entrance as students waited to have their IDs, some of which were undoubtedly fake, checked by the pair of beefy bouncers perched before the door. It was a testament to how desperately Lander wanted to celebrate the end of finals and the start of spring break that they were beginning the party so early. That, or Roger really had undersold his employees on just how big a draw the event was.

                     Alice cut the wheel of her sedan to the right, pulling up just outside a row of filled parking spaces near the front of the club, and turned to her passengers. “I’m going through the employee entrance in the back. You all can get out here and have a shorter walk.”

                     “My soon-to-be-weary legs thank you,” Mary said. She tried hard not to sound especially grumpy at the idea of a nightclub filled with loud music and drunken thoughts. Alice was attempting to step out of her comfort zone, and Mary wanted to support that. She just wished Alice would have picked an activity in a quieter place; perhaps a poetry reading at the local library.

                     “Yeah, appreciate it,” Will agreed. He opened the door and undid his seat belt, sliding out into the warm spring night as Mary did the same on her side of the car.

                     “I think I’ll tag along to the end,” Nick said. “I’ve never seen the back of this bar before, might make for quite an entertaining experience.”

                     “That’s one of the weirdest, lamest excuses you’ve ever come up with, and for you, that’s saying a lot.” Alice kept the car idling, not shifting gears quite yet. “Don’t you want to get in line with everyone else?”

                     “I trust them to wait for me,” Nick replied. “Ordinarily, I’d hope they’d save a spot, but with Vince and Thomas here, they’ll never allow something as sinful as cutting to slide.”

                     “All the more reason to go get in line with them, then.”

                     “Nah, I’m good.” Nick reclined his chair a few inches back, as if he were settling in for a nice, pleasant nap.

                     “Suit yourself, weirdo.” Alice shifted back into gear and began heading around the large building’s exterior, navigating into the employee lot at the rear. She could see one of the bouncers standing by the door, dutifully making sure that no one tried to sneak in or hassle the employees. She gave a small wave, which the massive man returned.

                     She slipped into an open space—one of the few left, as other employees had clearly shown up before their shift to make as much as possible—and killed the engine. Rather than opening her door, however, Alice pointedly clicked down the locks on her car and turned to Nick.

                     “All right, what’s going on?”

                     “Well, you’re about to parade around in a semi-skimpy outfit for hundreds of ogling strangers, and I’m going to drink liquor and hoot with the rest of the group as you do. Good summation?” Nick asked.

                     “Nick, you’re odd, but at this point, you have to know I realize that a large extent of it is an act. You wouldn’t just come along to the back of the building with me for no reason, and since you were so persistent about it, I have to assume it’s a good one. The most logical guess is that you’re worried someone might try to attack me in a remote place like this, which would be a perfectly valid concern if I weren’t powerful enough to send you floating off into space. So you’re either pointlessly worried, or you think I’m in danger from someone stronger than me. I think we both realize you don’t do anything, not even worry, pointlessly.”

                     Nick stared at her for a long moment; his brown eyes making her feel uncomfortable as they bored into her green irises. It was strange to look Nick in the eyes after so many years of the sunglasses. He still wore them on occasion, but it had become an intermittent habit, and Alice was beginning to appreciate what he looked like when she could see all of his face. At last, Nick let out a soft chuckle and shook his head.

                     “You are so damned aggravating at times. I can slip so much past you, but it seems like the lies you catch are the ones I try the hardest to keep from you.” He turned away, breaking their gaze and looking out the window. “I assume you remember Nathaniel Evers?”

                     “Guy I threw in a dumpster after he ruined our . . . that time at the movies, yeah.”

                     “Correct. My reports say he’s starting to move again, and I fear, this time, he’s looking at all of you as pawns in the game we’re playing. Nathaniel knows that at least some of my associates are in the HCP, thanks in no small part to the level of power you showed him. He’ll want you all off the game board before he makes a run at me.”

                     “Let him try.” Alice felt a flicker of cold in her stomach, a hard stone of determination that she’d previously experienced when she’d dealt with Nathaniel and fought the Sims. Strange as it was, she didn’t hate the idea of getting another go at the orange-eyed bastard. Perhaps a small part of her was even excited by the prospect.

                     “I’m well aware that you’re far stronger than Nathaniel, as is he,” Nick said, turning back toward her. “But he doesn’t have to kill any of you to take you off the board, now does he?”

                     Alice’s excitement quickly turned to terror as she realized what Nick was saying. If this asshole made them use their powers in public, then a secret identity infraction was inevitable. It was an HCP rule, and not even Dean Blaine would be able to protect them from that.

                     “Oh, shit.”

                     “Relax,” Nick said quickly. “I’m making certain that no such situation ever comes to pass. Just go on living your life as if you’d never heard this news.”

                     “Yeah, that might be kind of tough,” Alice admitted.

                     “I know. It’s why I tried to hide it from you in the first place,” Nick replied. “With that in mind, perhaps you wouldn’t mind keeping this from the others? Mary knows, of course, but I mean everyone else. I don’t want to worry them, since there’s nothing they can do.”

                     “I’ll think about it,” Alice said. She reached over and unlocked the doors, then popped off her seatbelt and stepped out of the car. Nick followed suit, and a moment later, they were both standing in the new night’s air.

                     “One last thing.” Alice looked at Nick from over the roof of the car, her height making it easy to see him. “What’s the bet?”

                     “The bet?”

                     “Yeah, the bet. I’m about to go enter a damn contest back here.” Alice jerked her thumb toward the doorway with the lone bouncer in front. “What do I get if I come in first?”

                     “Bar merchandise and a thousand dollars to split, as I recall.” A sly grin was spreading across Nick’s face as he took the meaning of the words. “But if you mean what would you get from me, well, that depends on what you want.”

                     “A date. Only this time, you’re going to be the one in charge of it. Planning, paying, all that crap. I want you to take me out in a proper fashion.” Earlier in the year, Alice wouldn’t have been able to deliver such a demand without turning squeamish. As Nick stared at her over her car, he couldn’t sense so much as a flicker of fear or uncertainty in her. Not for the first time, he marveled at the woman who had grown from the girl he’d first met.

                     “It’s a deal. However, if you don’t take first, then I will plan a whole day for us composed entirely of things I enjoy, and you can’t stand.”

                     “I get a date, and you get a day? Seems a little unbalanced,” Alice pointed out.

                     “You have Angela on your team. It’s assumed I should get better odds, since my wager is less likely to win,” Nick countered.

                     “Guess it doesn’t really matter, anyway,” Alice said. “‘Cause I’m damned sure going to win this thing. A date for a day, consider it a bet.”

     196.

                    Despite her looks, wealth, and social standing, Alice had never done pageants or balls. The risk that she might get overly excited or happy and start floating up to the ceiling had simply been too great. Her interactions with other women of high society had been confined to rigid, formal occasions like dinners or tea. She loathed them, and often couldn’t stand the people who enjoyed them, which had meant she was never at risk of getting so happy she committed the faux pas of floating. It was this lack of experience that caused her to nearly gag as she entered the female employee changing room—designated for contestants tonight—and choked on the mist of hairspray coating the air.

                     All around her were other young women in various stages of undress as they changed into their team outfits. Some had chosen function over fashion, picking clothes that were easy to move in and provided good coverage, while others were wearing clothes with only a few inches of fabric more than a bathing suit. A couple of teams wore matching ensembles, but most had only gone as far as trying to coordinate color-scheme. Alice felt dizzy in the once familiar area, though whether it was due to the crush of bodies or the fog of hairspray was impossible to say for sure. Just as she began to reel, a strong hand reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the thickest part of the crowd and off to a corner.

                     “Hell of a lot of competition,” Angela said, as she hauled Alice to safety. She was already dressed in jean shorts and a pink-and-white plaid, button-down top with more than a few of those buttons left unlatched. Atop her head was a pink cowboy hat, an aspect of the planned outfit she hadn’t bothered relaying to Alice. “But we’ll take ‘em all down. Now, hurry up and get changed. They’re going to do team intros in ten or so.”

                     “Yeah, sure, just give me a second to get my lungs working again,” Alice managed to choke out. “There are a lot of people here. At least a hundred. It’s going to take forever for us to all do every event.”

                     “Oh no, only ten teams actually get to compete,” Angela explained. “We do the intro walk, and then it is right into the qualifier round. Top ten teams get to play for the win; everyone else gets a free beer as thanks for coming out.”

                     “Wait, what? We might not even get to compete?”

                     “Relax.” Angela put an arm around her teammate’s shoulders. “I made the qualifying rounds last year with a deadweight partner I had to pull along the whole time. We’ll crush it with no issue. Plus, unlike most of these gals, you and I are used to playing for high stakes.”

                     “You still could have warned me about it,” Alice grumbled as she stripped out of her jeans and stepped into an outfit that, while similar, wasn’t quite a perfect match for Angela’s. Her shorts were a bit longer, and the design on her shirt was slightly different. Still, anyone who looked at them would see them as a group, and that was the point of the outfits in the first place.

                     “Sure, I could have, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, if I thought you needed preparation to win something this easy, I would never have asked you to be on my team,” Angela said.

                     Alice realized this was a fight she wouldn’t be winning, so she decided to focus on doing something productive, like information gathering, instead. “Fine, can you at least tell me which event is the qualifier, so I know what I’m heading into?”

                     “I suppose it can’t do any harm.” But despite Angela’s words, the gleam in her eye said it could do just so very much harm. And that gleam rarely lied.

     *             *             *

                     Though the line outside Six-Shooter had been massive, the bouncers managed to process each person’s entry with a methodical, efficient speed. IDs were shown, money was collected (from both genders, in a rare change of policy), and students were ushered in. While the dance floor in the middle of the bar was roped off, as well as filled with various props and tools, the bars were certainly open and doing brisk business. Nick and Will managed to get a small round of drinks due only to the fact that Chad was working and dealing with things at his usual relentless pace. Roy stood beside him, and with the free time created by Chad’s speed, he managed to slip his friends their drinks ahead of the others in the large crowd congregated in front of the bar.

                     Since conversation was impossible, Nick and Will merely took the drinks across the club to the small area where the others were closely guarding the single small, circular table they’d found free. Vince and Thomas stood on either side with hands clearly resting on the area, their size and evident muscles keeping anyone from attempting to hi-jack the momentarily drink-less table. That need was remedied as Nick and Will deposited their load of beverages and began handing them out.

                     “Okay, sodas for Vince and Mary,” Nick said, carefully sliding the fizzing liquids the short distance across the table to their owners. “Camille and Thomas both had beers; leaving me with my gin and tonic, Alex with the screwdriver, and Will with his cider.”

                     “It’s so strange to see an order come back from the bar without an array of unwanted shots attached,” Thomas noted, as he watched the drinks being handed out. “I suppose that’s because the only time I come to these places is with Violet, though.”

                     “Personally, I’m rather enjoying the lack of peer pressure,” Will said. “Almost makes these places more enjoyable. We should talk Jill and Violet into entering things like this more often.”

                     “I’ll wait to see the damage before I get on board with encouraging them,” Thomas replied.

                     Nick, drink-dispensing duties fulfilled, allowed himself to sip his own cocktail, and as he did, he noticed Mary staring wordlessly from the other side of the tiny table. She lifted a single eyebrow for only a second, to which Nick responded with a half-shake of his head.

                     He imagined it was hard for her, unable to pick out many thoughts with the loud music pounding around them; especially since she was the only other one besides Alice who knew about the danger that might be lurking. So far, he hadn’t found anything to hint at an attack tonight, and that was bothering him. This was a huge event, with tons of witnesses around and far too many people to keep watch on. Add in that Alice had announced her presence by signing up in advance, and it was the perfect chance for Nathaniel to strike. Were the tables turned, it was the sort of opportunity Nick would have certainly seized. All of which made it the more confusing that Nick hadn’t spotted so much as a single red flag.

                     Because it meant that either Nathaniel was perfectly concealing his plan of attack from Nick, or that Nick was entirely misreading Nathaniel’s timeframe for a move. Either way, it meant playing in the dark, and Nick loathed such circumstances.

                     Somehow, he’d have to find a way to cheat.

     197.

                    Roger’s voice boomed over the microphone, despite its ever-present detached tone, making him sound like an overlord who really couldn’t be bothered with any of this and would very much like to get back to his proper duties. He called names as the women walked out, most of which were entirely foreign to Alice. She recognized a few others as girls she worked with at the bar, but the only people besides Angela that Alice knew especially well were Jill and Violet. They gave a polite wave, which Alice returned when their eyes met. It was the maximum amount of greeting possible with the throng of women between them. They were ahead in line, and a few moments later, that duo headed toward the repurposed dance floor as Roger’s voice announced their names.

                     “Our next duo coming up is Violet Sullivan and Jill Murray.”

                     A loud burst of cheering rang out, much the same as what greeted the others as they left, though Alice thought she recognized a few familiar voices among the cheers. Once they were gone, there were only a few teams left before she and Angela walked out. Alice felt the familiar sensation of nerves in her gut, and then immediately chastised herself for such a sentiment. She’d fought Supers and robots and professors; this was not the sort of thing that should worry her in the slightest.

                     “Buck up,” Angela said. “You look like you’re thinking about puking. Which, if that’s the case, please do so while we’re back here. No one is going to root for the gals who vomit.”

                     “I’m fine,” Alice replied. “Nothing to worry about at all.”

                     “Uh huh. There’s nothing wrong with a little stage fright, you know. No shame, I mean. Almost anyone would get it in a situation like this.”

                     “You seem pretty calm,” Alice pointed out.

                     “True, but you’re forgetting that I’ve already done this thing once before. Plus, and this part is super important, I am really fucked up overall. The sort of things it takes to scare me are neither healthy nor reasonable, so I should in no way be used as the litmus test for what fears are natural.” Angela’s tone never wavered; she delivered such a self-effacing statement with the same sly grin and cheery voice that accompanied most of the things she said. In a way, that made it all the more unsettling for Alice.

                     “That’s a fairly weird thing to think about yourself.” Alice was clawing about for what to say in response, ultimately deciding to keep her reply as neutral as possible.

                     “First rule for any warrior is to know thy self. What makes you strong, what makes you weak, what parts of you are fortified, and which pieces are broken beyond repair. When you know everything, no one can use your own flaws against you. At least, not easily.”

                     Despite the fact that Alice would have very much liked to continue that conversation, the line moved forward, and it was their turn to head out into the club. The one upside of talking to Angela was that Alice’s nerves about the games had altogether vanished. Now, she was more preoccupied with wondering just what sort of things Angela had been through to produce such sentiments.

                     And, more importantly, if another year in the HCP would lead Alice to think the same way.

     *             *             *

                     The table erupted in cheers for Alice and Angela, just as it had for Jill and Violet. A nearby group shot them a few dirty looks, but said nothing as the cheering died away once Alice and Angela took their spots on stage.

                     Two more teams came out, and with that, the entire roster of entrants in the Cowgirl Rodeo was officially lined up. Dozens of young women were there, some looking shy, others waving to the crowd in an attempt to win favor. The pageantry only lasted a few moments before Roger’s voice came over the speakers once more.

                     “Another big thanks to everyone who entered our competition this year. I’m proud to report that this is the largest number of entrants we’ve ever had.”

                     Though nothing in Roger’s words called for it, another round of cheering erupted from the contestants and the audience, because alcohol and a show are known for producing a very easy-to-please audience. Once it died down, Roger’s narration resumed.

                     “However, as many of you know, we can only accept ten teams into the events. Which means, right now, we’re going to have a contest to see who makes the cut into the official games. Bartenders, if you would.”

                     From the back came a parade of bartenders, Chad and Roy included, who carried quarter barrel kegs—better known as pony kegs—out with them. Some men carried only a single one, while the larger or stronger ones had a keg in each hand. They made their way across the stage, setting a single keg down in front of each team. As the kegs were being doled out, Roger’s voice continued the explanation.

                     “Our first event is a simple test of determination; we’ll check to see which contestants want to make it the most. On my signal, your team will lift the keg in front of you up from the ground, using any grip you like. All team members must have hands on the keg, however. After that, all you have to do is keep it from touching the ground. Last ten teams with their kegs still up in the air are our qualifiers. Couldn’t be simpler.”

                     Alice thought she heard a bit of snark creeping into Roger’s voice, but then decided she must be imagining it. Roy appeared in front of her seconds later, carefully setting down the pony keg in front of her and Angela.

                     “Technically speaking, we’re neutral in all this, but I’m still gonna wish you both good luck,” he said.

                     “I’ll gladly accept it,” Angela replied. “Every advantage helps.”

                     Roy nodded and moved on to the next team, setting their keg down without adding the bit of good cheer. Alice and Angela positioned themselves around the metal cylinder, each gripping one of the handles. They didn’t need to speak or coordinate; the task before them was obvious.

                     Just don’t quit. That was all they had to do. Alice almost felt bad for everyone else there. They had no idea how much experience the HCP women had at refusing to give up, no matter how weary or battered they felt.

                     “Everyone, lift!” Roger announced.

                     And just like that, the Cowgirl Rodeo had officially begun.

     198.

                    A pony keg, Alice would later learn after a curious internet search, weighed ninety pounds when filled with beer, and the one she and Angela were hoisting most certainly was topped off. Split between two people, that made for forty-five pounds each, not a trifle, but hardly something that was beyond even a relatively weak person’s ability to support. The issue wasn’t the weight, unfortunately, but rather the metal that started digging into her hands after only a few moments. Her grip would be the thing to give out before any other part of her body; Alice saw that immediately. Roger’s summation of the events was an apt one. It was, more than about strength, about the willpower to keep hanging on despite growing discomfort.

                     The first keg hit the ground less than twenty seconds after the contest started. From the way it clanged and clattered, it was evident that someone on the team hadn’t gotten a proper hold when they lifted and had ultimately lost their grip. Within two minutes, the first true losers set down their keg, giving up the battle in favor of a free beer and pain-free hands. After that, teams began dropping quickly; with the stigma of being the first to quit erased, wills broke quickly as fingers protested.

                     Despite her training, Alice’s hands were only somewhat more powerful than the other contestants’. Since she didn’t need a particularly strong grip for her fighting styles, it was an aspect of her body she trained perfunctorily in gym, with no extra emphasis in her off hours. Thankfully, it wasn’t a contest of who had the strongest grip; it was about who could hang on through the pain, and that was an area Alice was a damned expert at.

                     Compared to her gym sessions under the professors, the wounds she’d taken in class matches, and the exhaustion of training until she couldn’t see straight, holding up a small keg was nothing. She met Angela’s eyes, and they both knew, without saying a word, that they would collapse on this stage before letting themselves be broken by something so trivial. In fact, Alice was so lost in keeping her resolve firm that she didn’t even notice as the eleventh team still standing lowered their keg and signaled defeat.

                     “And that’s the end of our qualifying round,” Roger announced, shocking Alice so much she nearly dropped the keg in surprise. Only training and a fierce grip kept it in her hands, which was good—both for not being embarrassed on stage, and for the feet she had positioned directly beneath the steel cylinder.

                     “Everyone still holding a keg, please set it down. Our bartenders are going to come collect them and set the stage for the next event.”

                     “One down,” Angela said, carefully lowering her side of the keg to the floor.

                     “If they’re all that easy, we’ve got this in the bag,” Alice replied.

                     Angela snorted, and then nodded her head to the right. “After this, we can’t just survive, though. We have to win, and your friends are still in the running.”

                     Alice did a quick glance to the right and was unsurprised to see Jill and Violet lowering their keg as well. She hadn’t expected the others to be knocked out by such an easy event, and in fact, would have been disappointed if they had been. While she might not be quite as thrilled as Angela at the idea of a tough competition, she did like doing things with her friends. Even if she was set against them, Alice was happier having Jill and Violet in the fray.

                     If nothing else, it would prove to keep things entertaining.

     *             *             *

                     Nick felt his phone vibrate against his leg and casually slipped the device out of his pocket. He was glad this was coming during an event shift; taking a text while he was supposed to be cheering for Alice would have put the others on alert. As he skimmed the contents, Nick realized that it didn’t quite matter when he’d gotten this message. It required action, more than he’d be able to pull off while sitting at the table. He needed to get clear, as quickly and as inconspicuously as he could. Since his presence would obviously be missed, that meant he had to take an approach that was overt rather than covert.

                     “Aaaaaand this is the day when I learn the price of my hubris,” Nick said, reaching down and gripping his stomach. “Oh, sweet mercy. Oh, good Lord in heaven.”

                     “Are you okay?” Vince asked, immediately at his friend’s side.

                     “I’m fine. The gas station burrito I ate before meeting up with you guys, on the other hand, has seemingly decided that I’ve taken it prisoner like a war criminal, and it demands to be set free.”

                     “You can just go to the bathroom,” Thomas said. “We don’t need every detail.”

                     “Well, blame Vince for asking. I’ll be back in . . . I don’t know. This is going to take however long it takes; I’m merely holding on for the ride. If I’m not back by the next event, cheer for Alice extra—” Nick winced and tightened the hold on his stomach. “Yup, that ends my time to talk about this. Got to go!”

                     Without another word, Nick slunk away through the crowd, moving with the swiftness of a man presumably on the verge of public humiliation and ruined clothes. He was nearly to the bathrooms, which were conveniently near the back exit, when he felt a small hand tighten on his arm. Before he even turned, he knew who it was. Still, he kept the pained expression on his face and the grip on his stomach as he looked at the person holding him, just in case.

                     “What excuse did you use?” Nick asked.

                     “I just excused myself,” Mary replied. “I’m a girl; we don’t make such spectacles of our internal functions.”

                     “Normally, neither do I, but when you gotta go . . .”

                     “But you don’t, at least, not in that way. Tell me what’s going on,” Mary demanded. Since they were near the restrooms, the normal racket of the club was slightly diminished, allowing for non-shouted conversation. This small measure of privacy wasn’t much, but it was enough for Nick to risk giving her a reply.

                     “Jerome and Eliza have been keeping watch on this place. They just sent me word that around ten people arrived all at once and started milling about in the parking lot. This group seems a little too old and rough for Six-Shooter, and, if that weren’t enough, they have a special guest with them.”

                     Mary could read it in Nick’s face easier than in his mind. He was concerned, and there were precious few things Mary had ever encountered that could worry Nick.

                     “Nathaniel is with them,” she said.

                     “Which is why I need to be out there,” Nick replied.

                     “You said he has ten people with him. What are you going to do against that?”

                     Nick shrugged, and then favored Mary with a cheerful smile. “I’ll think of something. I always do. You just keep everyone in here and out of the action. If they reveal themselves, Nathaniel wins, and I’ll be damned if I’m giving that little shit even a partial victory.”

                     “I take it you think you can beat him,” Mary said, finally releasing her grip on Nick’s arm.

                     “You know me; I never make a bet I don’t think I can win.” With that, Nick headed past the bathrooms, out the back door, and into the night.

     199.

                   Nick didn’t whistle as he walked across the parking lot, away from the line and the neon lights, and into the half-dark area where a group of large men, many in leather, were all milling about. It was tempting, and it would be a good way to show them all how unintimidated he was by their size and numbers, but ultimately, Nick didn’t feel it was appropriate to the situation. Whistling would show his usual blasé attitude toward Nathaniel’s shenanigans, and Nick wasn’t feeling particularly carefree as he trudged across the sea of concrete. It was time to make Nathaniel realize that too much more poking around would lead to him having to deal with Serious Nick, a prospect that terrified those who were fortunate enough to have survived it.

                     “Evening, gents,” Nick announced as he came upon the group of wide-shouldered people. He quickly noted that none wore gang markings associated with Vegas, or Nevada at all, for that matter. So Nathaniel was either using local talent or working outside the usual resource pool. That was to be expected, though, since the Evers were no longer backing Nathaniel’s plays, but it deepened Nick’s curiosity about where these goons were coming from.

                     “And a good evening to you, Nicholas.” Nathaniel stepped out from the group, his orange eyes flickering in the darkness. The effect was unsettling with the shadows surrounding him, but Nick had seen that trick too many times to be bothered by it. Even before Lander, he’d thought of Nathaniel as a half-challenge, at best. After dealing with HCP caliber students, the idea of Nathaniel being dangerous was laughable. All the same, Nick kept his guard up as he watched the young man walk away from his group and move a few steps closer.

                     “If you’re all here to watch the Cowgirl Rodeo, you just missed the qualifiers, but I think you can catch the shot races.”

                     “Sounds like quite a thrilling event. Tell me, is that lovely blonde you had on your arm competing?” Nathaniel asked. “She’s such a fierce one, it almost seems unfair to the other contestants.”

                     “Well, life isn’t exactly fair in the first place. We both know about that a little too well, don’t we?” Nick replied. “One of us gets a good power he can’t control, the other one has control of a power that creeps people out and makes him ineligible to rise through the ranks. When you really get down to it, we probably should have been friends, given our similarities.”

                     “Except that you have the sort of arrogance that not even gods could pull off, and I abhor everything about you and your family,” Nathaniel replied.

                     “True; plus, you’re a creepy sociopath with no redeeming or interesting qualities,” Nick said. “Guess we weren’t meant to be friends, after all. But that’s no reason we have to be enemies like this. You and the peanut gallery can still walk away.”

                     “Of course you would want to call it quits when I’ve gotten you outmaneuvered.”

                     Nick carefully raised a single eyebrow and glanced toward the seemingly empty street. “Do you, though? We’ve been at this a long while, Nathaniel. Do you really think I’d just come out here, on my own, with no backup or trump card to turn things around?” Nick wasn’t bluffing, but he was also dearly hoping not to be called out. Surprise assets were better than ones the enemy knew about, after all.

                     “Actually, no, I don’t.” Nathaniel’s eyes seemed to brighten, the flickering orange light casting a soft glow on his pale face. “You see, we have been at this a long time, which means I know you always have contingency plans in place. I’m sure, right now, Eliza is watching us through the scope of a rifle, Jerome is ready to jump in at a moment’s notice, you have several weapons concealed on your person, and there are probably at least three other assets ready to converge the moment I escalate our encounter beyond wordplay. Which is why I’m not going to do that. My friends and I are going to peacefully walk out of this parking lot, making no aggressive moves against you.”

                     “Interesting strategy. Come all the way out here just to annoy me and try to spoil my night,” Nick said. “Honestly, I’m a little impressed. It has a subtle touch that you generally lack with your schemes.”

                     “Thank you. My inspiration came from a single, simple realization about you.” Nathaniel turned and began heading back toward his group of lingering goons. As he walked, he looked back and tossed out a few parting words.

                     “Even the great Nicholas Campbell can only be in a single place at a time.”

                     Nimble as Nick’s mind was, it still didn’t have time to work out the meaning of Nathaniel’s words before he heard the sound of people yelling from behind him. Spinning on his heel, Nick saw dark smoke beginning to stream out of Six-Shooter’s roof.

                     “You goddamned son of a bitch.” Nick didn’t bother hurling the insult at Nathaniel’s face; instead, he started sprinting across the concrete, making a beeline right for the building. As he ran, Nick pulled out his cell phone and punched a number on the speed dial. It rang exactly one time before Jerome’s familiar voice greeted with a single “Hello.”

                     “I need you and Eliza down here now. Nathaniel lured me out, but had people inside the club start some fires. You need to open up an escape route to get everyone out of that building as fast as possible.”

                     “We’re heading down, but I think it will be all right,” Jerome told him. “All the exits still look clear, and Nathaniel’s people are leaving, so everyone inside should be able to get out.”

                     “I’m not worried about people being able to get out; I’m worried about a certain someone with a knack for making fire go away deciding to play Hero. The only way to keep that idiot from doing something stupid is to make sure he sees there’s no need for it. Hence, we need to get this place empty, and fast.”

                     Nick clicked off the phone as he reached the back door. Smoke was already beginning to trickle out, as were a healthy amount of people, but he managed to jostle and slam his way through the current of bodies and back into the club. As he moved, his irises began to turn from brown to a glowing, golden hue.

                     Much as he hated using his power out in the open, Nick had a feeling he was going to need all the luck he could get.

     200.

                    Vince was the first to notice the flames. While his ability to sense energy was dim much of the time—requiring focus to lock on to anything concrete—it was still present enough for him to feel the sudden surges of heat blooming in various locations around the building. For a moment, he took it to be some aspect of the show—perhaps the women would have to do some sort of roasting meat challenge. As the fires grew, Vince’s certainty waned. They were spreading faster than any contained flames should, and his gut told him a fire alarm should have sounded by now.

                     “Mary,” Vince said. “Is Roger planning any events that involve fire?”

                     She looked at him from across their small table, narrowing her eyes as she sharpened her mental focus. Those same eyes grew wide as she realized what Vince was concerned about, and she quickly looked up at the stage, where Roger was calmly standing. After a moment of concentrated listening, she shook her head.

                     “Not that I can tell. He seems—”

                     Mary didn’t get to finish her comment, as Vince was already sprinting through the crowd, toward the stage. He mumbled apologies as he ran, keeping his shoving as polite and efficient as it could be, but prioritizing speed above all else. Better to leave someone with sore feet and a few bruises than let them be cooked alive.

                     As Vince reached the stage, one of the bouncers attempted to stop him. There had been many patrons in previous years that drank too much and decided such lovely women were dying for their company, and though the bouncer saw the franticness in Vince’s eyes, he had to make a split-second judgment call as the silver-haired young man sped toward the stage. The bouncer’s meaty hand closed only on air, though, as Vince side-stepped him so easily that the large man wondered if he’d somehow blacked out for a few seconds. And then Vince was gone, on the stage and running toward Roger. Quick as the bouncer was to turn and try to catch up, he was still many steps behind the nimble young man.

                     “Fires,” Vince said, doing his best to keep his voice down as he spoke rapidly to the confused face of Roger Brown. “There are fires in here. Four by my count, and spreading quickly.”

                     Vince’s odd declaration might have required more effort to sell to the bar owner, however, at that point, panicked voices could be heard coming from one of the back areas. Roger heard the noises, took a long look at the earnest expression on Vince’s face, and waved off the bouncer approaching behind the silver-haired young man.

                     “Everyone, it seems we have a small but serious fire breaking out from the kitchen,” Roger said, his voice still steady and reasonable. “We need everyone here to proceed out the nearest exit in a calm, orderly manner while the situation is cleaned up. The rodeo will resume as soon as the fire is fixed, and we’ll do a round on the house as apology for the inconvenience. Again, please move calmly to the exit nearest to you.”

                     Vince braced for a stampede of half-drunk college students slamming into each other as they tried to get to safety. Instead, what happened was exactly what Roger had asked for. Every person there looked around, found the closest exit sign, and began filing out steadily. There was some jostling and chaos from the exit near the bathrooms where the first screams had come from, but even that seemed to smooth itself out as the river of fresh bodies poured through it. From that direction, Vince caught sight of a familiar face battling his way against the current, eyes shining golden as he fought his way back into the club.

                     Vince was amazed at how peaceful everyone was being. He chanced a glance at Roger, who had a serene, watchful expression on his face. As he looked at the older man, Vince realized that even his own panic had abated. He knew the situation was still dangerous, and he was worried about his friends’ safety, but it was like he was looking at those emotions on the other side of a waterfall of calmness. Most people would have just taken it as an unexpected response to danger, but Vince was well-acquainted with how his body and mind reacted to stressful situations. He could be detached, certainly; however, this was tranquility on a level that he’d never achieved when shit was hitting the fan. As soon as he realized that, Vince knew. It was more hunch than provable fact, but he knew all the same.

                     “You’re a Super,” Vince said, half-whispering in case the microphone in Roger’s hand was still on. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, though; most people were too occupied with peacefully exiting the building. Dimly, Vince realized he could smell smoke and see it streaming out of one of the back areas.

                     Roger nodded, eyes never leaving the dispersing patrons as they emptied out of the club. “I’m nothing too special; I have a low-level auditory resonance ability. Whatever emotions I put into my voice are mirrored in the people listening. This is about the maximum I can do, though.”

                     “Must be a pretty handy talent.” Vince groped about for words, trying to think of what he could say. Roger might know about most of his friends and their powers, but to him, Roger Brown was a stranger. There was no sense in revealing his abilities or HCP status to someone he wasn’t cleared to share things with. Luckily, Roger took the discussion out of Vince’s hands before he could blurt out something dumb.

                     “Looks like things are clear enough for us to vamoose too.” Roger pointed toward the front exit, which was nearly empty, thanks to the efficient exodus. The only remaining people were Camille, Mary, Roy, and Alex; who’d gotten a good enough view to see Vince still lingering about. Nick hurried across the club and quickly joined them, throwing Vince a vicious glare with his once-again brown irises. They weren’t worried about Vince’s safety; that much was evident. They were there to make sure he didn’t try anything stupid that would get him exposed.

                     “Are . . . are you sure we shouldn’t try to do something about the fires?” Vince could feel each of them. It would take him no time at all to go absorb them, containing the threat and damage they could do. He could end this in a matter of minutes, but if they left, there was no telling how much of the club would be eaten by hungry flames.

                     “I’m positive,” Roger said, gently putting a hand on Vince’s shoulder and guiding him toward the exit. “These things happen, but I’ve got great insurance, and Lander has a capable fire department. The only thing we’ll do by butting in is get ourselves hurt.”

                     Vince didn’t like the idea of walking out when he could do something; in fact, it made his stomach twist in impotent frustration. But with Roger right on him, and hundreds of witnesses who might be curious about a vanishing fire, he couldn’t see any way out of the situation.

                     Since the people were gone, Vince let it go. He couldn’t have walked away if there were others in danger, but with the only casualty being something replaceable, he let himself be led out of the building and into the crowded parking lot.

     201.

                     The screech of impending sirens sliced through the hushed muttering of the crowd as they milled about outside Six-Shooter. With the imminent danger passed, most people’s bodies were experiencing the slow crash that came after a rush of adrenaline. As for the HCP students, it took a bit more than a few scattered flames to truly elevate their heart rates. Roger stood out in front of the parking lot, waving off any cars that tried to enter so that there would be room for the fire trucks.

                     “Everyone seems to be out,” Alex said. He’d been combing the building for a solid minute with his mind, and thus far, had failed to turn up a single remaining student.

                     “That’s what I’m getting, too,” Mary confirmed. “Looks like Roger was able to evacuate everyone pretty thoroughly.”

                     “I’m glad,” Vince said. “This could have gone really badly with that many people in one place. We should all be thankful—”

                     They felt the explosion before they heard it, a wave of force that blew against them like a hot wind from a passing eighteen-wheeler. When the noise did hit, it was with a roar that drove many of the normal students to their knees. The HCP group was sent to the ground as well, though, in their case, it was due to tackling others for their safety. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the noise and force faded away, leaving only a ringing in everyone’s ears.

                     A ringing . . . and a blown-out hole in a club that was now almost entirely engulfed in flames. The students stared, wide-eyed, at the deathtrap they’d all been partying in only minutes before. Many of them would go home that night to call their parents and loved ones. Some would change majors and life directions. Others would spend the next several days in a steady intake of alcohol.

                     Nick Campbell would do none of those things. As he looked at the remains of what had so recently been a place full of fun and happiness, he truly understood, for the first time, how far Nathaniel was willing to go. This had only been his warning shot, a gambit to get Nick overly worried and off his game. When the true attack came, it would be swift and merciless. And Nick was damned sure going to be ready.

                     It was time the others were, too.

     *             *             *

                   “His name is Nathaniel Evers. We both grew up in Las Vegas, though we are connected to very different Families. His power first manifested when he was five years old, and that pretty much marked the beginning of the end for him. Nathaniel can see other people’s fears, induce hallucinations, and feed off their terror like a psychic vampire. It ups his physical abilities considerably, though neither they, nor his illusions are what most of us would consider especially powerful. The HCP has given us a somewhat distorted scale of a Super’s abilities, though.”

                     “I broke out of the illusion he threw me in within seconds,” Alice added. “True, he used something I’m not afraid of anymore, but compared to Rich’s mind-fu or Selena’s songs, it seemed pretty paltry.”

                     “Nathaniel’s abilities have never been what made him dangerous,” Nick agreed. “If anything, they’ve been a detriment to him. The amount of discomfort he inherently stirs in people means that, while there is certainly always a place for him in illicit organizations, he’ll never have the necessary charisma and people skills to be a leader. This, by the way, is what I attribute his hatred of me to. Despite being a Powered, I do have enough of a way with words to rise through my Family’s ranks. Since Supers are supposed to be better than Powereds, this no doubt stirs endless ire in him.”

                     “Wait, so he bombed Six-Shooter because he’s mad about you being good with people?” Vince asked. He, along with Mary, Roy, Chad, and Alice, were all gathered at Nick’s dining room table. Once things had finally settled down enough for basic communication, Nick had gathered all of the Melbrook residents and convened an emergency meeting. It was clear he could no longer protect his friends without their knowledge, and it was time they knew what was lurking out there. Though it went against his better judgment, Chad was invited with the others, since he was likely lumped in with them in Nathaniel’s eyes. After all, they did all live together in one dorm.

                     “What I alluded to was only the impetus of his grudge against me,” Nick said. “It has been exacerbated by years of failing to prove his perceived superiority, as well as a bit of instigation on my part. I’ve never been particularly fond of him either, to say the least. None of that is really relevant, though. What matters is that I believe he’s trying to take our dispute out on all of you, by trying to either harm you, or force you to publicly reveal your powers.”

                     “If he wanted to do that, he should have detonated his bomb before the club was vacated,” Chad pointed out. He was taking the news with his usual resolve, which the others had finally learned said nothing of the true emotional storm brewing inside his head.

                     “That’s because it wasn’t a real attempt,” Nick replied. “He’s trying to rattle me; to split my focus. The whole point of tonight was showing me what he could do. If he’d had more people setting fires, or detonated the bomb a little earlier, or bothered to bar the exits, or a million other things along that avenue, one of you might have had to use your abilities.”

                     “He blew up a fucking building, which, right now, the cops are sure as shit investigating. Maybe he won’t get it traced back to him, but that seems like a hell of a risk,” Roy said.

                     “For reasons I’d prefer not to get into, let’s just say that I’m certain Nathaniel knows how to make a relatively untraceable bomb. The risk of getting caught was relatively low, while there were many ways for things to go his way even without making a true effort. That said, he must have been confident we’d all make it out. Nathaniel is like me, in that he loathes taking unnecessary gambles. However, instead of trying to come up with a plan for any potential outcome, he prefers to try and steer a situation to the ending he wants it to arrive at. That makes him less flexible, but more cautious. Nathaniel won’t make his big move until he’s sure he can win, and he’s been doing this long enough to have a good estimate of how likely a victory is.”

                     “It really bothers me that blowing up a club on its biggest night of the year is not his ‘big move,’” Alice said.

                     “So, this guy might try and attack us, or use other people to attack us, at any time or place, and the only thing we can do is not use our abilities?” Vince asked.

                     “More or less, which is why I’ve tried to keep you in the dark until now,” Nick said. “Since you have no recourse, I thought it was best you not lose yourself to worrying about it. Unfortunately, Nathaniel’s resources somehow seem to be increasing, and that means I can’t protect you all from the background anymore. You need to know what’s coming at you, so you have at least a chance of reacting appropriately.”

                     “Why not just kill him?” Every eye in the room turned to Chad, who seemed to realize his words hadn’t quite made sense to the people listening. “Forgive my phrasing; I’m not saying he should die, or that we should kill him. It is merely that you’ve dropped multiple context clues hinting at the fact that both of you are connected to at least semi-illegal enterprises. I’m wondering why he hasn’t been killed for such endeavors before, since this seems to be a running feud.”

                     “The short answer is politics,” Nick replied. “Nathaniel may not be well liked in his Family, but he is useful. Add in that he’s the son of a few of the more well-connected higher ups, and just bumping him off would have been a serious act of aggression. These things do happen, but only if the person in question is a major pain for the Family as a whole, not one member of it. Nathaniel has never been a big enough nuisance for my Family to be willing to deal with. Plus, Ms. Pips thinks it’s good to have someone always trying to kill me. Says it builds caution and forethought.”

                     “Holy shit,” Alice muttered. Now wasn’t the time to discuss Nick’s home life, but in one sentence, she felt like she’d just gotten more insight into his world than she had in the last two years of knowing him.

                     “Anyway, what I can do is cut his legs out from under him,” Nick continued. “He lost Vegas’s support on this vendetta mission months ago. He’s being too costly and overt for them to justify backing him. What I don’t yet know is who he got to pick up the tab. It’s got to be somebody well-connected; he’s throwing around manpower like it’s nothing. Sooner or later, I’ll get the right person to crack, and then, it’s just a matter of making sure the people involved realize that Nathaniel is more trouble to have as a friend than he’s worth—especially when I can make a lovely amigo myself.”

                     “What are we supposed to do until then?” Vince asked. “Shouldn’t we call the cops or something?”

                     “Not enough evidence,” Chad said. “Aside from their fight several months back, which, from Alice’s telling, would compromise her secret identity to report, it sounds like Nathaniel has done nothing that can be tied directly to him.”

                     “Look who watches enough crime shows to keep up.” Nick’s heart wasn’t really in the snark, but he tried to make it out of obligation, if nothing else. “Chad’s spot on, though. For now, all we can do is go about our lives as we normally would. If we hole up, Nathaniel will try and draw us out, and trust me when I say, that situation will be a far more dangerous one.”

                     “Life as normal,” Mary echoed. “Just going about our business, only with the knowledge that a deranged Super with a grudge could try and come after us at any time.”

                     “Oh great, it’s my freshman year all over again.” Vince didn’t mean it as a joke, but as Nick began to snicker, then Alice, and finally Mary and Roy, he realized he’d inadvertently hit right on the spot of dark humor that eased their tension, so he began to chuckle as well. Only Chad didn’t get the joke, and by the time they explained to him about Michael’s antics, it had ceased to be particularly funny, though some amount of levity remained in the air.

                     Serious as their situation was, they’d faced dangerous things before, and all of them were still standing. Nathaniel might be set on taking them down, but they would make damn sure he had to earn it.

     202.

                    Despite the surge of action on Friday, the rest of the weekend passed relatively without incident. Most of the students headed off on Saturday morning, bound for houses that no longer quite felt like homes, or exotic destinations that would leave them with foggy memories, a few bruises, and massive hangovers. For the Melbrook dorm, little changed from a regular weekend, save for the fact that most of their non-resident friends were gone. Even Alex’s constant presence was interrupted as he decided to take a week at home with his folks. Only Nick, Camille, Shane, and Angela were still at Lander, though the pair of siblings planned to head home to see their family Wednesday night.

                     By the time Tuesday rolled around, the threat of Nathaniel’s attack had lost its sense of imminence and was relegated to a small worry that tickled the back of the students’ minds as they filed into the Melbrook kitchen to find Chad already at the stove, preparing an almost cartoonishly sized stack of pancakes.

                     “Morning,” Chad said, greeting his sleepy-eyed fellow students as they wandered in. Life at Lander had gotten everyone used to waking up a certain hour, and it would take more than just a lack of classes to break that habit.

                     “Mrrfrpuhph,” Alice mumbled, shambling over to the coffee maker only to find a fresh pot already brewed. She poured herself a generous mug, eschewing things like cream or sugar, and then passed the pot to Hershel, who was not so stingy with the sweeteners.

                     “Good morning,” Mary said. Unlike most of the others, she was capable of putting on a more affable appearance in the light of morning. Part of it was from her inclination to rise with the sun anyway—years in the woods will cultivate such habits—and the rest she credited to her preference of tea over things like coffee.

                     “Wow, something smells great,” Vince said. Despite over three years of steady meals, a part of him always reacted to food instinctually, as though he never quite believed the seemingly endless supply would still be around the next day. His eyes seemed to widen at the sight of so many flapjacks, and that was before the scent of cooking bacon hit him.

                     “I wanted to start my day off with what is generally considered to be an average, wholesome breakfast,” Chad explained. “Generally, it is my understanding that this is what many people eat before large, group-outing days. Also, my mom was willing to give me her recipe.” As he spoke, Chad flipped another pancake from the skillet and onto the ever-growing stack, then paused to check a large pan of eggs.

                     “That was a very sweet gesture,” Mary said. “Though you didn’t need to get up so early and cook for us.”

                     “I’m always awake at this hour. Usually, I spend the morning running across campus, however, for today, I decided this would be a better use of my time.”

                     “There are probably a lot of confused groundskeepers wondering where the speedy blond guy is,” Hershel remarked, his mind beginning to function as he took hot sips of his highly caffeinated beverage.

                     “Or they’ll just think he went home for spring break.” Alice’s words managed to come out this time, though her tone was still quite grumpy. The scent of impending food was beginning to perk her up, though. “Anyway, now that the big day is finally here, do we get to know what’s on the docket?”

                     “The most usual, unexceptional youthful experiences I could find in my research.” The others very much wanted to ask Chad just how much research he’d had to do to come up with mundane experiences, but he kept on talking before anyone got the chance to find a non-offensive way to phrase that question. “We’ll begin the morning by going to an arcade, which, in high school, I was led to believe was filled with games that were entertaining. Afterwards, I was thinking we could hit a beach, since everyone seemed to enjoy themselves so much on the big trip last year. There is also a small boardwalk amusement park we could visit, as those are supposedly enjoyable as well. Come evening, we can find an unassuming restaurant at which to dine.”

                     “Is that how normal people really spend their days off?” Vince asked.

                     “He’s cramming a lot of stuff into one day, but overall, Chad actually hit the nail pretty well on the head,” Hershel told them. “It’s all stuff we’ve done and took for granted.”

                     “Never been to an arcade,” Vince said. “Too much electricity, and too many delicate electronics, to say nothing of the fact that we didn’t have the time or money for it when I was growing up.”

                     “I’ve actually had to avoid amusement parks,” Alice added. “If I got too excited at the top of a rollercoaster, I was likely to slip right out of my seat. My father once offered to rent one out and have someone accompany me with safety straps on each ride, but the idea just depressed me more than not going in the first place.”

                     “To the shock of none of you, I’ve also steered clear of both those places, as well as many others, since the concentration of people made even functioning hellish, to say nothing of enjoying the experience.” Mary snagged a box of tea bags from an overhead cupboard, grabbing them telekinetically rather than trying to climb atop the counter and pull them down.

                     “Wow.” Hershel took a long sip of still steaming coffee. “Sometimes I forget that I’m the only one among us with a semi-normal childhood.”

                     “Mine wasn’t especially odd,” Chad said. “I was simply dedicated to training at the exclusion of activities I deemed to be frivolous. The only times I participated in normal childhood events were when my mom forced me to, but even then, I didn’t try much to enjoy them.”

                     “Sounds like this day will be good for all of us then,” Vince said. “When are the others getting here?”

                     “Angela said she and Shane would arrive by nine, and I believe Camille should come around the same time. As for Nick, I know he is hesitant to visit us here, so I gave him the arcade’s address and told him we would call when departing from the dorm.” Chad easily lifted the massive stack of pancakes from the counter and set them on the small table. “Bacon will be out of the oven in five minutes, and the eggs should be done in three. In the meantime, help yourselves. We have a long day ahead of us, and it would be a shame if anyone lacked the necessary nutrients to keep their energy levels up.”

                     Chad had barely gotten the words out before the first of the pancakes began flying off the top of the stack.

     203.

                    By the time breakfast was finished, Shane, Angela, and Camille had all arrived at Melbrook. After some quick mental math regarding how many cars were available, they all piled in to their various automobiles and headed off toward the coast.

                      Despite their decline in the late eighties, arcades had seen a resurgence among adults in the last decade or so. These places were often bundled together with more acceptable social activities, such as bars and restaurants, but the draw of having old-school games and machines managed to draw in a wealth of adults with ample disposable income they were happy to spend on nostalgia.

                      Pits & Pixels was one such establishment, specializing in succulent barbecue, a well-stocked bar, and more arcade games than any other restaurant in a fifty mile radius. Nick was already waiting in his car as the others pulled up, and once they disembarked from their own rides, it took a very short while for everyone to get inside and exchange their money for game tokens.

                      Chad decided to try his hand in the midway section of the arcade first, dumping a single token into a Skee Ball machine. His first few throws went awry as he got the feel for the task, but by the end of his balls, he was dunking it in the fifty point hole with relative ease, and occasionally scoring a hundred as well. Collecting his tickets from the ground, Chad, Angela, and Shane went off to try more skill games, while the rest of the group scattered about, trying to find something that would amuse them.

                      Vince found himself staring at a pinball machine near the back of the arcade. It wasn’t hard to see why it had grabbed his attention—in a place so alien, he’d naturally gravitated toward the one thing that was quasi-familiar. Blazoned atop the front of the machine were the words “Hero Pinball Battle Quest,” which spoke more to the loquaciousness of titles in decades past than it did to the actual content of the game. Images of various Heroes were splattered across the machine; some Vince recognized from history books and lectures in the HCP, but far more were complete strangers to him. Vince found himself wondering if they were all real, or if some had just been dreamed up to fill out the needed artwork. He dearly hoped it was the latter; the idea of these men and women doing so much for the world, only to fade out of memory was more depressing than he wanted to dwell on.

                      A token being slipped onto the glass in front of him broke Vince from his reverie. He glanced about and found Nick standing a few feet away.

                      “I’ve got next game.” Nick nodded to the token, trying to clue Vince into its meaning. “Assuming you ever stop staring at the machine and actually play it, that is.”

                      “I was . . . sorry, just got lost in thought for a minute there.” Vince slipped his own token into the machine, which let out a loud, electronic whistle and began flashing so many lights that Vince was briefly afraid he’d set off some kind of alarm.

                      “Trust me, I know. I know waaaaaaay too much about getting lost in your own head,” Nick said. “Personally, I don’t recommend it. Nothing to be had up there. Just stick to doing what you do best: acting without bothering to think things through in the slightest.”

                      “I think things through.” Vince pulled the plunger back and let the small metal marble fly up its predetermined course, bouncing off bumpers and careening through lights and switches as he desperately tried to track it.

                      “Vince, I’ve put more thought into what to put on my sandwiches than you’ve put into jumping headfirst into deadly situations. I’m not trying to say you’re dumb, just . . . impetuous.”

                      “Still sort of feels like you’re saying dumb in a clever way,” Vince pointed out, slapping the metal sphere away with his right bumper and sending it into the “Hero Base,” which gathered extra points.

                      “I assure you, it’s not my intent. I’m merely saying that, for you, action precedes planning, and after three years as your friend, I’m starting to think that might not be such a bad thing,” Nick said. “Look, I’m a thinker. I have to plan everything out and look at every angle before I know the best way to go forward. But you, you just barrel through goddamned everything, and yet somehow seem to come out the other side relatively unscathed. You’ve got good instincts; don’t weaken them by getting too much in your head about stuff.”

                      “This seems like a pretty well-rehearsed speech for having just caught me staring at a pinball machine,” Vince said. He swept his bumper upward at the returning ball, but it slipped past and fell into the abyss. Moments later, a new ball appeared on top of the plunger, ready to resume its partner’s journey.

                      “See, what did I say? Good instincts.” Nick leaned against a fighting game console whose art suggested that it seemed to pit werewolves against mecha-dolphins. “Maybe I’ve been a little worried about you since I got back. Between Eliza and your history, dealing with the fallout from last year’s exam, and the general shittery of Globe’s stuff, I get the feeling you’ve started carrying more mental weight than you should. Especially without me around to constantly remind you that the world does not rest on your damn shoulders.”

                      “I seem to recall you going off on all of us about how we didn’t think or plan things out enough last year,” Vince said. His second ball was staying aloft so far, though he’d accidentally tripped some switch that created constant flashes, making the sphere harder to track.

                      “That was about fighting,” Nick said. “And, to be fair, you’ve very rarely needed any help there either. I’m talking about life in general, though, and all I’m really saying is not to take it too seriously. Relax a little; let yourself be the Vince we all know and mock behind his back.”

                      Vince snorted out a laugh, mistiming his bumper’s swing and losing his second ball. The third was ready to go in seconds, and Vince sent it shooting up into the game.

                      “I appreciate what you’re saying. But at the end of the day, I do have to start carrying more of this weight. Sooner or later, I’ll graduate, and if it’s as a you-know-what, then I have to able to take care of myself. I can’t keep relying on everyone else.”

                      Nick’s smack to the back of Vince’s head was more distracting than painful, which was why the ball tumbled into the abyss unstopped by either of the unmoving bumpers.

                      “See, this is why you shouldn’t get all up in your head: you start thinking idiotic shit like that,” Nick said. “What do you think teams are for? Hell, what do you think your friends are for? I was as out of this world as out could be, and you jackasses still broke into my mind and saved me, even knowing it could cost you just as much as I’d lost. Do you think those people wouldn’t do the same for you? That I wouldn’t? Shit, Vince, I know we tease, but there’s no way you’re actually so stupid that you really think a thing like graduation will mean we stop looking after one another.”

                      “I, um, I guess . . .” Vince bit his lip, unsure of what to say. When Nick laid it out like that, his fears seemed flat-out ridiculous.

                      “Everyone gets scared of being left alone,” Nick told him. “But of all of us, you’re the one who should fear it the least. You’ve got a knack for bringing us together. Though, whether that makes you or us the bigger weirdos, I have no idea.”

                      “Thanks, Nick.”

                      “Thank me by scooting over.” Nick tapped the coin still resting on the glass. “In case you forgot, it is now officially my turn.”

     204.

                    Asprin Beach was a relatively small coastal area forty-five minutes away from Lander, with peaceful shops and a charming ambiance. At least, it was that way most of the year. Come spring break, hordes of college students from various universities made it the de facto beach for day trips. As such, it was quickly filled with raucous youths, which resulted in noise, pollution, and a juicy boost to their economy, since the prices on everything the shops sold were temporarily tripled.

                      By the time the Melbrook group and friends arrived (which occurred after Chad had conquered every skill-based game in the arcade and had won a ludicrous amount of tickets), the beach was already quickly filling up. They had to scramble to find places to park, then rush out to the beach and territorially stake down a spot. Only after towels had been laid out, and a pair of coolers (one brought by Nick, and the other by Angela) deposited did they begin heading to the changing rooms in shifts, leaving the bulk of the group to guard their carefully carved out patch of beach.

                      Camille, Alice, and Mary were sent off in a single group, since Angela had evidently worn her swimsuit under her regular clothes and proceeded to strip out of them the moment they were on the sand. This had led to small panic attacks for the more bashful members of the group, though neither Chad, nor Shane seemed particularly surprised at her spectacle.

                      “Be honest,” Alice said, as she adjusted her top, trying to unwind the rear strap so it wouldn’t dig into her spine. “Who else thought Angela was about to just strip down to the buff, right there, in front of everyone?”

                      “It . . . it did seem like a strong possibility,” Camille admitted. She was having a bit of swimsuit trouble of her own, as the one she’d bought for last year’s beach trip no longer seemed to fit as comfortably. Another year of training had packed on a bit more muscle to her slender frame, plus, unless she was mistaken, she might have actually grown a half-inch or two.

                      “Obviously, I knew she was just trying to get a rise out of us,” Mary said. “But her commitment to the act was commendable. Credit where it’s due, she doesn’t do anything half-way when she wants attention. Unlike two dear friends who are sitting around here primping, making small talk, and wondering what the men they’re interested in will think of their ensembles.” For her part, Mary wore the same one-piece swimsuit she’d had for years. It still fit, since her body had long ago given up on trying to reach any greater heights, and she was comfortable in it. The outfit would hardly turn heads, but after over two years with Hershel, she knew his neck would swivel for her regardless.

                      “I certainly have no idea what you’re talking about.” Alice finished untwisting her rear strap and grabbed the bag with her regular clothes stuffed inside. The amount of huff in her voice didn’t fool anyone, but they weren’t really the ones she was trying to lie to in the first place. Alice knew how she felt; it was just troublesome to find a way to move things forward.

                      “Truthfully, I don’t even know if Vince notices stuff like this.” Camille gestured down to her suit with a half-hearted wave. “But since Violet threw out my old ones last year, this was pretty much all I had to go to the beach in.”

                      “How are things going with that, anyway?” Alice asked. She’d been burning with curiosity ever since Camille and Vince started spending more time together, but he was so dense, and she so shy, that there never seemed a good way to pry into their relationship.

                      “Good. Very slowly, but good,” Camille said. “We both like each other, that’s out in the open at least, but I think we’re getting stuck in this light-flirting phase. I don’t know if he’s unsure of what to do next, or if he just really likes to take his time, and to be honest, I have no idea of how to push things myself.” She glanced at Mary, who already knew what her fellow short-statured young woman was secretly hoping for.

                      “I can’t tell you what he’s thinking,” Mary replied to the unasked request. “Good or bad, it’s something you have to find out from Vince. I have a very firm policy of thought secrecy.”

                      “Sort of assumed you’d say that.” Camille let out a defeated sigh, and then began stuffing her own clothes into her beach bag. She hadn’t really expected Mary to spill, but there hadn’t been any harm in hoping.

                      “I will tell you one thing though: Vince doesn’t pay much attention to most girls in their swim suits, but he’s looking forward to seeing you in yours again.” Mary gave her friend a long smile as Camille began to blush. The red glow spread all the way down to her neck, though the pleased look on her face spoke to this not being bad news as far as she was concerned.

                      “Lucky you,” Alice chimed in. “I don’t know that Nick has ever seen a girl in a bikini he wouldn’t ogle.”

                      “I could say the same for Roy,” Mary pointed out.

                      “Doesn’t count. He’s not the one you’re dating,” Alice countered.

                      “And neither are you and Nick,” Mary said.

                      Alice opened her mouth, struggling to think of a rebuttal, but her own denial of the situation only moments prior had already come back to bite her in the ass. At last, she decided a change of subject was her best possible recourse. “Does anyone else find it strange to be sitting around, talking about boys like we don’t have much bigger shit already on our plates? It’s surreal.”

                      “I was more thinking it was a symptom of our situation,” Camille said. “Chad did want to do a normal day, after all. This feels like the sort of stuff girls who don’t get punched across underground bunkers or have their hair set on fire get to worry about.”

                      “It’s rather nice, actually.” Mary glanced out the door of the small changing hut, out toward the gently lapping waves of the sea. “I could get used to only having mundane problems to deal with.”

                      “Maybe you could, but we both know Melbrook would fall apart in two days without our den mother to hold us together.” Alice gave a side-hug with her long arms, pulling her friend in close and squeezing tightly. It was because of this angle that she missed the brief look of worry that flickered across Mary’s face. By the time the embrace ended, the look was gone, and it was time to head back to the beach and rejoin their friends.

     205.

                    Superpowers, at least the superpowers that most of the group who visited the beach possessed, did nothing to prevent sunburn. That required either damage resistance or something similar to circumvent. The majority of the students were fine as they packed up their bags and headed toward the Asprin Beach Boardwalk, but Alice, who had wanted to get a little color into her naturally pale skin, could already feel a familiar hot glow in her shoulders and on her nose. By the time they actually arrived at the park, her skin was turning pink on its way to what would certainly be a light red and eventually painful peeling.

                      “Someone looks extra hot today,” Nick remarked, noting how Alice was already wincing whenever the straps of her tank top rubbed on her soon-to-be-raw shoulders. The sun beat down overhead as they stood on the wooden planks that ran along the midway. Nearby, some simple carnival rides spun about—nothing exceptional by Nick’s reckoning, but enough that Vince and Hershel already seemed visibly excited.

                      “Ha. Ha. Unless you have aloe on you, please refrain from mocking my pain.” Alice also looked at the rides, though with a wistful expression instead of an analytical one. This was the part of the day she’d been most looking forward to, something she was never able to do when she was a Powered.

                      Nick patted the pockets of his cargo shorts, then ran his hands along the sides of his shirt for good measure. “Nope, no aloe whatsoever. Ah, but what’s this back here?” He reached over and put his hand behind Alice’s ear. Before she could react, he snapped his fingers and pulled his hand back around, holding a shiny quarter before her. “No aloe, but I did find a solution.”

                      “You’re going to help my sunburn with a quarter?”

                      “Huh? No, that’s dumb.” Nick turned toward the bulk of the group, who were cobbling together a half-baked plan of attack for all the attractions they wanted to squeeze in. “Hey, Camille, can you come here for a second?”

                      Camille jogged over, a slightly confused expression on her face as she approached.

                      “I think you two should go take some candids in that photo booth over there, on me,” he said. Nick pressed the quarter into Camille’s hand, then held it in his own for a few seconds. “She’s a bit shy about her sunburn, though, so anything you can do to help cover that up will be greatly appreciated.”

                      It only took a moment for understanding to twinkle in Camille’s eyes, and as she nodded, Nick released her hand. As she dragged Alice off toward the photo booth, which was nice and private, Nick found himself thankful that there were at least a few people in the group who grasped the concept of innuendo. If everyone was as straightforward as Vince or as unpredictable as Alice, he’d never be able to do any work on the sly.

                      A gust of sea wind blew over from the ocean, and Nick wiped some sand from the sunglasses that the day’s activities had actually called for. Out of place as he sometimes felt around his friends, on days like this one, he could almost forget about the hidden agendas, secrets, and danger that plagued them. Almost, but of course, never entirely. As Nick’s eyes roamed the boardwalk, he kept a special eye out for any signs of Nathaniel or his people preparing another attack. Going in for another blow so soon after the last wasn’t usually Nathaniel’s style, but the orange-eyed bastard had clearly been taking pages from another playbook. Nick would be damned if he let his friends get caught that off guard again.

                      “All things considered, I think they came out pretty nicely.” Alice’s voice reached him, and Nick realized he’d let himself get lost in scanning the crowd. He quickly turned around to find her and Camille heading back over to him, a large rectangle of low-quality photos clutched in her hand. The pink from her nose and shoulders had vanished, and if Camille ever needed to give someone the light burn of skin damage, she now had a bit more in her arsenal.

                      Alice could scarcely hide her joy at being suddenly pain free, and Nick had to work to keep from openly appreciating how beautiful she was when she let herself be unabashedly cheerful. Alice had always been good-looking, but as she grew into adulthood and gained a solid amount of confidence, she had become absolutely stunning. He was grateful for the sunglasses, because it meant he could look at her a little more without tipping his hand.

                      “Come on, Camille and I talked while we were in there, and we decided to do the roller coaster first.” Alice grabbed Nick by the arm and began pulling him down the boardwalk.

                      “You mean that wooden, rickety thing that looks like it’s two days away from being condemned?”

                      “Exactly. We want to hit it before anyone actually has a chance to tear it down.” Alice tugged him along, keeping her grip on his arm firm and forceful. “Besides, you and I need to have a chat, anyway.”

                      “Is it about the proper way to treat another person’s arm? Because I can feel mine coming out of its socket.”

                      “No, it’s about how we settle our bet.” Alice kept moving forward, purposely facing away from Nick as she talked. Not the most courageous way to breach the subject neither of them had mentioned since the night of the Cowgirl Rodeo, but she was still getting it done. Nick had to give her credit for that.

                      “Since it was interrupted, I think we have to call it a draw,” Nick said. “There’s no way to know how it would have gone down.”

                      “Maybe I’m not okay with that.” Alice slowed her pace, and loosened her grip on Nick’s arm. “No, I’m definitely not okay with that.” She turned around to face him, meeting his sunglass-shielded eyes with her bright green ones. “I’m tired of the dancing, and the excuses, and the cute reasoning. Even Vince and Camille can admit they like each other, and I refuse to be more emotionally stunted than those two. I like you, Nick. God only knows why, but I do. If you like me, then take me out on a damn date already. It doesn’t have to be fancy, but it can’t be bullshit either. Are you in or not?”

                      “God only knows why you like me?” Nick said, studying her face carefully.

                      “I don’t know; I’d just assume omnipotence means figuring out the impossible stuff too, but maybe I’m giving him too much credit.” The pink in her nose had been replaced by a bit of red in her cheeks, and yet Alice refused to yield even as Nick attempted to turn things into humor. Faced with a situation where he couldn’t use his charm of obfuscation, Nick was only left with the most desperate of tactics in his arsenal: the truth.

                      “Alice, I do have feelings for you, but you understand that my world is complicated, right? Nathaniel is only a small piece of what I come from.”

                      “Well, I kicked the shit out of him pretty easily; I imagine I can handle the rest, too.”

                      “I mean—”

                      “I know what you mean, but we’re not getting married here, just seeing if things can actually work when we stop being such chickenshits and put in a little effort,” Alice said. “Besides, you may have the most colorful past, but at this point, all of our worlds are pretty fucked up. A few more issues on the pile aren’t going to make or break me.”

                      “If that’s really how you feel . . .” Nick paused, an inner debate raging within. He should keep her at a distance, he should minimize how deeply he was connected with her, he should be separate and safe. All of that was what Ms. Pips had taught him, had trained into him. But somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he could hear Gerry’s voice, and that one was telling him to quit being such a coward and go for it. Nick didn’t know which voice was actually right, but he certainly knew which one he wanted to listen to.

                      “Then, I guess we need to start bickering about where I’ll be taking you. Heaven forbid, I should choose an establishment not up to the princess’s standards, after all.”

     206.

                    Though their afternoon at the boardwalk amusement park was filled with screams, for once, none of them were from genuine terror or rage. The screams that rose up from Asprin Beach that day were of excitement, cheer, and the momentary adrenaline rush that a steep dive on a roller coaster can miraculously conjure. By the time they had ridden their fill, Vince was on the verge of being sick, and Alice’s thick hair had been so swept and tangled by the wind that she had conceded defeat and bound it all into a ponytail.

                      After a drive that was thankfully long enough for Vince to settle his stomach, the group arrived at a small restaurant that specialized in heartily portioned Italian meals. The students were seated around a large wooden table topped with a massive plastic tablecloth, and before the waiter even asked for their drink orders, he dropped off three baskets of steaming bread, which many of the hungry young people fell upon like locusts.

                      “Bread before the order; now that shit is classy.” Angela held up a hand to stop the spray of crumbs that were unstoppably escaping her mouth as she spoke. “Find this place online?”

                      “No.” Chad hesitated for a moment, a rare event that Angela mentally filed away. “My mother and I had been up to visit Lander in the past. This was one of the restaurants we enjoyed stopping at.”

                      “Well, if the food is as good as the bread, I’m going to text your mom and tell her she picks good spots.” Angela grinned as she watched Chad’s eyes widen in a moment of uncontrolled panic, only to shift back to normal as he realized she was screwing with him. It had taken a long while to get used to reading the carefully controlled blond Super, but after years of practice, she’d finally gotten something of a feel for it. Unless she caught him by surprise, the biggest tell that Chad had was in what he didn’t say; the looks he didn’t give, and the words he never let past his lips, those were the things he was afraid of, things that would allow emotion to override his careful system of mental control.

                      “Your jests are not as funny as you seem to believe.” Chad met her eyes, but she was pretty sure she saw a twinkle of humor in his stoic expression.

                      “Guess I’m just pretty enough to get away with them all, then.” Angela reached over and grabbed another roll, noting that a different waiter was already in route with more baskets. She liked this place. “So, how was your Pinocchio day? Live up to all your expectations?”

                       “I don’t . . . ah, Pinocchio wanted to be a real boy. That one was actually a bit clever,” Chad said. He gave Angela a genuine smile, one of the rare few that were a result of sentiment rather than a commanding of his muscles. Those, for some reason, she’d always been able to tell apart. “It was quite fun. I can’t say I completely understand the appeal of all of these activities; however, it was interesting to experience them. I don’t regret the choices I made on how I spent my youth, but it is fascinating to see things from the other side.”

                      “I used to have to sneak out to do this kind of stuff,” Angela said. She put her roll down, and cast her eyes around the table. Most of the others were absorbed in their small discussions; Shane and Hershel were debating between two action stars from the eighties, trying to decide which would win in a real fight. It was nice to see her little brother pissing his time away for once.

                      “Shane did mention that you both had a rather strict upbringing,” Chad said, shaking Angela from her thoughts.

                      “Oh, that’s putting it mildly. Training, drills, tests, conditioning, and sweet Jesus only knows how many rounds of sparring. As a kid, it was sort of fun, like this long game we were playing with our grandfather. Then I got old enough to realize how screwed up it all was, and I resented him for stealing my time. Of course, I then got even older and realized what he was actually trying to do, and I loved the old bastard for it. Still played hooky on occasion, mind you, but I respected him while I did it.”

                      Chad nodded his head somberly. “He wanted to help you both excel.”

                      “No, Chad, he wanted to help us not die. Graham DeSoto has lived a very long life, and in his career, that makes him quite the rarity. He’s buried too many people not to let it drive him a little insane, and that crazy manifested in trying to make sure that at least his grandchildren would see him in the ground, rather than vice versa. We didn’t get much of a childhood, but that’s because he wanted us to have more time as adults.”

                      “Shane seems to feel that the effort your grandfather demanded from you had more to do with the family legacy than with concerns for your safety,” Chad replied. He was unfazed by her declaration, and she hadn’t expected anything different. That was one of the things she liked most about Chad: he was going into this with his eyes open. So many of the HCP students she’d known had aggrandized ideals of what lay ahead of them. Chad had a grave instead of a father; he understood the danger standing in the path to their future.

                      “There’s no denying that the legacy is a big factor too. Ultimately, we both took what we took from the training. Skill, techniques, and impressions of our grandfather; it’s all set in there now, and there’s no changing it. Sometimes, I wish that stubborn kid would have come with me to do things like this when we were kids, though. He might not be quite so tightly wound if he’d let himself cut loose on occasion.”

                      “For what it’s worth, I think Shane turned out perfectly fine. He’s the first person I ever managed to become friends with, and I suspect that speaks deeply to his patience and understanding, rather than to any budding social acumen on my part.”

                      “Maybe you’re right,” Angela said. She turned to her menu and began perusing the options, purposely avoiding a continuance of this line of discussion. It was a nice day, and she didn’t have the heart to tell Chad that the reason he and Shane had become friends was simply because they were both similar shades of fucked up. That was inevitable in the HCP. Normal, emotionally healthy people didn’t go in for this sort of work. The Heroes of the world were a rainbow of dysfunction, and the closest relationships were formed from those of a similar hue.

                      All of that was much too depressing to bring up, though, so Angela didn’t. She didn’t have many days left at Lander, and certainly not many carefree ones like this. She saw no reason to spoil one of them with something as pointless as the truth.

     207.

                    The bang of the door echoed through the warehouse, causing several of its inhabitants to jump in surprise and one to quietly ready himself for bloodshed. In the end, all of it was unnecessary, as the cause for the slammed door quickly made herself known.

                      “Sorry!” Joan yelled, her words following after the bang of the door. “I keep forgetting that thing is so touchy.”

                      “Please watch it,” Persephone said, stepping out of the makeshift gym to greet her fellow fugitive. “If I know George, he’s probably got a laser canon fully extended and is just waiting for an excuse to use it.”

                      “It was a thermal blaster.” George stepped out of the small room where he spent most of his waking, and sleeping, moments. For once, he was in his human form, no doubt taking a break from the computer work to deal with his biological necessities.

                      “I said I was sorry,” Joan repeated. She hefted up her arms, which were laden with at least a dozen sacks that were near to bursting. “You try easing the thing open when you’re weighed down by this many groceries.”

                      “It’s my fault; I’ve been meaning to fix it for days.” Phil stepped out of his room and walked over to Joan, who immediately felt the bags lift off her arms. He paused in front of the door and stared at it for several seconds, then turned and began heading toward the area set up as a kitchen, a parade of bags floating behind him. “Shouldn’t be an issue anymore.”

                      “Thanks,” Joan said, rubbing her sore arms. “Gerard and Quentin still out?”

                      “They should be back by dinner,” Phil informed her. “Though, at the speed Quentin keeps growing, I’m sure they’ll have to do another clothing run in a few months. I’d forgotten how fast they shoot up at that age.”

                      “Careful, if you ask him any clarifying questions, he’ll start talking about his days on the road, and we won’t be able to shut him up,” Persephone warned. In truth, she enjoyed when Phil went on his rambles about the years raising Vince. Bleak though they could seem, there was also a wholesome warmth to those stories. Things might not have been easy, but they were simple and honest in a way their lives could no longer be.

                      “Well then, I suppose I should know my place and start cooking supper,” Phil replied, flashing Persephone the sort of smile she didn’t understand how he was able to still conjure.

                      “Actually, before you go, there might be something you need to know,” Joan said. “I mean, it might be nothing, but I checked in with a few contacts while I was out, and someone is buying up a ton of muscle in California.”

                      Phil’s steps halted, and he slowly turned around to face her. The smile was gone from his lips; in its place was a somber expression that the others had learned to interpret as him being serious. It was the face of their leader, their champion, the man they had all placed their hopes in. It also often meant that things were going to get dangerous.

                      “Please, Joan, go on.”

                      “I don’t know that I have a lot more to tell.” Joan fidgeted a bit, more from pent up energy than nerves. Staying confined was harder on her than any of the rest of them. “I just heard that anyone with decent power, especially good muscle, could find work out in California. Someone with deep pockets is bank-rolling something big. Could be just a coincidence, but with your kid out there and all . . . seemed like something you should know about.”

                      Phil gave a short, somber nod. “Thank you, Joan. Would you do me the favor of seeing if you can find out anything else? You’re probably right about it being a coincidence—California is a big state after all—but I’d feel a lot better if I knew that for certain.”

                      “No problem.” Joan had been half-hoping for this outcome when she brought up the issue in the first place. Doing digging meant leaving the warehouse, running around, and finally getting to stretch her legs.

                      “I appreciate your help.” He turned back around and headed into the kitchen, floating grocery bags in tow. Despite his words, Phil didn’t quite believe it was as much of a coincidence as he’d like it to be. He’d spent too many years as a Hero not to know that when there were lots of things happening in the same area, more often than not, they were connected. Still, he could hope that this was one of the times where it was an exception.

                      Hope, at least, was one of the things he had left.

     *                *                *

                      The explosion was a small one, and the fire was put out before it could spread, thanks to Vince. The smoke, however, was more difficult to mitigate as the various students coughed, choked, and hacked their way through the house and out into the clean night air of the backyard. It took several minutes of clearing their lungs before one of them was finally able to speak, and it was Will’s voice that filled the yard.

                      “I told you it wasn’t ready yet!”

                      “Oh, don’t give me that! You always say your inventions aren’t ready, and then, when I make you use them, things work fine,” Jill said, barely getting her words out between coughing fits.

                      “To be fair, his video immersion thingie fizzled out halfway through the movie freshman year,” Vince reminded her.

                      “Exactly, and that was days ahead of this project, not to mention far less ambitious.” Will hacked out a few more wisps of smoke, and realized he could faintly hear sirens in the distance. He dearly hoped those weren’t coming to their house, but logic told him they likely were. “A fully immersive, digitally rendered environment in a contained space is something beyond even my capabilities to create in a week.”

                      “I honestly still don’t know what he’s talking about,” Alice said.

                      “Basically, Will was trying to make a prototype of a holodeck, but with very limited projection materials,” Hershel explained.

                      “That in no way clarified things,” Alice said. “If anything, I understand what you’re talking about even less.”

                      “It doesn’t matter, because as we can clearly see, the whole thing was an unmitigated failure,” Will snapped. “Now, if you all would be so kind, I’m going to need help tucking away as much of my tech as possible before the fire department gets here.”

                      At that, the rest of the group finally noticed the impending sirens, and eyes went wide as realization set in.

                      “I could have been waiting on tables that under-tip me tonight,” Mary grumbled. But despite her protests, she and the rest plunged back into the slowly-clearing house to help Will hide his pieces of potentially destructive brilliance.

                      They would manage to get everything squirreled away before the fire department arrived, however, explaining how the fire had been put out would prove to be much more problematic.

     208.

                    Alice felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and unabashedly flipped it out to see who was texting her. She didn’t have to listen that closely to the old man speaking down at the bottom of the lecture hall, anyway; he had pre-recorded his classes years before and hosted them online for students to listen to. It was why he got away with such massive class sizes, since being able to hear him in the first place scarcely mattered at all.

                      To her surprise, it was Nick, checking to see if she was free on Saturday for a lunch. He’d been a bit aloof since their day out with the others, but it looked as though he were finally taking the bull by the horns. Tempted as Alice was to text back with immediate agreement, she forced herself to stop and check the calendar function on her phone. Their lives were a bit hectic, and after all their dancing about, the last thing she wanted was to have to reschedule with Nick.

                      It turned out to be a good thing she had checked, because Alice was signed up for her mental training session that Saturday afternoon. Vince had already gone and found the whole thing to be uneventful, though he did say he felt a bit more relaxed after his session. That might be good; a mental massage before her big date.

                      Alice’s well-manicured nails flew across the touchscreen as she texted Nick back, letting him know about the conflict. She also told him that she’d have declined a lunch date anyway, after this long, it was dinner or nothing. In truth, she probably would have accepted if not for the conflict, but it didn’t hurt to make sure Nick was aware that there were expectations to be met.

                      She put her phone back in her pocket, then turned to face the teacher once more. This time, however, her thoughts weren’t even cursorily on the material. No doubt about it, she was going to have to re-listen to this entire lecture if she wanted to get anything from the day’s class.

                      It was a trade she was happy to make.

     *                *                *

                      “All in all, you put forth an exceptional effort.” Professor Cole stood in front of her students once more. The first day back from spring break had finally arrived, and with it, her evaluations of their exams. “Despite all my preparation to keep you in the dark as to who you would be working with, most of you came together with a fierce efficiency. Granted, this was not exactly what it will be like in the field, since you may have no idea what the other Heroes you work with will be capable of, but nonetheless, you all still did well.”

                      The students could just barely make out her green eyes through those cloth bandages, but no longer was her strange style of dress a point of curiosity. Now, they understood it for what it was: her shield and sword. Professor Cole came to class every day with the tools she needed to kick ass. It might have been odd from some teachers, but for their Weapons instructor, it made perfect sense.

                      “Those of who fared best of the lot were the ones who quickly determined what your role in the team would be, and then fulfilled it. We didn’t spend all of last year teaching you teamwork for nothing, and I was genuinely impressed at how many of you remembered your fundamentals. On top of that, the majority of you truly turned your weapons into tools, and obviously, that was a big part of the exam as well.”

                      Roy involuntarily tightened the grip on his bat, which rested in his right hand. He’d had a sling for it that went over his back, but after five tries at drawing the weapon carefully, he’d gotten overexcited and ripped the thing apart. Now, he just carried it. The weight was good. It kept his muscles at least partially engaged all the time. He’d probably miss it when it was time to say goodbye to this class.

                      “Now we, of course, still have final exams coming up, but it’s about time for you to all start thinking about what you want your HCP major to be,” Professor Cole told them. Around him, Roy could feel some of the others bristle. This was a thought that weighed heavy on all their minds as the deadline approached.

                      “I took some of you aside this morning and spoke with you about how things went in the exam. For those students, the final will be a very crucial moment in whether or not they are allowed to continue on with Weapons. For the rest of you, so long as you don’t completely fail the thing, you have shown me enough skill and competence that I will sign off on training you for another year. You can still screw this up, but I want you aware that Weapons is a major you can seriously consider undertaking.”

                      Roy resisted the urge to look around. He hadn’t been one of those told he needed to make the final exam count, and he didn’t really want to know who had been. For him, Weapons was always a second-place priority, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others in the class desperately hoping to make the cut. To have something you wanted so bad and find it out of reach . . . Roy didn’t need to see those people’s faces.

                      He flexed his hand against the bat once more. There was no more getting around it: Professor Cole had made a lot of valid points throughout the year, and he might be better off doing Weapons over Close Combat. Roy was past the point of caring what most strongmen did, or how using a weapon was perceived. It was about power, at the end of the day. What made him the strongest Hero he could be. If it were the bat, then he would wield it. If it was his fists, then the bat would be cast aside. The one thing Roy couldn’t afford to do was guess. He needed a test. Not one delivered by the HCP, but one that gave him results he could believe in.

                      Roy knew what he had to do; he just hoped he could manage to pull it off.

     209.

                    Chad could hear Roy coming before the young man even entered the Melbrook lobby. Despite the fact that there was a television on, tuned to the news, Chad made it a point to always stay as aware of his surroundings as his abilities allowed. It was a trait that some would have called paranoid, while others—mostly, experienced Heroes—would have deemed it smart. Still, Chad thought nothing of Roy’s entrance (he did live there too, after all), until the tall Super’s shadow fell across the couch where Chad was sitting.

                      “Do you have a minute?” Roy’s tone was subdued from what Chad was accustomed to. Bravado was Roy’s default, and deviations from it were quite rare. That probably meant this was something serious. Chad muted the news, then turned to face his dormmate.

                      “Is something wrong?” Chad asked. He’d worked hard on picking up social cues, and was hoping to confirm his hypothesis about Roy’s altered mood.

                      “On the scale we generally use to measure crazy shit? Nah, this ain’t even a blip. But I do have a problem, and you might be the only one who can help me solve it.” Roy sat down in the chair that was catty-corner to the couch, his eyes never breaking contact with Chad’s. “I need to have a match with you.”

                      Chad tilted his head slightly, trying to signal his confusion non-verbally. “We spar frequently in class, and occasionally at the gym. I have no issue accommodating more of that.”

                      “No, not sparring. A match match. Like the ones we did freshman year, when there was shit on the line. I need you to fight me like it matters, and I’m going to come at you the same way.”

                      “Roy . . .” Chad paused, wavering on how to phrase his next words. Ultimately, he realized that he had no gift for diplomacy, so the only option on the table was to come out and say the truth. “You’ve gotten much better over the last few years, you truly have; however, I’ve been improving as well. At this point, you are certainly much stronger than me, and would be superior against certain opponents. But, that said, I’m afraid I still don’t anticipate you being able to defeat me.”

                      Roy blinked several times, then shook his head and let out a laugh. “Damn, guess I had that coming for how I acted freshman year. Sorry, I should have explained this better. I know I’m not going to beat you, but I need to fight you seriously, twice actually, so I can test something about myself."

                      “A new technique?” Chad asked.

                      “Sort of. You know how I’ve been in Weapons and Close Combat? Well, I’ve decided to stick with whichever one makes me the strongest. Thing is, I have no idea how to test that, except to fight someone really strong: once with my bat, and once without.”

                      “A controlled experiment,” Chad said. Roy’s forehead scrunched up, so Chad continued. “A controlled experiment is where you test varying factors against one that is standardized. You want to measure your relative fighting strength against something constant, me in this case, so I would be the constant in the experiment.”

                      “Stuff like that is more Hershel’s department, but it sounds right to me,” Roy agreed. “I want to see which version of me is really the strongest: bare fists or bat-wielding. Whichever it is, that’s the major I’m going to apply for.”

                      “I commend you on the dedication to power, but there are some flaws in your plan.” Chad shifted in his seat, mentally calculating all the errors, and then deciding to boil it down to the big ones. Hershel could follow the minutia better, and there was always time to talk with him later. “The biggest one is that I’ve fought you unarmed dozens of times. I know your style and techniques perfectly, whereas the bat would be a total mystery to me. It would give your armed trial a slight advantage in terms of ability over me, which you would need to factor in to your decision.”

                      “If they’re so close that something like that can make the difference, I’ll just stick with Close Combat,” Roy said. “Saves on having to buy heavier bats in the long run.  I’m looking for a visible difference, or at least one I can feel as we fight.”

                      “Practical, if a bit ill-defined,” Chad replied. “Our second issue is that, while we can both heal quickly, the first bout will inherently be a more powerful one, as we’ll be uninjured and full of vigor.”

                      “That one, I was actually ahead of you on.” Roy grinned, clearly happy to finally have anticipated something in the conversation. “I already talked to Camille, and she’s willing to heal us between rounds. We’ve both got enough stamina that I doubt one fight is really going to wear us out beyond some bruises.”

                      “I suppose that’s true,” Chad conceded. “My last key concern is that we will need one of the professors to oversee our match. If this is indeed a fight where you want us to come at one another seriously, it’s a necessary safety precaution. We’ve gotten much more powerful since freshman year, and, for transparency as much as protection, it would be irresponsible to spar without an experienced eye monitoring us.”

                      “Damn. You’re right, and I should have thought of that.” Roy leaned back in his chair slightly, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he mulled Chad’s last demand over. “I feel like there’s a pretty good chance Professor Cole will do it, if she knows the stakes. She’s been trying to talk me into going with Weapons since the year started, so if I tell her I’m on the edge, I bet she’d be willing to take the gig.”

                      “Should she refuse, we can both approach Professor Fletcher and ask him to undertake the role,” Chad said. “And if even that proves fruitless, I feel certain that Dean Blaine would be willing to do it, although he would be more difficult to schedule.”

                      Roy snorted and shook his head. “I doubt the dean has nothing better to do than come watch two juniors kick the shit out of each other.”

                      Chad smiled, and for once pointedly didn’t say what he was actually thinking. He and Blaine’s relationship wasn’t exactly a secret, but neither was it a thing he saw any point in broadcasting to the world. “Dean Blaine is committed to helping his students choose the best paths for their abilities. If this will truly help you with your decision, then I have no doubt he would consent to oversee the match.”

                      “Guess we’ll find out, if Cole and Fletcher both say no.” Roy stood from his chair, and stuck a hand out to Chad. “Thanks for agreeing to do this. I know a lot of things have been cutting into your training time lately, and you damn sure don’t owe it to me.”

                      Chad stood as well, and accepted the handshake. “You’re mistaken, Roy. I’m not doing this just for you. Fighting a high-level combatant, especially with two different arsenals of techniques, is the best training I can ask for. I expect I’ll gain as much insight from our bout as you will, even if it is in different areas.”

                      The two men shook, and with that, the battle was on.

     210.

                    Nick heard the door open, but made no motion to reach for one of the several guns stashed nearby. Two minutes earlier or later, and he certainly would have. This time, however, was perfectly in the window expected for Eliza to check in as she did her rounds, and therefore, no cause for concern. He did still bristle a bit, but then forced himself to calm down. The situation with Nathaniel was making him tense, and that was a mistake. Tension was the enemy in long, protracted battles like these. If he started seeing threats everywhere, he’d become blind to the real ones as they crept up on him. Part of him wanted to believe that trying to stay relaxed was the reason he’d finally let things progress to this point with Alice, but not even Nick was skilled enough to sell that lie, especially to himself.

                      “Everything is clear on the—oh ho ho! What’s this now?” Eliza stepped into Nick’s bedroom as she spoke and found him looking at three button-down shirts paired with different slacks that had been laid on the bed. “I thought your date wasn’t until Saturday?”

                      “It’s not, but time and temperature have wilted the crispness from these, so I’m going to get my outfit pressed before the big night.”

                      “You know, I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my life, most of it since starting to work for your Family, but I never would have believed that I would live to see Nicholas Campbell actually care about one of his dates.”

                      “Then that shows a lack of perceptiveness on your part,” Nick replied. “I’ve cared about every date I’ve ever gone on, and every lady who has given me the pleasure of her company.”

                      “Fair enough. But what about after things are done?” Eliza said.

                      “There, you may have something of a point.” Nick picked up the blue shirt, along with the gray slacks beneath it, and set them aside. It was a classic color combination, but it was better suited to someone with Vince’s striking eyes and hair. On him, it would seem a touch garish, and while Nick had no objections to garishness on occasion, he was cultivating a different aura for his first date with Alice.

                      “Seriously though, you can’t tell me you put this much effort into choosing your clothes every time you take a girl out. We’d never see you on the casino floor if that were the case.”

                      “No, I’ll admit that I don’t usually try quite so hard. But Alice Adair is not a simple woman, and I would put myself at a disadvantage if I treated her as one.”

                      “It’s okay to be nervous.” Eliza leaned over and touched Nick lightly on the shoulder, drawing his gaze from the clothes to her. “I mean it.”

                      “I’ve committed more crimes in my life than most police officers will ever see. I’ve squared off against Supers, criminals, and thugs on a near daily basis since I was a child. I am Nicholas Campbell; I do not get nervous about dates.”

                      “Except when you actually care about the girl, of which, I’m guessing this is the first time.” Eliza met his eyes head on and for once, Nick found himself wondering if he’d stepped out of his depth. These were emotional complications he was accustomed to using on others, not getting tangled in himself.

                      “You said we were clear,” Nick said at last.

                      “All quiet on the western, eastern, northern, and southern fronts.” Eliza let him change the subject without objection, mostly because she wasn’t sure what to say if he tried to turn it into a genuine discussion. After all, she’d left the only man she’d loved abandoned in a shack, what did she know about healthy love?

                      “Good. At least Nathaniel seems to have retreated for the moment. I don’t need to tell you that we’ll be on high alert when I take Alice out though, do I?”

                      “He caught us off guard once. It’s not happening again,” Eliza assured him. “Also, I’d wear the green shirt with the dark pants. Just my two-cents, but I think you look good in green.”

                      “I’ll keep that in mind.” Nick turned back to choosing his outfit in an effort to calm his nerves, as Eliza headed out the door to continue making sure their homes were secure.

                      Of the two, she had the far easier job that night.

     *                *                *

                      “Sure, I can ref for you.” Professor Cole pulled a thick binder out from her desk drawer and set it down with an audible thud. Her gloved hands rifled through the pages until she came across the one she was looking for, at which point, she turned back up to the two young men standing in her office. “How’s Saturday work?”

                      “I have no prior commitments,” Chad told her.

                      “Yeah, I’m good too.” Unlike Chad, Roy seemed a bit frazzled by the unexpectedly easy answer his teacher had given. “Don’t you even want to know why we’re going to have a match though?”

                      “Because you’re deciding between Weapons and Close Combat, and you think fighting the class’s top-ranked student will give you some perspective on which you’re better suited for.” Professor Cole snatched a pen up off her desk and began scribbling in the binder. “How about we do it around one? Eat an early lunch, and you’ll have time to digest before the action.”

                      “Works for me,” Chad said.

                      “Wait, hang on, how did you know that’s what I was doing?” Roy asked.

                      “For shit’s sake, do you really think you’re the first student to decide to make the choice by testing themselves? We usually get one every two or three years in a situation like yours. Honestly, if you didn’t figure this out for yourself, I was going to drop a lot of hints until I had to outright tell you to do it.”

                      “So, this works? It’s a good way to make the choice?”

                      “What you get out of it depends entirely on you,” Professor Cole replied. “The more straightforward with yourself you are, the more clarity you’ll have after trying both styles. It’s all about honesty: are you going in hoping to prove one style is better? If so, then you’re going to come out with either confusion or justification. However, if you’re trying this to genuinely see what the best way you fight is, then you may just learn a few things about yourself in the process. Now, does one in the afternoon on Saturday work for you, or not?”

                      Roy noticed Professor Cole was tapping her pen on the binder’s pages and quickly nodded. He’d been in her class long enough to know that when her patience ran out, things could get ugly. “That’ll be fine for me. And thank you for doing this, ma’am.”

                      “You can thank me by making sure it’s not a waste of my time,” Professor Cole said. “I want you two to push yourselves until you get some real answers. Otherwise, I might have to do some of the pushing myself.”

                      “No worries about that,” Roy told her. “No matter how things turn out, I’m bringing everything I’ve got to that fight.”

     211.

                    “Have you decided what you want to start with?” Chad asked. He seemed genuinely curious rather than prying, which made sense, given that he didn’t particularly need inside information to help him in the coming bout.

                      “Thought about it all week, and to be honest, I never found a compelling reason to go in any order,” Roy admitted. The two young men were walking down the hallway, making certain to be at the appointed cell before Professor Cole’s specified time. She was not a fan of tardiness, and both knew her reputation well enough to honor such a preference. “In the end, I just decided I’d start with fists, ‘cause that’s the class I took first.”

                      “Interesting,” Chad said, using a tone that told an entirely opposite tale from his word choice. Roy didn’t take it personally; he’d long since realized that dead-pan was just his blond friend’s default.

                      “What do you mean ‘interesting’? Think I should do it the other way?”

                      “No, I think you made the right call. If you did the bat first, then I might see techniques you’ve never brought to Close Combat, and that would cause me to expand the planned counters I have to your attacks. Starting with what I know you do gives it an honest baseline, and closing with Weapons allows you to still ‘come from left field,’ as the saying goes.”

                      “Damn. Sort of wish I’d said all that instead of the real reason I picked the order,” Roy admitted.

                      “The order is ultimately of minimal importance, given our abilities. What you take from this battle will come from how much you put in to each round. No other element matters more than that.”

                      “Nothing to worry about there,” Roy said. “Against you, I know I sure as shit can’t hold back.”

                      “After having seen you go through those Sims before winter break, I can say this with complete honesty: ditto.”

     *                *                *

                      “I told you all this the first time you were informed about today’s training, but the point is of such importance that is bears repeating: this is a very rare opportunity, and you should make the most out of it.” Dean Blaine had given this short speech several times already, and as the five students stared at him on that Saturday afternoon, he kept the same tempo and rhythm that had been used in each of its previous incarnations. This show was for Rich and Selena, who were still clueless as to the real motives behind their sudden training regimen. Of those in the room, only Professor Stone and Professor Pendleton knew that this week was special. Today’s effort was about far more than just training.

                      “Mr. Weaver and Ms. Wilkins have made progress, even in the small amount of time we’ve had to practice on their fellow students, which is good for you, the later groups, because it means you’ll be presented with an even greater challenge. Do all that you can to surpass the cages they can create, for one day, the stakes may be far higher than simple bragging rights.”

                      Dean Blaine nodded to Rich and Selena, who stared at this week’s subjects. Rich maintained a cold, stoic demeanor, but Selena gave a small wave and smile to Alice and Mary. Even if she had split from Alex over a year ago, they’d still spent too much time around each other not to at least show some cordialness. Allen, the third subject in today’s trials, wore an impassive face much like Rich’s.

                      “We’ve been varying it up to keep everyone on their toes, sometimes giving Ms. Wilkins the group at their freshest, and other times, it goes to Mr. Weaver. Today, Mr. Weaver will be going first. He is going to put you all under for an hour. Anyone who manages to break free of his illusion will be interviewed afterward so we can gain a better understanding of how, and Mr. Weaver has the chance to deal with any holes you may uncover in his ability. Afterward, we will spend an hour with you fighting off Ms. Wilkins’s various melodies, following similar procedures should you find a way to buck her enchantments. Are there any questions?”

                      He half-expected Mary to ask a few; she stared between the three educators with an uncertain gaze. No doubt, she could tell something was off—the young woman was too skilled to miss the subtle signs—but she wouldn’t find any details lurking in their surface thoughts. Dean Blaine couldn’t very well suppress abilities within the room while testing was occurring, which was why he’d chosen his most mentally skilled associates to be in it with him. They were all too experienced to let the wrong thoughts slip by, leaving the telepath in the dark, at least for the moment.

                      “What sort of scenario is Rich putting us in?” Alice asked. “I’d rather not spend an hour being chased by monsters or something.”

                      “Don’t worry; to start off, Mr. Weaver is merely going to dump you into your own subconscious. It is the weakest version of his power, meaning, if you’re going to break out, that gives you the best chance. Should any of you free yourselves, Mr. Weaver will create more complex and powerful scenarios, but he is not permitted to subject any of you to unnecessary pain,” Dean Blaine informed her.

                      “I . . . I guess I’m okay with that.” Alice bit her lip, ever so gently, and glanced at the ground. She was, no doubt, recalling the last time she’d been put in that space. Perhaps she was even hoping for the same results as Dean Blaine. The woman was tenacious; he had little doubt she’d be willing to endure much, if it meant getting a lead on her mother.

                      “Have no fear, Professor Stone will be checking on each of you periodically, making certain that everything is within the expected parameters,” Dean Blaine said. “But we are on a clock, so unless you have any other questions, I’d suggest we move things along.”

                      Alice, Mary, and Allen each gave some version of a nod, which was all the permission Rich needed to start making his rounds. It only took an instant for each student; the moment they glanced into his eyes, their consciousness slipped away as it tumbled into the labyrinth Rich had constructed. In less than a minute, each of the subjects had been incapacitated and lain down onto the cots where they were resting. Dean Blaine pushed them together, but took great care not to let Mary or Alice so much as brush fingers. Not yet, anyway.

                      He stared at them, wearing a mask of the same professional concern he’d had almost every other time they did this trial. Only once before had Dean Blaine needed to conceal anxiety—when Vince was one of the subjects. That had been a bust, though, as he went under and came up without so much as a single subconscious visitor. If nothing happened with Alice, then Dean Blaine would have to face the fact that they were running dangerously short on leads.

                      Dean Blaine watched over his students, hoping that something would come from this day’s test, but most of all praying that he’d be able to keep them, even those not in this room, safe from whatever darkness was gathering on the horizon.

     212.

                    The space looked much the same as it had when Alice last saw it: re-visiting the memories that Professor Stone had shown her. Attendants still wandered about, and there were tables for massages, pedicures, and just about any other luxury treatment that could be imagined. The place had expanded, though, and now, a new section was adjacent to the old. It was filled with weights, treadmills, and general training equipment. Throughout the gym/spa, there were also familiar bits of furniture scattered around, ones whose real life counterparts lived in the Melbrook common room or girls’ lounge.

                      Alice had no idea how long she’d been there when she felt her awareness snap back. She found herself standing at a free-weight rack, dumbbell in each hand, and suddenly, she knew what was happening. Rich had put her under, dropping her into her subconscious, and she had begun doing some light training while planning a post work-out massage. There had been no slow realization, no gentle journey to retaking control of her consciousness. That alone told Alice that breaking partially out of the delusion wasn’t her doing, which could only mean one thing: she was not alone in her mind.

                      Slowly, she lowered the dumbbells back onto the rack and turned toward the central area of her spa. There he was, just as he’d been in her memories: dark skin, gentle eyes, and a strangely self-assured smile as he helped himself to a smoothie from the juice bar. He met her gaze without wavering, though an expression of curiosity did twinkle in his eyes.

                      “You’ve gotten much more self-aware since last year. Even when we talked last time, you weren’t fully aware of your circumstances. Now, I barely get a foot in the door, and you’ve snapped to full consciousness.”

                      “That’s the thing about us Hero Certification folks: we’re always getting stronger.” For a moment, Alice searched for a towel to wipe the sweat from her brow. Then she realized where she was, and moments later, she was as clean as if she’d freshly showered and was dressed in her Lander HCP uniform. She’d only wanted something familiar; something that made her feel safe, but that was what her gym clothes had metamorphosed into. The significance was far from lost on her, just as it was immediately filed away for later contemplation. Alice had more pressing issues to deal with.

                      “Quite a quick change. Few people are so adept at controlling their dream worlds.”

                      “I’ve got a friend who’s taken me on more than one mental journey.” Alice crossed the room in few steps, too few in fact, and stopped inches away from her guest. “Abridail, wasn’t it? That’s the fake name you use while invading people’s minds.”

                      “Our first meeting was an invasion, I’ll admit that,” Abridail replied. “I had a message to deliver, and doing so took priority over certain formalities I might usually observe. This time, however, I took your current state as an invitation. This level of the subconscious is quite difficult to reach; I assumed you’d come here hoping for another chat. I deeply regret the misunderstanding, and I will take my leave.” Abridail set his smoothie down and rose from his bar stool, pausing only to give a shallow bow to Alice.

                      “Wait!” The word left her mouth before Alice’s brain was even considered for input. “I’m . . . sorry. It’s a little jarring to suddenly have someone in my head. I didn’t do this to intentionally invite you, but I’d like to talk with you, now that you’re here. I have so many questions, and you might be the only person in the world with the answers.”

                      “No, Alice. There are several others in the world who know at least part of the information you’re after, though you are correct in that I am the only one who knows every piece of the story. It took me quite a long while to follow all of the strings to their sources, but I was blessed with an abundance of free time.” Abridail raised his head from the bow and met Alice’s gaze once again. “Though there is also a great divide in what I know, and I what I can divulge.”

                      “Why? Why won’t you just tell me what happened to my mother?” Alice did not, would not plead, but neither did she demand. Abridail was here at his own discretion; she could no more force him to answer her than she could keep him in this place if he chose to leave. Diplomacy was the single weapon in her arsenal, and she was determined to wield it carefully.

                      “Partly because she doesn’t want you to find her, and as a dear friend, I will honor her wishes, but also because telling you the whole story would change the world as you fundamentally know it, and that is not a thing I would do to someone lightly.”

                      “I . . . I can’t say I understand, since I clearly don’t, but I’ll respect your conditions.” Alice could all but feel Professor Pendleton whispering from her memories.

                      “Not every interrogation involves torture and threats. Sometimes, getting information is as simple as keeping a conversation going until something slips.”

                      “So, what can you tell me? There must be something; you wouldn’t have accepted what you perceived to be an invitation otherwise.” Alice took a seat at one of the unoccupied stools around the juice bar, and then motioned to an attendant. An instant later, a strawberry and champagne concoction was being set down before her. “How about we start with your name? Why use a fake one? It’s not as though others can hurt you in here.”

                      “Perhaps not, but there is a world outside of dreams, after all. While I am not a Hero, I do share their enjoyment of anonymity.”Abridail sat back down next to Alice and picked up his own smoothie. In the time his hand closed around it, the drink went from being half empty to completely topped off. Alice noted this, but made no mention of it. Her time with Mary had already shown her that some dream-walkers could control the world just as much as the dream’s owner.

                      “Let’s go with something a bit deeper this time,” Alice said, giving Abridail warning so he could begin considering responses.

                      “Show as much civility and warning as you can when you ask about the subjects you don’t need answered. That way, you can catch them all the more off guard during the important questions.”

                      “You were the one who escorted Globe into Vince’s dream, right? Or was that just a lie that he told Mary?”

                      “No, Globe spoke the truth,” Abridail confirmed. “He almost always does. I’m guessing your next question is going to be why I would do such a thing, right?”

                      “Bingo,” Alice said.

                      “The short answer is that I owed him a favor. The slightly longer answer is that I owed him a favor, and I saw no harm in helping a father and son share a reunion. The longest answer would be telling you what favor I owed him, and that bit, I won’t be divulging.”

                      Alice nodded. “I understand and respect your need for privacy.”

                      Abridail smiled and gave a quick shake of his head. “Were it just you and I, Alice, I would be willing to share that story. But we are being listened to, and I do not trust the ears that linger around us.”

     213.

                    It was easy to forget that, on top of being precise, strong, and skilled, Chad Taylor was also inhumanly fast. While he would certainly never beat someone like Sasha in a foot race, when it came to pure reaction speed, the young Super could easily hold his own with many speedsters. His body couldn’t move as quickly, but that didn’t stop his brain from seeing an attack coming, giving him ample time to slide just out of reach and position himself for a counter. It was easy to forget how fast Chad Taylor was . . . until one found themselves fighting him, at which point, the realization came rushing in, aided by the flurry of blows being applied to one’s body.

                      Roy’s fist whistled through the air, missing Chad’s shoulder by only a few hairs, and the taller boy braced for impact. Sure enough, Chad struck his ribs with enough force to send Roy tumbling to the side, where he rolled with the blow and emerged on his feet. It was the fourth time Chad had drilled him in the exact same spot, and Roy could feel his ribs beginning to ache with each deep breath he took.

                      At first, it had seemed like Roy’s enhanced durability would finally even things out between them. Chad’s initial blows had barely registered, and Roy had started to feel invincible. While a younger, dumber Roy would have ridden that misimpression right into early defeat, this Roy quickly remembered who his opponent was and shook any such notions from his mind. Chad wasn’t at the top because a little thing like a tough opponent could stop him. Sure enough, the blond young man had almost immediately shifted his strategy to focus on hitting Roy over and over again in the same spot. It was the sort of thing only someone with Chad’s precision and skill could manage, and worse, it was working.

                      Roy involuntarily licked his lips as his feet slid carefully into a different position. Chad couldn’t counter him so easily from here; Hank’s training had taught Roy how to use his strength to overcome the flips and tosses, but he could dodge like no one’s business. Speed was turning out to be the key in this battle, and would likely be in the next one as well. Roy had to start making contact, or this whole thing would just be a slow ballet of him being picked off one punch at a time.

                      “I’m going to ask you something, and I know how it will sound, but please take it as a sincere question,” Roy said, never letting his stare waver from his opponent.

                      “I shall do my best,” Chad assured him, staying equally on guard.

                      “Thanks. It’s about . . . when we were planning this; we said we were coming at each other seriously. I meant it, too, but . . . the only way I think I’m going to be able to actually fight you is if I don’t hold back at all. Thing is, that means, if I connect, I might seriously injure you. Maybe, I mean, I don’t know for sure. That’s the issue: you never really get hit, so I don’t know how much you can take. But you know yourself better than anyone, that’s why I’m asking: if I come at you full force, can you handle a worst case scenario where I get a clean hit?”

                      Chad took his time in answering, calculating the maximum force he’d seen Roy use thus far and running it against how much damage he knew for certain he could withstand. After several seconds of hard thinking, Chad gave a slow, deliberate nod.

                      “I feel quite certain I can, but perhaps you should try and avoid my head, just to be on the safe side.”

                      “Sounds fair to me,” Roy said. He tried to put on his usual cocky grin, but found it refused to come to his face. Inside, his stomach churned as he faced the reality of hitting someone besides his father at full power. Even at his most irresponsible, Roy had always understood that, at his level, such a blow could easily end a life. He’d brought all he had to bear against only a single other living opponent, Coach George, and that had been a lot of training ago. As he was now, Roy had a feeling that fight would be quite different. While he still might not be able to solo the old teacher, he felt certain that his blows wouldn’t be shrugged off so easily.

                      He could only hope that Chad had an accurate estimation of both their skills. Otherwise, Camille was going to have to be extra quick with hers.

                      “Make sure you’re on point,” Roy warned. “Because here I come.”

     *                *                *

                      “The professors are spying on us?” Alice found that she wasn’t particularly surprised by this revelation. Curious, certainly, about motive as well as method, but not surprised. Nearly two years in Subtlety had taught her that any information she might be after probably had value to someone else as well.

                      “In a manner of speaking,” Abridail said. “Your Professor Stone doesn’t have dream-walking abilities of her own, but she can scan someone’s memory with great precision, especially when they are in a compromised state like this one. She’s periodically popping in and getting up to speed with our conversation. Quite stealthily, too. I barely noticed her presence at all.”

                      “I don’t mind her eavesdropping if you don’t.” In truth, Alice minded being used like this quite a bit, but even as she suspected he was betraying her, Alice could still hear Professor Pendleton’s voice reminding her that she had to keep the conversation going at all costs.

                      “Her listening adds a few more limits on what we can talk about, but I’m happy to keep the discussion going. This time, I’d like to ask you a question though: do you believe in destiny?”

                      “Please tell me this isn’t the segue to some ridiculous revelation where you tell me my mother had the power to affect fate, and that’s where she’s been all my life.” Alice didn’t actually expect that to be the case, but she had to take every opportunity to remind Abridail that while her mother might be his friend, Alice was an abandoned daughter just looking for closure. Bit by bit, she would wear him down.

                      “Nothing like that, I promise. This is simply a bit of philosophy I chew upon from time to time. There are days I do believe in fate, and others where the world seems to be forged purely from chaos. Although, one could say that your mother had an ability tied somewhat closely to destiny. I assume you know what it is?”

                      “My mom was a Powered, and sometimes, she would have fits where she got visions of the future,” Alice said. Given that her father had founded Shelby’s House, the nation’s largest charity for Powereds, that was one tidbit she’d always been privy to.

                      “Yes and no,” Abridail said. “You see, there is no set future. What your mother can see is only the most likely future, ones that will probably come to pass in some shape or fashion. No one—Super, Powered, or human—knows with certainty what lies ahead of us anymore than they can change the past. That’s why I find myself mulling over the destiny bit so often. The existence of abilities like your mother’s hint to something of an order to things, yet the fluidity suggests that everything is in temporal freefall. After years of contemplation, I have come to one conclusion that might interest you.”

                      “I’m all ears,” Alice said. She meant it, too. Whatever Abridail had to say was clearly closely tied to her mother. No matter how vague he got, every tidbit he revealed could provide the clue she needed.

                      “If there is such a thing as destiny, then you, Alice Adair, do not have one.”

     214.

                    Roy hadn’t gotten faster, not technically. His speed could be raised, but that was through the arduous training of both he and Hershel. Improving in a matter of seconds was beyond even his potent abilities. No, Roy wasn’t any faster, but he was also no longer holding back. Without that barrier of caution slowing his movements, Roy’s assaults were engulfing, relentless waves of violence crashing against the barrier of Chad’s defenses.

                      The blond Super shifted to the side, turning what would have been a punch to the stomach into a glancing blow off his hip. Even with the diffused force, Chad could still feel the blow radiate through his body. He’d spent a lifetime reinforcing his bones and muscles by fine-tuning their composition, but it was clear after the first punch that a direct blow from Roy would injure even Chad’s durable form. In exchange for taking the hit, Chad gave back one of his own, slamming a fist directly into the same spot on Roy’s torso he’d been hammering away at for several minutes.

                      A soft grunt of pain escaped Roy’s lips as he tried to counter, only to find that Chad had slipped out of range in the brief window after he dealt the blow to Roy’s ribs. Even giving it his all, Roy had trouble keeping up with Chad’s movements; the damned guy was as slippery as a greased pig rolling across a plastic tarp. Still, he was managing to give back some pain, even if it was only a little, and that made this into a genuine fight.

                      As Roy sucked in a breath and contemplated his next move, he realized that his change in strategy might have come too late. His ribs were definitely bruised, possibly on their way to broken. Once Chad had them good and cracked, all he’d have to do is land a solid punch, and Roy would lose his focus due to the pain. Being woozy around Chad would basically be the same as giving up; he knew far too many tricks of incapacitation for Roy to have any hope of surviving the encounter. That meant any damage he needed to do had to happen in the next few exchanges. Roy probably had one attack, maybe two, before his ribs shattered, and Chad had a weak spot to exploit.

                      Roy ignored the protests of pain in his torso as he gulped down a lungful of air. One direct hit. If he could just land one direct hit, it could change the tide of battle. Chad might be quick and smart and have every other advantage there was in a brawl, but Roy Daniels could swing a goddamned fist like few others. He’d just have to make that be enough.

     *                *                *

                      “Will there be any explanation to go with that wildly cryptic statement, or are you just going to leave it there?”

                      “I thought a student of Subtlety like yourself would recognize a hint when she was handed one,” Abridail replied. “You’re trying to pump me for information that I can’t give, so this is me meeting you halfway.”

                      “By telling me I have no destiny?”

                      “No, that people like you have no destiny.” Abridail leaned in a bit closer, despite the fact that there was technically no need to whisper. “While this is nothing more than a pet theory of mine, you’re not the only one who fits the criteria. You’re not even the only one in your own dormitory.”

                      “Interesting.” Alice filed that fact away, deciding to mull it over properly when she had the time. “Maybe we should try something different. You’re sticking firm to the not telling me about my mother thing, but you indicated that you know quite a lot more than just where she’s been all these years. What can you tell me?”

                      “A great many things, about a great many people,” Abridail said. “Though only a fraction of a fraction of it would concern you. Some of it you would find exceptionally fascinating, though. For example: how many uncles do you think you have?”

                      “So far as I know, none. Then again, given that my father apparently lied to me about my mother being dead, it wouldn’t be that shocking if you told me I had one squirreled away somewhere.” Alice hated the fact that her father had fallen so far in her esteem that the idea of him covering up another human’s existence was readily believable, but he really had no one to blame but himself for that.

                      “Oh, they’re far from squirreled away. In fact, two of them are among the people you see most frequently. I mean, you do have Control and Subtlety classes five days a week, after all.”

                      Alice tilted her head back, and her eyes narrowed as she stared at the invader in her mind who was clearly trying to peddle bullshit. “Are you telling me that Professor Hill and Professor Pendleton are my uncles? Fucking hell, you’re just some nut job aren’t you? Some dick of a Super that goes around jumping into people’s dreams and telling them things they might desperately want to hear just to fuck with them.” Her exasperation was quickly turning to anger, and around them, the attendants of the spa seemed to blink out of existence as the sound of thunder echoed on some unseen horizon.

                      “I’d appreciate it if you backed me up here. It’s why I waited for you in the first place.” Abridail was staring not at Alice, as she’d initially thought, but past her. He was looking at something over her shoulder and, as Alice turned, she caught sight of a familiar figure, one she’d have recognized even if it weren’t abnormally short.

                      “He’s telling the truth, Alice.” Mary took a few steps forward, away from the door she’d come through that Alice was certain hadn’t been there moments before. “Nick figured it out a while back, and I overheard it from his thoughts, but I didn’t want to say anything without having solid evidence. Good as he is, sometimes Nick leaps to conclusions.”

                      “Wait, hang on, my teachers are my uncles? How is that possible? And how are you here?” The anger faded quickly from Alice as confusion retook its spot in the forefront of her mind.

                      “Someone must have put your hands together a while back. I sensed the moment Mary’s mind was linked to yours, and knew it would only be a matter of time until she found her way here.” Abridail finished off his smoothie, then rose from the bar stool, pausing only to smooth out his crisp suit jacket. “Now that she’s here, we can finally begin in earnest. Are you two ready to go sightseeing?”

                      “That depends. Where are you taking us?” Alice asked.

     “Oh, we’ll be staying right here, safely in your mind. I merely want to share with you something your mother has been looking at all these years,” Abridail said. “If you’ll permit me a little more freedom to shape this world, then I can take you to see the future.”

     215.

     Despite his promise that they would be staying in Alice’s mind, the world certainly seemed to change as soon as Alice gave Abridail permission. The spa vanished as the world stretched outward, the soft glow of the lamps shrinking down to small pinpricks of light. Within moments, it seemed as though they were hanging in the void of space, racing across glowing bridges that ran between the stars.

                      He piloted them over the bridges wordlessly, shifting the world around them even though they were technically standing still. As they hurtled through this new realm, Mary was struck by how bright it all was. She’d always imagined space would be dark, the light of the stars too far away to feel, but out here, they burned and pulsed, flickering into and out of existence at irregular intervals.

                      “Where are we?” Alice was the one who asked the question, her mouth hanging open as she stared in wide-eyed wonder at the infinite skyscape around them. It was easy to think that they were worldly and jaded after seeing the marvels other Supers could produce, but standing out here was a keen reminder of just how young they were, and how little of the world they had truly experienced.

                      “This . . . is my world.” Abridail’s words were heavy, his tone somber as he gazed up at the sea of twinkling lights surrounding them. Mary supposed the effect never entirely wore off, and she could see why.

                      “Forgive the slight delay; before I show you your mother’s visions, I need to mentally formulate every detail accurately. While we wait, I thought you might enjoy glimpsing the world as I see it. Every light you see here is a dream. Some last forever, as their owners return each night. Others burn only for moments, dying away before they’ve had the chance to reach their true glory. Each is as unique as the mind that summons them. I’ve spent most of my life walking amidst the dreams, and I’ve yet to see two that are quite the same.”

                      The space between worlds twisted under Alice and Mary’s feet. Neither was sure what he was conjuring, or if it was a good idea to allow him this much power, but they were set on seeing it through. Whatever Abridail knew, it was something they couldn’t walk away from. Not with so few clues as to what was going on around them.

                      “Earlier, you said we were going to see the future,” Alice said, her voice falling away after a few feet, as though the darkness between stars was devouring it. “Did you misspeak?”

                      “I told you before, there is no set future.” Abridail didn’t turn around as he spoke, but his words reached her and Mary without effort. “There are only the most probable ones looming before us. Those are what your mother can see, and what I feel it’s time you were given a glimpse of as well.”

                      “Why? I mean, why bother telling us this? Why do we get to see these futures?” Mary asked. She dearly missed her telepathy, as she would have given almost anything to poke around in this mysterious man’s head.

                      This time, Abridail did turn around, though Mary almost wished he hadn’t. The levity that had been on his face since she’d first walked into Alice’s dream was gone, and in its place was a seriousness that made her wonder if he was about to tell her the secret to life itself.

                      “Because, there is a crossroads coming soon, one that splits the potential futures into two general categories. One of those is something I would dearly like to not see come to pass. And as to why you two are being shown this glimpse, rather than someone else, it only seemed appropriate that you be given the warning.” Abridail turned away once more, but they still heard his next words as crisp and clear as the previous ones.

                      “After all, you five are at the center of what causes the split.”

     *                *                *

                      “It was a good fight.” Camille took her hand away from Roy’s face, and as she did, he noticed that his cheek wasn’t throbbing with pain anymore. A deep breath confirmed that his ribs were no longer broken, and as he stood, Roy could feel his right leg bearing weight once more.

                      “Thanks. I thought I almost had him at the end. Also, thanks for the healing. You really do some top notch patch-jobs.”

                      Roy stood to the side, allowing Chad to receive Camille’s healing next. Technically, the blond Super could heal his own wounds, but it made more sense to conserve his energy while simultaneously feeding Camille’s arsenal. Chad was mostly uninjured, save for the fractured shoulder that Roy had managed to give him on their last confrontation. It had been meant to crack his sternum, but Chad dodged, and when he hit Roy’s ribs that time, it had filled the larger man’s brain with shockwaves of pain. By the time he regained control of his senses, he’d been on the ground with a cracked shin and several bruises. It had been close, just not close enough.

                      “You are a strong son of a bitch, you know that?” Professor Cole walked across the combat cell, a single bandage wound around Roy’s bat as she held it out to him. “If you’d tried to hit anyone else in your class like that—hell, if you hadn’t gotten permission from Chad first—I probably would have had to stop the fight for attempted use of lethal force.”

                      “I don’t know about ‘anyone’ in the class,” Roy said as he accepted his bat. It felt heavy, yet familiar, as he tightened his grip. “Vince could have absorbed it, Sasha could have avoided it, Thomas’s armor probably could have held up against, and Violet would have been fine if she was in extra-dense mode; when you get down to it, a lot of the class would have been fine if I’d hit them.”

                      “No, they wouldn’t have. What you just listed were three people with methods to prevent the force of your punch from reaching them, people who would be turned to pudding if those methods failed, and one who might be able to withstand it if she were in the form that gave her maximum durability. You can see why I wouldn’t have been able to just let you go throwing those full-power punches willy-nilly. You’re stronger than you think you are; which is saying a lot, because I know how big your ego is.”

                      “Too bad it wasn’t enough to make the difference,” Roy said. He’d known going in that he couldn’t beat Chad; their abilities were just too at odds for him to triumph. Still, he would have liked to have seen some sign of progress. Hitting Chad a couple of times was nice, but Roy wanted more. He wanted to know that these last years of endless training had yielded tangible results, ones he could actually see.

                      “It wasn’t, that time,” Professor Cole agreed. “But there are two things to keep in mind. The first is that your last attack was close, damn close, to landing in Chad’s center mass. If you’d managed to pull it off, the fight may have turned out very differently. Who knows, if you had a rematch with fists, you might surprise yourself at what you could achieve.”

                      “Maybe, but we’ve had a lot of sparring matches during class. I’m pretty sure Chad would find a way to win. He always does.”

                      “True as I’m sure that is, he’s never fought the version of you that knows how to wield a weapon.” Professor Cole reached out and lightly tapped Roy’s bat with her index finger. “And that’s the second thing to keep in mind. As strong as you are with those fists of yours, this bat makes you a lot stronger. Chad may have beaten Close Combat Roy a thousand times in a row, but this is the first time he’s ever dealt with Weapons Roy. Try to make a good first impression.”

     216.

                    “The five of us . . .” Alice let the words slosh around in her head, distilling as much meaning as possible from Abridail’s statement. The implication was obvious: the only unique group of five she was a part of was the Powereds who’d been turned into Supers. And while it certainly possible that they’d have an impact on the future—in fact, that was what they were training to do—Alice couldn’t see any of her friends intentionally taking things down a bad path. Well . . . maybe Nick, but he’d have been equally capable of that with or without his abilities. It was possible that time would change them, though possible wasn’t the same as likely. Looking at the fact as they were, the most likely conclusion was that it wouldn’t be their actions that caused some sort of timeline uproar at all.

                      “You mean the procedure, right? Once our test group shows that Powereds can be changed with no negative side effects, that’s going to cause an issue?”

                      Abridail nodded as the winding ride they were on slowed, letting them take in a full view of the bridges that ran like threads between the seemingly infinite number of dreams. Idly, Alice wondered if these bridges existed naturally, or if Abridail conjured them specifically for his journeys. If it were the former, some interesting metaphysical possibilities opened up, though she strongly suspected it to be the latter.

                      “You five have made too much of an impact; the secret is out, even if powerful people are keeping a lid on it for now. There’s almost no future where what happened to you doesn’t become common knowledge, and once Powereds know what they can become, there’s no way to stop them, short of genocide. The lines between Powered and Super blur, and the ranks of variant Homo sapiens swell.”

                      “And not everyone is happy about it,” Mary concluded. No one knew better than a telepath about the simmering resentment in the hearts of humans. Powereds they could pity, find a sense of superiority against, but Supers . . . discovering one’s species had gone from the top of the heap to the number two spot was a bitter pill for many to swallow. Envy burned in them, and all too often, that slowly morphed into hatred for the people whose whole world worked on a different set of rules.

                      “No, they aren’t,” Abridail confirmed. “Humans begin to feel like they’re getting choked out, the societal power they’ve wielded since Supers were discovered starts to erode, and even more violent militant groups emerge to fight against the idea of Supers. At the same time, Supers feel their sense of superiority seep away as the Powereds lose their status as ‘lesser beings.’”

                      “Wait, why do the Supers care?” Alice asked. “It’s not like us getting control of our abilities takes away theirs. The humans I can kind of see, but other Supers hating us makes no sense.”

                      “You haven’t noticed, have you?” Abridail said. Suddenly, Alice realized that the star world was beginning to fade out, turning to fog as Abridail began the true start of what they were meant to see.

                      “I did.” Mary’s voice was quiet, one of the few times it matched her size, yet Alice could still hear each word perfectly. “I’d just hoped it was a fluke.”

                      “It’s not,” Abridail told her. He looked back at Alice, who met his eyes with uncertainty. “Five of you were turned and thrown into the same HCP class. Of that five, only one of you was kicked out, and it was based on moral grounds. Around you, dozens of Supers who’d had their abilities for their entire lives were cut, and yet your lot stayed. You really never put it together?”

                      Alice swallowed hard, trying to push the revelation through her throat to where it could be properly digested in her gut. “I guess . . . I guess I tried not to think about it.”

                      “Others are not so willing to overlook the coincidence, and in most futures I’ve seen, the next groups bear out the theory,” Abridail said. “Powereds who are turned to Supers are, on average, more powerful than naturally born Supers. Some scientists even propose that your increased abilities are why you were Powered in the first place: they were more than your bodies could handle. At least, handle without artificial assistance.”

                      “Do you know what they did to us?” Mary was staring at Abridail with more intensity than Alice had seen in her friend’s face since she was kidnapped. “I listened to every thought the doctors and nurses had, I combed through their heads looking for clues, and I’ve skimmed the thoughts of everyone I met who had even a loose affiliation with the program, but no one I’ve encountered actually knew what they were doing. Even the doctors only had compartmentalized tasks. You’ve gotten to look into these futures that Alice’s mom can see; surely you know something about what they did to us.”

                      “Yes, I know what they did.” Abridail met Mary’s intensity with a somber peace, an armor of calm against the weapon of her ferocity. “But I cannot tell you that today.”

                      “Why the hell not? Don’t we deserve to know?”

                      “You do, and you will, but not today,” Abridail told her. “Today is about a different piece of your puzzle. What’s been done to you is in the past, nothing you can do will change it. I have to prioritize stones that are not yet cast.”

                      “Then what’s the harm in telling us?” Alice said, stepping forward. “Why not just answer her question so we can focus on the things you want us to see?”

                      “Because our time is limited, and this,” Abridail gestured to the world forming around them, “is more important. We could afford the moments it would cost to answer your question, but not the unstoppable sea of new questions that would come afterward. I’m sorry that I can’t provide all the answers you want. All I can ask is for you to trust that you will get them someday, and that what lies before you is worth the sacrifice.”

                      “I don’t know that I trust you at all.” Alice walked over to Mary, who’d managed to calm her unexpected swell of emotion. “But if these are really my mother’s visions, then I want to see them.”

                      Mary reached out and took Alice’s hand in her own, giving it a firm squeeze. “And I can’t just let you have some stranger puttering about in your head all alone. I’d be the worst surrogate dorm mom ever if I did.”

                      “Thank you for your understanding,” Abridail said. “And now, please prepare yourselves. What you are about to experience is not for the faint of heart.”

     217.

                    Chad prided himself on his analytical abilities. Though the others didn’t realize it, a great deal of what he accomplished was tethered to the fact that he could predict an attack based on an opponent’s style and history. His brain enabled this wonderful trick, and the body he’d spent his youth training and remodeling allowed him to act on the information. Often, the data was processed so quickly he didn’t even consciously register all of it; instead, it felt like what others would call “intuition.” Chad knew better, of course; it was merely his subconscious running a routine that had been done so much it was automated, like breathing. Still, as Roy charged forward with his bat in hand, Chad felt an impulse that had never come from his intuition against this opponent. It was to not only dodge the blow, but to get clear altogether. The idea made no sense, yet Chad prided himself on those analytical abilities; he’d be damned if he stopped listening to them now.

                      The crack filled the cell, and flecks of concrete pelted Chad’s skin as he landed, having jumped back a solid eight feet from where Roy was swinging. Where he’d been moments before was a small crater, the tip of Roy’s bat resting in its center. By Chad’s calculations, the blow had been carrying a lot of force . . . and it was clear from Roy’s muscle position as he swung that he was holding himself back.

                      “Haven’t seen you hop away like that before,” Roy commented. He swung the bat around and up to a ready position, eyes set on the target before him.

                      “Your attacks have never been that dangerous before.” Chad lowered his stance slightly, improving his center of gravity. Technically, the stakes weren’t any different than they had been before; Roy’s strikes had been strong enough to end the fight with one direct blow in their last match too. But that was a maybe, at best. The bat carried a far higher chance of him pulling it off, especially with its increased range. He could try to disarm Roy, but if he was able to wield something that heavy, Chad suspected his grip might difficult to break. This wasn’t a fight where he could allow Roy to go down and recover after each bout. Chad had to keep the momentum if he wanted to win this time.

                      “If you liked that one, you’ll love this.” Roy charged forward again, bat held ready. This time, Chad understood the danger. Rather than letting Roy get into a spot where he could swing, Chad bolted forward, slamming a palm into Roy’s chest while simultaneously sweeping both legs out from under him. Powerful as he was, with no time to counter, Roy found himself airborne, and suddenly, all the strength in the world became meaningless. He barely had an instant to adjust to the spinning world before he caught sight of Chad’s heel raised directly overhead. It shot down, delivering a perfect hammer kick to Roy’s skull and driving him into the concrete, creating a brand new crater.

                      “Hold!” Professor Cole hurried over, and Chad stepped back, ceasing his attack instantly. She still shot him an uncertain look as she came to Roy’s side. “You know that probably ended the match.”

                      “Roy asked me to fight him as best I could,” Chad replied. “While I was able to give him leeway in our hand-to-hand matches, the threat he posed with the weapon was significantly increased. Thus, I switched to a heavier offense, just as I would in a real fight.”

                      “Luckily, you probably just knocked—”

                      Professor Cole was cut off by Roy rising from the ground, a small trickle of blood smeared on his forehead and concrete dust matting his chestnut hair. That much was expected, though, as getting slammed headfirst into the ground would definitely leave a mark, but what neither Chad nor Professor Cole was anticipating was the expression on his face.

                      Roy Daniels had a wild, madman’s grin slicing across his face as he hefted the bat over his shoulder and turned to face Chad. It was not a facade meant to intimidate his opponent, nor misdirection to hide his injury. Chad doubted Roy even knew he was making the expression, which made it all the more disturbing.

                      “Finally.” Roy’s word fell from his lips like an avenging angel from the heavens. “Three years. Three goddamned years I’ve been waiting for that. All this time, you kept holding back, trying to make our fights into learning opportunities for me. All this time, you’ve never viewed me as a real opponent, a genuine threat. This is the first time you were even a little bit afraid of me, and you tried to end me for it.” Roy lifted the bat and pointed it toward Chad, like Babe Ruth calling his shot. “Finally.”

                      “Do you want to continue?” Professor Cole already knew what his answer would be. If Chad had torn Roy’s legs from his body, she still knew what the answer would be. Roy wasn’t especially skilled, or graceful, or precise; he was more like a giant boulder barreling down a hill. And just like a boulder, he wouldn’t stop unless he was completely obliterated. Roy Daniels had determination in spades.

                      “Damn right.” Roy tightened his grip on the bat. “And please, don’t stop the fight again unless it’s absolutely necessary. I have a feeling the two of us are going to get bloody, but we’ll want to see this all the way through. That okay with you, Chad?”

                      “Perfectly acceptable.” Chad felt something stirring in him besides his intuition. It was a familiar sensation, one he sought out constantly, but had never expected to find with Roy Daniels. This was the thrill of a true battle, where defeat was a genuine risk, where he could push himself to become better. Fights like these were the essence of what it was to be a warrior, and he would no more see it end early than Roy would.

                      “No more holding back. From either of us.”

                      “You sure? I can do a lot more damage with this thing than with just punches, and you were worried about those,” Roy pointed out.

                      “It’s only fair. You tested your unarmed skills at full power; you should test your weapon-wielding skills the same way. Besides, I’m curious to see just what you can do.” Chad readied himself, and saw Roy echo the body language.

                      “If I think someone is going to die, I’m stepping in.” Professor Cole retreated back to her corner of the cell, unwinding several of her bandages in case she needed to grab someone in a hurry. Otherwise, she intended to stay out of it. She’d been around enough Heroes to know that sometimes, they just had to beat the living hell out of each other.

                      But in a friendly way.

     218.

                    Broken pavement crunched beneath Alice’s HCP uniform boots as she turned around slowly, taking in the scene before her. Graffiti littered the buildings (those that were still standing), and nary a sign of life could be found. She didn’t recognize the place; it could have been a block in any metropolitan area in the world, or one she’d visited a thousand times, but which the devastation had ravaged so thoroughly that whatever it had been was virtually unrecognizable.

                      In the center of the block, in what had once been a small park, was a sea of shoddily constructed wooden crosses. Some had flowers laid on them, while others had been smeared with painted slurs. In the distance, Alice heard someone scream, only for the sound to cut off without warning. A shiver ran down her spine, and she forced herself to remember that this was all just a dream. For now.

                      “This is where one of the first confrontations goes from verbal to physical.” Abridail’s voice carried through the broken landscape, rebounding off the battered buildings and shattered streets. “There are many, many more places like this in the world . . .” The area around them shifted, showing another destroyed block, then another, and another, until they were bouncing through wreckage so fast Alice thought she would be sick. Then, as quickly as it started, it came to end, and they were back in the initial block. “But this was the first. Here was where Supers, Powereds, and humans officially drew lines in the sand against each other.”

                      “I don’t understand.” Alice stepped into the park and noticed for the first time that some of the crosses had names etched in them. None were familiar, and she prayed it would stay that way. “How did we . . . our existence, cause all of this?”

                      “Powereds are second class citizens, on a good day,” Mary said. “I’m sure that when some of them gain control of their abilities, there will be people they want to pay back for how they were treated. Supers are prideful; I doubt they would take discovering that Powereds were actually the stronger species very well. And humans . . . they aren’t stomaching being in second place as it is. Bumping them to third is going to piss a lot of people off.”

                      “Mary has it quite right,” Abridail agreed. “Alone, none of those components are enough to ignite this powder keg, but with all of them mixed together, and a few radicals claiming to speak for the masses, it can happen. Not many people actually want to start this conflict, but once it begins, all that anger and vitriol finds an outlet. Things snowball, and, well . . . this happens.”

                      “All because we’re a little more powerful than Supers?” Alice couldn’t wrap her head around so much destruction stemming from something so stupid.

                      “Humans have hated us for a long time.” Mary joined Alice in the park-turned-graveyard, though she refused to try and read the names on the crosses. Mary knew far too well the dangers of knowing things she’d rather not. “You can’t show a regular person that there are others who can defy gravity, or lift cars, or shrug off bullets, and not expect them to be angry about the unfairness of it. For a lot of them, more than you’d want to believe, all they need is an excuse.”

                      “And Supers are, at their core, human as well. They have similar feelings to discovering that they are lesser beings compared to the converted Powereds,” Abridail said. “It doesn’t help matters that Powereds have both been looked down on by, and outnumber, Supers.”

                      “I guess I thought we were better than this.” Alice paused at a row of the crosses and knelt down. The flowers set before one of them were fresh. She’d brought enough roses to her mother’s headstone to recognize ones that had been recently cut. Even in a hellscape like this one, there was a person bringing fresh flowers to honor someone they’d lost.

                      “And perhaps we are,” Abridail said. “I believe I told you, there is a crossroads coming, a point at which most probable futures resemble this, or another. Now that we’ve seen this one, I think it’s time for the second.”

                      Mary placed a hand on Alice’s shoulder, and the taller woman slowly rose from the ground. “Let’s go,” Alice said. “Show me a better future.”

     *               *               *

                      Concrete flew upward as Roy was slammed into the wall. The back of his head throbbed and for a moment, the world seemed to spin, but Roy bit the inside of his lip and forced his mind to focus. If he lost consciousness now, the fight would be over. He couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not when he was so close to something. He didn’t know what, but something.

                      Across the room, Chad rubbed his wrist as he finished healing the damage Roy had done by clipping it. The bones had held—they were the toughest part of Chad, and could likely stand up to anything short of a direct hit—but the flesh and muscles around them had been pulped by the blow. Not that there was any sign of the injury now; Chad’s wrist looked as pristine as it had before Roy’s bat made contact with it. But it had still happened, and they both knew it.

                      Roy rushed forward, since he knew Chad would expect him to take a moment and recover. It wouldn’t buy him much, maybe a half of a half of a second if he was lucky. Still, it was an edge, and as Roy felt his own injuries accumulating, he knew he had to reach for every advantage he could get. His heavy, pounding steps left small cracks in the concrete that escaped his notice. Every second mattered. Every half of a half of an inch. Every heartbeat, he was closer to getting stronger.

                      Then they were within range of each other, and all of Roy’s other thoughts fell away. He forgot about the decision he was trying to make, about how many times Chad had wounded his pride, even about why he’d called the match in the first place. All that existed in Roy’s mind was Chad, and he swung his bat around with every ounce of power he could muster. Chad slid to the side, but Roy had seen that coming, and pivoted so that he could keep the blow moving. With escape impossible, Chad went for a counter. His hand stretched out, on a course to take Roy’s shoulder. Only in the last instant did Chad realize that he was going to be too slow. Not by much at all, a mere half a second at most. But it was enough.

                      The crack of his forearm filled the air, even as Chad leapt in the direction of the blow and got clear of Roy. He came down and quickly put distance between himself and his adversary as Roy spun around and planned his next charge.

                      “Good hit.” Chad didn’t let himself feel the pain as his cracked bones knit themselves back together, but he knew the damage had been extensive.

                      “I was due.” The world spun a bit once more, though this time, Roy didn’t have to hurt himself to keep from passing out. The adrenaline and excitement pounding through his veins was doing the job just fine.

                      “Perhaps you were; I barely avoided those last few attacks. It was folly for me to assume I’d be able to dodge all of your blows.” A new cracking sound filled the air, and a familiar armor breached Chad’s skin, weaving itself around his body.

                      Roy nodded; he’d been waiting for this to come into play. “Why not go with the bone armor when we started? You had to know my bat could hurt.”

                      “It slows me down,” Chad replied. “I gain defense at the expense of maneuverability. When I was able to dodge, that made more sense, but you’ve clearly shown that I need a different strategy to win this match.”

                      “Guess you do.” Roy swung the bat around once and prepared to charge. He’d done more in this bout than he had in any of the previous ones. Chad had not only been forced to take him seriously, he’d had to change tactics to deal with Roy’s assault. It was a pair of firsts for Roy, and he knew the bat in his hand was responsible for the difference. Which major he’d pursue was no longer in question, but he still intended to see this fight through to the end.

                      After all, he’d gotten two firsts in this fight with Chad, why not go for the hat trick? Roy was going to try and win.

     219.

                    It was the same place as they had been, geographically, but that was about the only resemblance the two spots bore. This one wasn’t deserted; crowds of people went about their day, ignoring Abridail, Mary, and Alice as though they weren’t even present. Some were stopping to sit and eat lunch in the park that was no longer a makeshift graveyard. They basked in the warm glow of the sun, which was also reflecting off the statue of a cloaked Hero in the center of the park square.

                      “Is this supposed to be some sort of utopia?” Mary asked.

                      “Far from it. This place still has crime, and hatred, and all of the dirty little bits that make humans so very human. But it’s not a war zone. So, in that regard, yes, it’s a utopia compared to what lies on the other side of the crossroads.” Abridail seemed to be watching both of them closely as he spoke, as if he were waiting for some clue or reaction.

                      “In this world, that big fight you talked about never happened, right? The one where lines were drawn in the sand?” Alice asked.

                      “It started to, but this time, cooler heads prevailed. The people who were able to see our similarities, rather than our differences, gained more power than the extremists, and slowly, the three different species found a way to live with one another,” Abridail explained.

                      “Who’s the guy in the statue?” Alice walked across the now well-maintained grounds, marveling at what a difference it was from the place she’d been only moments prior.

                      “An incredibly strong, former Powered who stopped that first fight, opening the chance for discussion to win out over violence. He is one piece of what makes this world different, but only a part of it. I’ve seen futures without him where violence still doesn’t win out, but far fewer. Guiding humanity to this path is more than one person can do.”

                      “So, then, what is it you need from us?” Alice turned away from the park and met Abridail’s watchful stare. “I assume you went to the trouble of showing us all of this because we need to do something to fix it, right? Some important thing we have to stop or make sure happens so that Supers and Powereds and humans don’t go to war with each other?”

                      “I deeply, dearly, wish that were the case.” Abridail’s shoulders fell slightly, and for the first time, Alice could see the man behind the dream-conjured projection of confidence and knowledge. “Your mother’s power is imprecise, at best. She keeps seeing variations of these futures, but never what causes each of them to come to fruition. The truth is, I don’t know how to prevent one or cause the other. I only know that these two paths are what most likely lie before us.”

                      “I don’t understand.” Mary had been in the park, watching two sets of parents play with their children. She rose from her perch slowly and turned back to their guide. “If you don’t know how to stop the war from happening, then what’s the point of bringing us here at all? To torture us? To make us doubt and question every choice we make for the rest of our lives, never knowing if we’ll cause that awful destruction decades down the line?”

                      “No.” It was Alice who spoke, her mind whirring as she began putting the last piece of Abridail’s puzzle into the pile he’d provided. A shape began to quickly form, and at last, Alice understood this strange man’s agenda. “No. He’s bringing us here because he doesn’t know what to do. He needs help. And while this sort of information is incredibly dangerous in the hands of anyone who wants to see that conflict happen, he’s trusting us to try and work toward the side of peace.”

                      Abridail nodded slowly, and Alice thought she caught the slightest glimpse of shame in his eyes. “I have spent years combing through the dreams your mother sees, and I have only gained the barest of hints as to what creates this world. But I have seen so very much of you, Alice Adair. Your mother has so little control of what she sees, and every ounce of power she has goes toward looking for you, making sure her daughter’s future is safe. I have witnessed, from her visions, how powerful you can become, and what kind of woman you might turn out to be. I’ve realized that it is beyond me to choose which future comes to pass on my own, so I decided to put my trust in you. Perhaps you can do what I’ve been unable to. Or, at the very least, you’ll be forewarned.”

                      He paused and glanced at Mary. This time, Alice was certain she caught shame in his eyes. “And Mary, this is not decades after your lifetime. The exact timeframe fluctuates, but in most of them, that first great battle occurs thirty years from now.”

                      Mary’s eyes widened, and Alice felt a stone form in her gut. So soon. So quickly society could spiral down into chaos and blood. For a moment, she couldn’t believe it, but Alice was a smart girl. She’d read her history books when given the assignments. Mankind had been down that road before. It could certainly go there again.

                      “I want to bring us to this better future,” Abridail continued. “I don’t know if it’s perfect, but it’s better than the alternative. As your mother herself once told me: ‘This world has hope. It has a chance.’ For me, that’s enough to make it worth working toward.”

     *               *               *

                      Chips of concrete and bone littered their feet, with smears of blood dropped in at irregular intervals. Roy’s bat had several new dents, as well as a sizable gash in the side. He looked far worse—bruises stretched across much of his visible skin, and he winced with every breath. Still, his eyes never wavered; they stayed locked on Chad as the pale-white bone armor moved, getting into position.

                      Chad, unlike Roy, looked almost fresh in the fight. It was only if one had keen eyes that they could spot the subtle breaks in his armor, the weariness in his steps. Though he could heal his injuries and patch his armor, doing so still required energy. To keep his healing to the speed Roy dished out damage had taken a toll on him, and it was starting to show.

                      Professor Cole watched the battle patiently, marveling at the determination in these two young men. It was hard to remember back to her HCP days, before lives had been at stake and she had donned her mask. Had she fought this hard for the simple matter of pride? Possibly so, but her ego was not so great that she took it for granted. Moments like this reminded her why she’d taken up a professorship after her Hero career had come to a close. Every now and then, she got to see beyond the children in her care, catching a glimpse of the Heroes they would become. As Professor Cole saw Roy and Chad charge at each other one last time, she could picture their futures, and she felt a pang of pity in her heart for the poor sons of bitches that would go up against these monsters.

                      The exchange was brief and brutal. Roy swung hard, but the injury in his shoulder weakened the attack, allowing Chad to dodge rather than use his armor. He closed the gap between them, catching a punch to the armor around his chest for the trouble, but pushing on and snagging Roy around the neck. Rearing back, Chad slammed the cone-shaped spiked bones on the end of his fist into Roy’s back. Once. Twice. On the third blow, Roy buckled, his body failing to keep up with his willpower.

                      “Halt!” Chad’s hand stopped halfway toward delivering another punch, and he stood frozen as the professor hurried over to check on Roy. He was okay, or as okay as someone could be after that kind of beating, but he was too far gone to keep fighting. “Roy Daniels has lost this match. Chad Taylor is the winner. Camille, please hurry ov—”

                      The professor’s words were cut off by the sound of Chad Taylor, having attained his victory, collapsing onto the ground next to her in an unconscious heap.

     220.

                    Alice’s eyes fluttered open, and she immediately realized two things: this wasn’t the room she’d been put under in, and she was hellishly thirsty. Thankfully, the second issue was easy to correct, as a hand with long, bony fingers reached out, offering her an open bottle of water. Alice accepted it gratefully, throwing back the liquid and guzzling it down as quickly as her throat would allow. Only when it was completely drained did she try to sit up and get a sense of her surroundings.

                      They were in the infirmary, though curiously, none of the usual healing students were on hand. There was a woman Alice had caught sight of from time to time, but didn’t recognize, as well as Dean Blaine and Professor Pendleton. Alice’s hand groped around of its own accord, grasping at nothingness with frustration. It took a moment for Alice to realize she was looking for Mary, whose absence suddenly became the most important issue at hand.

                      “Where’s Mary?”

                      “With the others,” Dean Blaine said. “She has more experience with being handed unexpected information, and will join us when Ms. Wilkins’s testing is done.”

                      “You . . . you kept this all going?”

                      “Perhaps you’d have preferred we alert everyone in the room to the fact that you had a visitor burst into your head, declare that the Powereds were going to usher in a nightmare future where we were all at war, and charge you with somehow preventing it,” Professor Pendleton said. “Since you had a history with ‘bad reactions’ to Rich’s power, we simply said you’d had another and took you to the infirmary to recuperate, thereby ensuring your secret.”

                      “You’re right, sorry I—” Alice stopped mid-apology, staring at the tall, scarecrow-like teacher who’d clearly been trying to drum her out of his class since she was first put in it. When she next spoke, all softness was gone from her voice. To Alice’s ears, it sounded like a different person entirely, though not an unfamiliar one. In truth, it sounded like the voice she heard from within during the bloodiest parts of a battle.

                      “Get out.”

                      “Alice, you’re right to be a bit upset about us putting you under, knowing that Abridail might come intruding,” Dean Blaine began. He didn’t get the chance to finish however, as Professor Pendleton was suddenly five feet off the ground and dangling helplessly.

                      “You’re my uncle. My mother’s brother.” Her words were barely above a hiss as she glared at Professor Pendleton, who looked oddly unfazed by his impromptu flight. The words, however, caused an expression of sheer shock to break through his stoic facade.  “You’ve been around me for two years, and never once did you try and tell me. Did you even treat me like family. Hell, you clearly have fucking hated me from day one. Well, I’ll take that from an old bastard who might have a grudge against my father, but I will be goddamned if I let it stand from you. Now, get out before I throw you out.”

                      Alice raised her hand to prove the point, but Professor Pendleton dropped to the ground unexpectedly. She was confused, but only for a moment. Dean Blaine was in the room, after all. It had only been a matter of time before he cut off the use of powers.

                      “Alice . . . listen, I don’t have a good—”

                      “Sean, perhaps you should take a walk for a while. Go check on the other students.” Dean Blaine helped his friend and colleague up from the ground, but the grip he used made it clear that this was not a request.

                      “Yeah. Maybe that’s a good idea.” Professor Pendleton chanced one last look at Alice, who refused to meet his eyes, and then walked out of the infirmary and down the hall.

                      “I’m surprised Professor Stone didn’t tell you I’d been given a heads up,” Alice said, once he was gone.

                      “We only had a few moments to speak as you were transferred to the infirmary. She no doubt put more importance on what Abridail showed you than on discovering part of your hidden family tree.”

                      “Part of my . . . right, Professor Hill too.” Alice shook her head and wrung the blankets between her hands. “Is there anyone in my life that’s not keeping some sort of crazy secret from me?”

                      “Knowing the company you keep, probably not,” Dean Blaine said. “Though, it seems you and Mary now have one of your own.”

                      “I just wanted to know what the hell happened to my mom.” The ferocity that had ballooned in her when she saw Professor Pendleton deflated, and in its place, all she could feel was the familiar emptiness where her mother was supposed to be. “Now I find out she’s on some weird future vision-quest, doesn’t want to see me, and that, oh yeah, my existence might accidentally trigger a war between the different species of humans. This was a terrible Saturday.”

                      “If I may offer some advice,” Dean Blaine said. “I would like to remind you that, from a fundamental standpoint, that knowledge changes very little for you. You are already here, in the Hero Certification Program, because you want to make the world a better place, to guide it to a more peaceful future. Abridail’s warning doesn’t change that; it only reminds you of the stakes you’ve always been playing for. As a Hero, if you don’t succeed, then people die. The scale may vary, but that is always true.”

                      “This isn’t making me feel much better,” Alice said. “Though I appreciate the effort.”

                      “You have my apologies. For all of what you endured today.” Dean Blaine adjusted his glasses slightly. It was the only way he could force himself not to look at the floor. Right now, Alice didn’t need a dean who was ashamed of what had been done; she needed to feel that her trial had been worth it. “And I promise that, as we try and run down every bit of information we gleaned from Abridail, I will keep you in the loop should we uncover your mother’s whereabouts.”

                      “Thank you. It’d be nice if one good thing came from this.”

                      “Alice . . . you know we’ve been searching for your mother for nearly a year now, ever since we learned she was still alive. Sean—sorry, Professor Pendleton has been tireless. I’m sure you have a lot of anger and questions regarding him right now, but please know that, at least in terms of wanting to find your mother, you two share common ground.”

                      “I guess I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Alice reached over to the side table, where more bottles of water were piled up and guzzled one down. She would do her best to keep her word to Dean Blaine, but she couldn’t imagine reaching a place of understanding with her Subtlety teacher.

                      Alice had been lied to for so long, by so many people, that her tolerance for it had just about run dry.

     221.

                    Vince was staring at his book, pencil tapping lightly on the cover as he scoured his mind for something to put down about it. Literary Analysis wasn’t a hard class per se—since everything was interpretation, there weren’t exactly “right” and “wrong” answers. Any idea was valid, so long as it could be backed up by examples from the text. Unfortunately, the professor adored symbolism and the deconstruction of it, which may as well have been advanced calculus as far a literal brain like Vince’s was concerned. He was still trying to be diligent, to do his work to the best of his ability, but as Melbrook’s door opened and he heard people coming down the hall, Vince’s mind immediately shoved all thoughts of classic literature out of his head in favor of whatever his dormmates might be up to.

                      Roy and Chad stepped into the common area first, with Camille right on their heels. Vince didn’t even need to ask about what they’d been up to. Bad as he might be at understanding what the color of a rug meant in terms of a protagonist’s emotions, he was easily as adept at recognizing anything related to combat. Both young men had the drained expressions and slightly shuffling gait of having had the hell beaten out of them, only to be healed back to normal. Camille could take away all the physical damage in the world, but she couldn’t undo the mental strain that came with it. Were Vince the betting sort, he’d have put down a heavy wager that within ten minutes, both of his friends would be passed out.

                      “Hey,” Roy mumbled. He didn’t break stride, continuing right on to the boys’ side of the dorm and the bed contained therein. Chad only gave a small nod and kept following after Roy.

                      “Afternoon,” Vince replied. He watched both of them walk through the steel door, and then turned to Camille. “What the heck did those two do? Roy has stamina for days, and I’ve never seen Chad get that worn down before.”

                      “Roy wanted to see whether he was better with his fists or a bat.” Camille headed the rest of the way in and took a seat in a chair near, but not next, to Vince. “The end of the year is coming up, after all. He has to make a decision about what he’ll try to major in.”

                      Vince nodded, though it wasn’t a struggle he had to deal with. From the beginning, he’d essentially known that he would be in Close Combat. It was where he excelled physically, and allowed a great amount of use for his abilities. “Did he get an answer?”

                      “Oh yeah, I’d say he got a very definitive answer. I haven’t seen every match that’s ever taken place, but I think Roy just became the person in our class closest to actually scoring a win against Chad.”

                      “That is . . . impressive.” Vince felt something inside him buck at that idea. Not that he doubted Roy was capable of such a feat, rather that he wished he had been there, testing how well he stacked up against them too. Sadly, that was impossible as things stood. The sons of Titan and Intra could have a friendly match, and it didn’t matter; the sons of Globe and Intra would be another matter altogether.

                      “It really was. But you and I have more pressing matters to deal with,” Camille said.

                      “We do?”

                      “That’s right.” Camille resisted the urge to flee from the subject like she had so many times before. She could do this. It was just dating. “We’re both off work tonight, and I think it’s high time you quit dragging your feet and took me out to dinner. Doesn’t have to be nice or fancy, but I want it to be just us.”

                      “I see.” Camille worked very hard to hide the amusement that bubbled in her as, for once, she got to be the one seeing Vince with a slight blush rising in his cheeks. She didn’t know why he was moving so slowly, being more careful with her than he had been when dating Sasha, but she’d decided it was time to get things moving along. For a moment, Camille was afraid he was going to chicken out, or come up with an excuse. Instead, Vince swallowed hard and looked her in the eye.

                      “What are your thoughts on Italian?”

     *               *               *

                      “Nick would understand.” Mary lay on Alice’s bed, watching her friend crimp, tease, and style her hair until it looked much the same as usual, only more accentuated. “That’s one of the perks of dating someone who is in on all this stuff with us. If you tell him you went on a dream adventure, discovered secrets about your family, and were informed there’s the potential for a nightmarish hell future on the horizon, I bet he’d let you reschedule.”

                      “I’m sure he would,” Alice agreed. She laid down the hair straightener and turned her attention toward choosing a set of earrings. She’d expected to have to force all these actions after the ordeal she’d been through, but oddly, the act of getting ready for her date was putting her more at ease. Perhaps she was just getting used to dealing with these sorts of events.

                      “But that’s the thing, Mary. There’s always some hidden threat, or recent trauma, or mental wipe, or blah blah blah. We don’t have normal lives. That’s a choice we made, and I don’t regret it. Well, most of the time, I don’t. It does mean that we have to accept the fact that our lives are rarely in peaceful, ideal situations though, and if we really want something, we have to learn to go after it despite all the complications. So yes, Nick would let me reschedule, because obviously, this is a good reason, and I’d let him next time, when he was attacked by mutant ducks or something, and we’d keep on going like that until it’s graduation and we’re going off to different places without ever getting so much as a single date squeezed in.”

                      “I’m not sure if I’m more amazed at how determined you are about this, or depressed about the fact that you’re right,” Mary admitted. “Guess Hershel and I were lucky we started dating before things got quite so crazy.”

                      “Right, you two began courting when we were being pitted against each other in ranking matches, after being abandoned on a mountain by our two supposed guardians.”

                      “Point made.” Mary slid off the bed and stretched—her back was sore from all the time spent incapacitated during the afternoon. “One thing I should say before I leave you to your primping though: I know you don’t want to talk about what we saw, your thoughts are crystal clear on that, but sooner or later, we probably need to.”

                      “There’s nothing to say. We were shown what might be, but without any guidance or idea of what causes what future, there’s nothing we can do.”

                      “We can be mindful of the impact our actions have,” Mary replied. “And we can make sure that we represent former Powereds in a positive light.”

                      “Of the five people chosen for the test batch, one has been expelled for supposedly trying to kill other students, and another is the son of one of the most wanted former Heroes in the nation,” Alice said. “We’re off to a great start.”

     222.

                    “Someone knows how to clean up well,” Nick said. This was a cardinal sin of understatement, as Alice could have caused a wreck if she strode through an intersection looking the way she appeared when stepping out of her car. Pink dress, high heels, and styled hair, along with actual makeup, had transformed a woman who was already beautiful into something truly spectacular. It helped that Alice carried herself with the sort of confidence owned only by the brilliant, the bold, and the battle-hardened.

                      She smiled at Nick, admiring how well the suit he wore hung off his lean frame. He grinned back at her, and for just a moment, they were simply two stupid college kids excited about testing the romantic waters of something new.

                      “You know, you start this date with one strike already, since I had to pick you up,” Alice pointed out.

                      “I thought we all agreed that me keeping my distance from Melbrook was for the best,” Nick countered.

                      Alice walked across the parking lot and gave him a hug of greeting, one that lingered a bit longer than their normal embraces. “So what? You’re Nick Fucking Campbell; don’t tell me you couldn’t have come up with some way to pull it off if you really needed to.”

                      “Maybe, but then you’d have had to hide in the bushes and signal me with a flashlight, and I think we both know there’s no way the princess is willing to dirty her shoes for little old me.”

                      “Ah, our first date has barely started, and you’re already being a dick.” Alice wrapped her arms around one of his and leaned against his suit-covered body. She let herself take a second and enjoy the sensation of leaning against him, of letting her mental armor down for a few moments.

                      “Alice . . . is everything okay?”

                      “Not really. I had a very long afternoon, and there’s more stuff on my plate because of it, but I don’t want to think about that right now.” Alice begrudgingly pulled herself away from him, though she kept his arm ensnared by hers even as she straightened her posture.

                      “Anything I can do?”

                      “Just keep being a douche,” Alice replied. “Right now, I need to laugh or I’m going to dwell. Besides, I’ve waited a long time for this date. I expect to be wowed.”

                      “That much I can certainly promise,” Nick said. “How do you feel about strip clubs and steak buffets?”

                      “Like you’ll be getting kicked in the junk.”

                      Nick chuckled, though he took the threat somewhat seriously. “I suppose I do have a backup plan, or two . . .”

     *               *               *

                      The date wasn’t actually all that different than how things were when they normally hung out. Vince was not a person with a great many layers, after all. It wasn’t in him to change who he was or how he acted just because the social context of their time together had changed. That was, in fact, one of the many things that Camille loved about him.

                      Italian might have been a bit of a stretch when Vince described where they were going; pizza and spaghetti hit the mark much closer than the word that conjured ideas of fancy pastas and white tablecloths. The food was good though, and after the first few minutes, Camille realized she was glad that Vince had picked such a casual place. It made her feel more comfortable and at ease, whereas, if they’d gone somewhere upscale, she’d have felt all the more pressure about the fact that she was out, on a date, with Vince.

                      He was nervous too, that much was apparent, but it was the sweet kind of nervous that led to him knocking over a parmesan shaker and stumbling over his words a bit. Even that faded after the first hour they spent together. The two of them had been friends for some time, and once the jitters went away, they remembered that they knew perfectly well how to be around, and enjoy, each other.

                      The date wasn’t actually all that different than how things were when they normally hung out, and Camille wouldn’t have changed that fact for any price in the world. After all, she loved how Vince normally was. She didn’t want some overly careful or suave version of him.

                      She simply wanted to spend dinner with the man she loved.

     *               *               *

                      “Mr. Evers?” The large man was covered in muscle and tattoos, yet the slightest quiver of fear entered his voice as he stood in the doorway and interrupted his boss. It wasn’t Nathaniel himself that scared him, though those orange eyes were certainly more than a little disconcerting. It was what he represented, and who he was connected to, that truly put this mountain of a man ill at ease. He’d worked for dangerous people before, jobs where he knew he put his life on the line just by showing up. The people Nathaniel had aligned himself with weren’t like that. They’d never be so kind as to simply kill him.

                      “What is it?” Nathaniel didn’t even bother looking up from the laptop he was studying intently, his eerie eyes darting across the screen.

                      “It’s just that you wanted us to tell you whenever Nicholas Campbell or one of those kids from the dorms was out in the open. He and the blonde left his apartment a few minutes ago, and the silver-haired guy was seen riding somewhere with the short girl that hangs out there a lot.”

                      “Brazen.” Nathaniel spat the word like a curse, barely concealing the snarl that lingered upon his face. “I set the last place he went to have fun on fire, and he decides to go on a date. Even after everything he’s seen, all the clues I’ve left for him, Nicholas Campbell still refuses to take me seriously.”

                      “Should I send out some guys to ruin their night?” The thug held his breath, hoping dearly to be told no. He didn’t know a lot about this guy Nathaniel had them watch, but there was word on the street that he was smart, dangerous, and connected in a very bad way.

                      “That won’t be necessary,” Nathaniel replied. “If we make a move every time he steps out of the house, he’ll begin to expect it, and that would let him set a trap for us. Better to keep him guessing. Besides, I still need to recruit more assets to the cause, if we’re going to have our big to-do. Tell the men to stand down. Tonight, they get a free pass. I certainly hope Nicholas makes the most of it. Once we have enough troops, he’ll be dead in the ground, and no one in Vegas will be able to tie it back to me. So I’d like to think he’s squeezing the last vestiges of joy from his life, while he can.”

                      The thug let out the breath he’d been holding, then hurried back down to where the other workers were waiting. Most of them were like him, local muscle that someone had hired at way above the going rate. Some of the others though, they were scary. They had the dead eyes and careful demeanor that he’d learned long ago signaled a life spent with blood on one’s hands. Even worse, most of that lot seemed to be Supers. No one knew exactly what Nathaniel was planning, or at least, none of the local guys did.

                      All they knew was that it was going to be bad, and at this point, they’d rather be on his side than against it.

     223.

                    The guest speaker waiting for the HCP juniors as they filed in was unlike any of the ones they’d seen before. He wasn’t wearing a costume, of course, but only Shutterbug had shown up in full gear, as she was the solo active Hero they’d spoken with. However, he didn’t look as though he’d ever worn a cape or mask, let alone an HCP uniform. The man talking with Dean Blaine was short, with a noticeable paunch extending over his belt and a sizable bald spot visible to the students taller than him, which was most of them. Surrounded by the professors, he looked even more out of place than he normally would have, but as he noticed the gray-uniformed youths piling in, he turned his attention toward them and beamed a wide grin. Whatever he was, he certainly wasn’t lacking in confidence.

                      “Today, you all have a very special treat,” Dean Blaine said. “While our previous speakers were held in high esteem within their fields, Leonard Nicolo is a man that plenty of Heroes spend large parts of their careers hoping to meet. In fact, Mr. Nicolo is in such high demand that even I had to call in some favors to bring him here today. Leonard Nicolo is an agent for Heroes, and is quite adept at his job. I could go on about his reputation, but I feel it would do him a disservice to try and speak for him. So, Mr. Nicolo, please take it away.”

                      “None of that ‘Mr. Nicolo’ stuff, if you please. Never seen much point in putting on airs. Just call me Lenny.” Dean Blaine stepped back as Lenny moved to the forefront, his lively eyes darting about, assessing each student before him with the strange, ever-pondering mind that fed his instincts. “Your dean was right in that I’m damn good though. I’d like to say the best, but that’s a title that belongs to whoever’s clients are on top at the moment, and in the Hero landscape, that is a shifting status. I’m among the best, that much is safe to say, and it’s because I make my living by ensuring the lives of my clients run smooth.”

                      Lenny finished taking a scan of the students, reaching Roy near the end of his sweep. The two men locked eyes and gave cordial nods to one another. It had been a long time since Lenny had seen Roy, but there was no mistaking the son of Titan. As for Roy, he remembered quite well how the sharp-tongued man had come to their home and dealt with his father. Lenny had also been around for a bit after the scandal, making sure they had enough to live on while residuals were tied up in the divorce. There was no animosity in Roy toward this man; he’d just been another person screwed over by Titan’s mistakes.

                      “That, in a nutshell, is all agents do. We handle the daily stuff that you Heroes will be too busy for, allowing you to focus on saving lives instead of filing press releases, booking appearances, or negotiating percentages from your t-shirt line. Now we hit the part where most of you are thinking, ‘That doesn’t seem so bad. Why do I even need an agent?’ And you’re right; most of you won’t need an agent at all.”

                      Some of the students were surprised by this admission, though many of them had seen enough of these speakers to sense there was a twist coming in the conversation that would explain Lenny’s words. The agent made note of the ones who caught on to that; he might need a Hero with a decent head on their shoulders in a year or so.

                      “You won’t need one, because no one will be calling you and asking for an appearance, you’ll be beating down the door to get them to talk to you, which is another service I handle, incidentally. Here’s the dirty little secret about being a Hero, kids, and it isn’t much of a secret to begin with: the pay is shit. You can get by on it, don’t get me wrong, but you’re paid like what you are, which is a civil servant.” Lenny paused, well-aware of the suppressed sneers that were building under many of these idealistic faces.

                      “And now we’re at the part where most of you are, or should be, thinking about how you don’t care about something like that, because you’re becoming a Hero to help people. You know what? I agree with you. This is not the line of work you get into because you want to make a buck, and I salute you for going into this with the right mindset. That said, you’re all around twenty-one right now. It’s a lot easier to have that cavalier attitude before you’ve got rent, bills, and, God willing, a family that is looking to you for support. As I tell most of my clients when they start going the marital direction: diapers aren’t free. Not even for Heroes. And once you get further along in life, once you have people depending on you, all of sudden ‘getting by’ doesn’t seem quite as noble as it did when you were listening to that short agent talk about why merchandising mattered.”

                      Lenny could see some of them biting, being drawn in by the scary idea of a future. That was the problem with HCP kids, they forgot about what would happen to them if they didn’t end up dying. That life had a set of challenges all its own.

                      “Even taking money out of the equation, agents are also key for image management. You all clearly want to make a difference—no one without the guts and heart makes it to year three in this nuthouse—and I assume that means you also want to inspire the masses out there to goodness. Well, we live in a culture of destroyers, kids. People love to tear down their idols, whether they be celebrities or Heroes alike.”

                      “If we make mistakes, don’t we deserve to be held accountable for them?” Thomas asked.

                      “You sure do, however, that’s an important ‘if’ right there. A good agent can’t, and won’t, protect you from serious or illegal fuck-ups, but we can sort out some of the mistakes that everyone is going to make from time to time in life. Lots of times, you may not have even done anything wrong. Maybe you accidentally knock over a kid when stopping a building from hitting him, but with the right angle on a picture, it looks like you smacked him. Maybe the company spitting out bobble-heads of you was using toxic plastic, not that you had any way of knowing that. Maybe you brought in some tabloid reporter’s brother, and now they’re out to slander you six ways to Sunday. Point is, when things get rough, an agent is there to smooth things over.”

                      Lenny stopped and checked the feel of the room. He seemed to have brought most of them on board with reminding them of the importance of image, even without cash on the line. Some were still staring stonily at him, which meant they were likely lost causes. So be it. Lenny had learned long ago that not every Hero wanted to play the game, and he didn’t want those types as clients anyway.

                      The ones too stubborn to realize how the world really worked often didn’t survive the pressure society laid upon those muscular shoulders. Lenny had no need for future burn-outs. He was only concerned with clients that had a future.

     224.

                    “Since you were all so patient to listen to my spiel, I think it’s time I took some of your questions. Bear in mind that I won’t talk about my clients, for the exact reason you’d want me to stay silent if you were one. Discretion is the agent’s native tongue.”

                      Lenny glanced around the room once, then pointed to a girl with pink streaks in her hair.

                      “I wanted to know how you chose your clients,” Sasha said, lowering the hand she’d raised. “Since you’re apparently so good and all, what stands out to a top agent as someone they’ll work with?”

                      “We’ve all got our little things we look for,” Lenny replied. “I’d say the majority of really good agents trust their guts more than anything else. Our number one goal is to pick someone who can make it for the long haul. We don’t want the ones who will burn out, or quit, or, heaven forbid, pass on, before they’ve had enough time to build a proper reputation. Me, I can usually tell if I think someone has what it takes after a five minute conversation and a good handshake. Others have their own methods, but one thing I’ll tell you upfront: we all like Heroes who sign on early. There’s going to be a session in your senior year where a bunch of agents come schmooze with you—in fact, that’s part of what I’m here to do, I just came a day early to talk. Anyway, signing on then shows that you see the value they offer, and lets you build a relationship early.”

                      This time, Lenny pointed to a young man, one with a goatee that needed professional trimming before Lenny would ever let him in front of a camera.

                      “What do you charge?” Rich asked.

                      “Fifteen percent is the agent standard, and I stick to it,” Lenny replied. “Some feel that, because they’ve been in the game a while or have a big reputation, they deserve more, and I think that’s pure bullshit. A great agent makes his money by getting you so big that fifteen percent is plenty. Oh, and that’s only off extraneous income. The base pay from the government is all yours; no reputable agent will ever try to touch that. Let’s see, next question from you, the tall gal.”

                      “You mentioned booking appearances earlier. How much of a Hero’s time is dedicated to that sort of thing? It feels like it would take away from time we should spend helping people,” Alice asked.

                      “That’s a fair concern, but a misplaced one. Heroes are, by their definition, a reactionary force. When shit goes down, you spring into action. Shit isn’t always going down, though. Sometimes, people don’t try dumb shit, and you find yourself with nothing to do. That’s when Heroes will often find themselves filling the time by doing things like interviews or booking appearances. As to the idea that you should spend the time helping people, giving talks to students still finding their way in life or visiting Hero-loving kids in the hospital can make a big difference to them. It’s not as glamorous, but it’s an important part of what Heroes do.”

                      Lenny looked around, noticing that the selection of hands was getting slimmer to choose from. Rather than flop about waiting for them to think of more things, he decided to cut it off while there was still demand. “Sorry to say, but this will be the last question I’m able to answer. Your dean wasn’t lying about how busy I am.” Lenny pointed to a short young lady with pale blonde hair.

                      “I was just wondering what the biggest piece of advice you give your clients is?” Camille asked. “Like, if there was one thing that you wished every Hero would do to make life easier for you and them.”

                      “Truthfully, it’s the oldest gem in the book,” Lenny replied. “Be yourself. I can work with just about anything. Anti-social can be spun as lovably shy, fearful can be prudently cautious, cursing and drunk can be burdened by the demands of the job. The one thing I can’t do is help when someone tries to be something they’re not, something they think the public wants, and the shell finally cracks. Nobody can fake it forever; sooner or later, the truth comes out. Something to keep in mind when you craft your Hero persona: base it on a part of you, a part that connects to the core of your being.”

                      Lenny avoided meeting Roy’s gaze as he spoke. There was no point to it. They were both keenly aware of the object lesson they’d lived through that proved the point so well.

                      “Lies have a cost, and it’s cumulative every time you pay it, until one day, you wake up and realize that, even if you want to pony up again, you’re fresh out of the willpower to do it with.”

     *               *               *

                      “How bad?” Globe was calm, which honestly scared Joan more than if he’d been fuming or stomping about. Those were appropriate emotions for the situation. The way he radiated calm, though . . . it made her wonder just how deep the fury he had to be feeling ran.

                      “Bad. This Evers kid has reached out to the Sons of Progress, and they’ve been itching for a demonstration of force since the last time one of their rallies got broken up. I don’t know how many he’s managed to get together yet, but from the buzz I’ve been hearing . . .” Joan let the words fall away. She couldn’t think of how to possibly end that sort of statement, so she just decided not to.

                      “I had to deal with more than a few of their members back when I was active,” Globe said. “I know they hate Heroes, they see us as a tool used to repress other Supers, but they were also scattered and unorganized.”

                      “A lot has changed since you were a Hero,” Joan replied. “Now, they’re responsible for bombings, Hero ambushes, they’ve even sunk so low as to attack HCP kids, when they can find out their identity. The Heroes keep bringing them in, but there always seem to be more.”

                      “And now a horde of them are amassing in close proximity to Lander.” He was still calm, though Joan noticed his left hand tighten just a touch. She’d never seen what lurked under the leather glove and cloak sleeve; Joan had merely caught on that it was the more expressive of his two hands.

                      “That’s the thing though, they’re not gathering. Not yet. There’s definitely a job, but no one has been given a date. They just get told to wait until the call comes, and then they show up ready to rock. The only reason I know it’s connected to Lander at all is because I was able to trace the offers back to Nathaniel Evers.”

                      “I see.” Globe stood from the old recliner where he’d been resting, then offered his hand to help Joan up as well. “Thank you for your diligence in this. I know you must be frustrated to have been unable to flush out exactly what is being planned, but you’ve given us so much more warning than I could have ever hoped for.”

                      “What are we going to do?”

                      “The only thing we can, unfortunately. Keep watch, hope for the best, and continue trying to cut this miscreant’s legs out from under him before things escalate.”

     *               *               *

                    “Let’s all thank Mr. Nicolo once more for taking the time to come and speak to us,” Dean Blaine said, beginning the round of polite clapping as Lenny retreated from the front of the room. “I’m sure most of you are now expecting to go into a shortened gym class, but there is something I must bring to your attention first: as you’ve all known for some time, your final exams are just around the corner. Most of you have also noticed that they are scheduled earlier than either of your previous year’s tests, and that is with good reason.”

                      Dean Blaine paused for a moment, enjoying the looks of wild speculation in some eyes and weary acceptance in others. Everyone loved the event as freshmen, but by the time their junior year rolled around, they often cursed the tradition for being established.

                      “The need for your early exams is due to two facts: for one thing, each class’s tests are very time consuming for your professors, and therefore, cannot be held simultaneously. As for why the junior class gets the earliest spot, well, that is because you will need the extra time after their completion to set up our yearly Freshman Carnival.”

                      To their credit, the students didn’t let out a series of groans. At least, not with their mouths. If eyes could be heard, though, then Dean Blaine would have been drowning in a sea of moans so great it would have sounded like a zombie invasion.

                      “Yes, the bulk of the work falls upon you lot to handle. We’ll be offering a bit more guidance than usual, since your class was excused from working on the carnival last year, but rest assured that this is a project you are responsible for, and it is just as important as any other HCP task you’re given. I urge you to remember what it was like being in those freshmen’s shoes, scared and uncertain of what lay ahead. Remember how much the carnival lifted your spirits and made Lander feel like a home. You incurred a debt that day, and the time has come to pay up. Now, please report to your professors, so they can assign tasks and committees for all the work that needs to be done.”

                      Dean Blaine watched with a slight smile as they dutifully headed over to meet with their teachers. Much as they might dislike the extra work, it would be good to get their minds off the final exams. At their stage, they were more likely to make a mental mistake than a physical one, and keeping them occupied helped cut those down.

                      Besides, Dean Blaine was a devout fan of Skee Ball and cotton candy. He was hardly going to let a year go by in which he didn’t get his usual fix.

     225.

                    “Alice, is everything all right?” Professor Hill’s voice stopped her as she headed for the door, another day’s Control class logged away. It was much the same as her teacher always sounded, empathetic and concerned. He treated all his students that way, but for the last few weeks, she’d been listening more carefully, and she thought perhaps he was a touch more caring when it came to coaching her.

                      “What do you mean?” Alice turned around, watching the rest of the class file out into the hallway. By this point, everyone had been held back after one class or another to work on an issue, so no one paid any mind to her being stopped. “I hit every target you set for me today.”

                      “Yes, you continue to demonstrate exceptional skill, but your focus seems to be slipping infrequently. In training, you can overcome such mistakes; however, during real tests, you might not be so lucky. Your final exams are just around the corner; I thought you might have some issue or worry that might be affecting you.”

                      Alice resisted the urge to tell him that she was distracted because now she had to get through every class knowing this man was secretly her uncle. With Professor Pendleton, it was easier. She could glower at him through the lectures and still focus on the material. For whatever reason, it hadn’t seemed like a good idea to tell Professor Hill that she knew his secret though. There was no singular thing she could point to as to why, and certainly no one had told her she wasn’t allowed to; it was just a feeling from deep in her gut. Two years ago, she’d have dismissed it as nonsense, but Alice had learned a lot from her Subtlety classes. Just because she couldn’t consciously put together the reason for secrecy didn’t mean some other part of her wasn’t ahead of the game. With no one else to depend on, she was at least going to trust herself.

                      “Well, you said it yourself. The final exams are next week, since we’ve got to prepare the carnival for the younger students after that. Have to make the grade if I want to get into the fourth year. That’s enough to stress anyone out.”

                      “I had a feeling that might be it.” Professor Hill walked over, and Alice marveled at how she’d never caught the resemblance to her mother before. His hair was dark, while she’d been blonde, and he hadn’t gotten the sparkling green eyes that Alice inherited, but his face was similar enough that, when she really looked for it, she could see many of her mother’s features in his handsome visage.

                      “Listen, Alice, strictly speaking, nothing is decided until the final exams are taken. It’s true that you still could manage to make some huge mistakes and tank your grade, but I think we both know that isn’t going to happen. Besides, you’ve been getting top marks in Control all year. So long as you keep your head on straight and do your best, there’s no way you won’t qualify to make it your major. Just relax; you’ve got a knack for this stuff. Trust your training, and you’ll be fine.” Professor Hill smiled at her, and Alice forced herself to smile back. He wasn’t lying; she really had been killing it at Control. It was what her powers were clearly meant for, and she’d never actually doubted for a moment that she could make the cut.

                      “Thanks. I’ll try to calm down. Guess I have to work on that anyway, for when I get in real fights. Can’t very well go into battle with the jitters.”

                      “I’ll let you in on a little secret: even the most experienced Hero in the world gets nervous before they go into the field. We never know what’s waiting for us, and a little fear is a healthy thing. Reminds us that we’re still mortal. You just have to learn to push through, to not let it drag you down. But you’ll get plenty of practice on that next year. And you’ll be free of a Subtlety course splitting your focus. That will make things much easier.”

                      “It sure will.” Alice gave her professor one last smile, then hurried out the door. Somehow, she’d let it slip her mind that, while she was taking both finals, she could only keep one of the courses. Control was the obvious choice. It was what she was good at, with the teacher who hadn’t been trying to get her to drop out from day one. Logic had a firm case for where her Hero career was heading.

                      If only she could quiet the damned pangs of doubt echoing from her gut.

     *               *               *

                      “You know, up until I saw you standing there, lined up with all the other students, I don’t think I really believed that you’d made it in.”

                      A grin crested Roy’s mouth, and he spun around, only slightly surprised to see Lenny standing outside Melbrook Hall, puffing away on one of his cigars. The much taller boy clapped a quick hug on the agent, careful to avoid getting any ash on the street clothes he was adorned in.

                      “Didn’t think you’d be able to stop by, what with you being so ‘busy’ and all,” Roy said.

                      “Can the sass there, kid. Just ‘cause you got taller than me, doesn’t mean you get to be lippy. Besides, I really am busy. Of course, you’re not supposed to know why, which I assume means you’re well-informed.”

                      Roy quickly glanced around and confirmed that they were alone. Melbrook’s semi-remote location made it a pain for getting to class on time, but it definitely had some advantages. “Intramurals, right? Let me guess, you’re here to try and sign whoever comes out on top.”

                      “‘Try’ nothing. I hear there are two top-seeds this year, and I aim to walk away with contracts on both of them, and anyone else who happens to put on an unexpectedly good showing.”

                      “Two? Well, one is obviously Angela, and the other . . . shit, Brent is a senior, isn’t he?”

                      “Jesus, what the hell do I pay all these scouts for when a Lander junior already has the inside track?” Lenny knocked some ash from his cigar into a small box he carried around expressly to be ashed into. “Hank’s son versus Lander’s demon. Going to be a hell of a match. If you’re good, I’ll write down some play-by-play and email it to you later.”

                      “Damn. I was holding out hope we’d get to watch,” Roy admitted.

                      “Sorry, the Intramurals are pretty tightly closed off. It’s a chance for the top students to strut their stuff, but someone could also sell information on any weaknesses they show during the fights. I’ve got more clearance than some Heroes, and your dean had to pull strings to get me a seat.”

                      “Ohhh, so that’s how he got someone like you to talk to the class. I was wondering about that.”

                      “Favors; better than a bribe, and with the benefit of being legal. Speaking of . . .” Lenny put down the box full of ash and pulled out a flash drive from his coat pocket. “I’m paying one off now and giving you this.”

                      “What’s on it?” Roy accepted the data stick tenderly, rightly afraid that too strong of a grip could crush it.

                      “An interesting spectacle. I assume you’ve followed the news enough to know that Titan is back on the Hero scene?”

                      Roy managed not to crush the flash drive on reflex, a feat that even a year ago would have proven impossible. “I’d seen an article or so, but didn’t really pay it any attention.”

                      “He’s working with a team of corpies as their Hero Liaison. I won’t say the sailing hasn’t been rocky, but the ship hasn’t capsized yet. Anyway, I want you to watch what’s on the flash drive. I think it might be good to see a new side of your old man.”

                      “Thanks, Lenny, but no thanks.” Roy extended the flash drive; however, Lenny made no move to accept it.

                      “I know you hate him, and damned if you don’t have a good reason to. But he’s trying really hard to be better, to not run away anymore. Maybe that’s not worth anything in the grand scheme of things. Maybe it matters a little. Hell if I know, I just think you’re better off seeing it than not.”

                      “I’ve got no inclination to see anything my father is doing,” Roy reiterated.

                      “True, though Hershel still might. Tell you what; watch it as a favor to me.” Lenny picked up his small box and stubbed out the cigar in its center. “I’m not such a bad guy to have owe you one, after all. Especially not to a student planning on graduating next year.”

                      Roy pulled the flash drive back slowly, still unsure of whether he’d ultimately turn it to scrap in his powerful grip. “I’ll think about it.”

                      “That’s all I can ask.” Lenny closed his box and tucked the rest of his cigar into a plastic tube. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go see a man about some top-tier ass-kickers.”

     226.

                    Charles Adair stomped through his spacious hallways, weary from the day’s meetings, and yet preoccupied with all the work that remained to be done. The click of his fine shoes echoed against the marble floor, and he pushed the door to his office open unceremoniously. Though much of his staff and security was still present, they were instructed to leave him be during the later hours, which allowed him to indulge in the illusion that he was actually alone. It was a helpful fantasy when he had so much work stretched out before him. Anything that cut down on distractions was beneficial.

                      Unfortunately, Charles had no more sat down in his high-backed chair than that illusion of solitude was shattered. The door to his office slammed closed, though not so much as a whisper of sound came from the shutting. An instant later, there was a shimmer in the corner of the room and suddenly, a man was there. Or rather, the man who had been waiting for Charles was suddenly visible.

                      “Hey, Chuck. It’s been a while.” He looked much the same as he had when Charles last laid eyes upon him. Same dark hair, same wide jaw, even a bit of the old humor still twinkled in his eyes. That was nice to see; Charles had dreaded the day those eyes finally went dark the way so many others had. The left arm was new, though, from the way it was covered, there seemed a good chance he hadn’t managed to find someone who could regenerate it.

                      “Phillip . . . I must say, this is a surprise, and I am not an easy man to take by surprise.” Charles reached under the desk and rested his finger on a silent alarm. It stayed there, a twitch away from pressing it, but not yet activated. While Phil might have come to kill him, he surely would have done it sooner if that were his intent. Which meant there was likely another reason for the visit. “Dare I ask what brings you to my home today? I’m hoping it’s not torture and murder.”

                      “You know I can’t kill you, Chuck. Not even after everything that’s happened. And why would I bother torturing you? We both know you purposely hid the lab’s location from yourself specifically so you couldn’t give it away.” The mighty villain Globe stepped away from the corner of the room and took a seat in one of the chairs reserved for Charles Adair’s guests. “I’m here about our kids.”

                      “Are you now?” The finger moved just a touch closer to the alarm, though Charles wore a curious mask on his face.

                      “Someone is gathering the Sons of Progress, the militant group that believes Supers should rule over humans. I don’t know why, but I do know the person doing it is staying only a few miles from Lander Campus and seems to have a grudge against one of the former students. They’re on standby, waiting for a call to jump. Maybe it’s nothing, and I’m being paranoid, but that seems like too many coincidences to ignore.”

                      “What do you think they’re going to do? Attack Lander? There’s no Super in the world stupid enough to go after an HCP school. Even if the professors weren’t all veteran Heroes, within minutes, they’d have Heroes teleported in from across the nation to fend off the attack. It would be the world’s most fruitless suicide mission.”

                      “Yet, I can’t stop worrying. And worse, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I can’t even properly warn the staff, since they’d be forced to try and arrest me on the spot. That’s why I’m coming to you.”

                      Charles eased his hand slowly away from the alarm. In truth, it wouldn’t have done much anyway, except perhaps spook his unexpected guest away. They were in the sphere of Globe’s control, and that meant he was the uncontested master of this realm. Yet he’d only come because he was worried about Vince, and likely the other innocents on the grounds. Charles would readily admit that he was not the world’s best father, but he was still a father. Not even he could rightly turn away a man bringing evidence that his daughter might be in peril.

                      “I’ll station some private forces off campus, ready to respond in the event anything unexpected should occur. You’ll understand if I’m hesitant to tell them that Globe traipsed into my office and gave me a warning about domestic terrorist activities though.”

                      “At least tell Blake,” Phil replied. “I assume your lackey knows the real score. I’ll sleep better knowing even one of the professors will be on guard.”

                      “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but between Emerald Hydra being on staff and the DVA having ample telepaths on campus, it’s hardly a place where secrets can be easily kept at the moment, even for someone with his training.”

                      “Come on now, Charles, we both know Blake is good enough at marshaling his thoughts to keep at least one big secret. Add another onto the pile. For Alice’s sake, if no one else’s.”

                      “I’ll consider it. For now, trust that I’ll have enough forces on hand to put down a small country’s rebellion, let alone deal with some Super criminals looking to cause trouble.”

                      “Thank you.” Phil rose from his seat and paused, looking his former teammate over thoroughly. “Not just for this. For not going after Vince once you found out he was my son.”

                      “Vince Reynolds has nothing to do with what lies between you and I,” Charles said. Of course, it certainly helped that Vince was one of the Powered prototypes, and Charles Adair had a very vested interest in making sure that all five of them lived. “Besides, you never once tried to make a move on Alice as a bargaining chip. The least I could do was return the favor.”

                      “What would have been the point? You know I could never hurt a child just to get to you. Especially not her.”

                      “True. All the same, I’m glad you didn’t try to bluff.”

                      “Have no fear, Chuck.” Phil’s face darkened, and for a moment, that ever-present light in his eyes seemed to vanish. “When I come after you, there won’t be any bluffing needed, and I damned sure won’t be using children as pawns.”

                      “I believe you, just as you should believe that I’ll be ready and waiting.”

                      “I wouldn’t have you any other way,” Phil said. The door reopened and he spun around, red cloak fluttering behind him, vanishing in the same shimmer that had concealed him before. It was a simple matter of warping light that Charles had witnessed him use countless times before.

                      After all, no one knew Globe better than Charles Adair.

     227.

                    “Feeling nervous?” Shane stepped into view from outside the lockers, his own face barely masking the worry he obviously felt.

                      “Nar-Voose? What is this strange word you use, little brother? I am about to go enact violence against warriors who are supposedly my equals. I am fucking pumped.” Angela punctuated this statement by thrusting her fist straight up into the air, though, since she was in a private room, there was no one to witness the silly display. “Has Paw Paw arrived yet?”

                      “You know I detest such silly nicknames.” This voice was much older than either of the two students, yet it carried a power that made both of them instinctively stand a bit straighter. From behind Shane came an elderly man, walking with the help of the cane he had finally broken down and begun using after two fractured hips. He was tall, and his body still spoke to some of the strength it had once contained, but time had finally started winning the battle against what he could maintain.

                      As soon as Angela saw him, she clapped her hands together, and then darted across the room, grabbing the older man in a big hug and squeezing carefully. “I thought I wouldn’t see you until after my matches.”

                      “Technically, you probably shouldn’t, but I wanted to come wish my granddaughter good luck.” Graham DeSoto hugged her back, though he couldn’t match her gusto or force. “It’s a big day, after all. Perhaps all the bigger, depending on how you do.”

                      “I’ve heard that there’s a student from Sizemore who has gone undefeated his entire HCP career, just like you. I think people are eager to see whose streak ends today,” Shane said. He didn’t understand how she could manage to be so affectionate to the man that had sternly trained them all their lives, or, what’s more, how she could pull similar responses out of him. Shane loved his grandfather dearly, but it was not a love that inspired clapping and hugs.

                      Angela released her grandfather and let out a small whoop of excitement. “That is awesome! He’s got to be some kind of powerful, if he’s managed to pull that off. I wonder what ability he has . . . ah! No one tell me! I want to be surprised.”

                      “We wouldn’t tell you anyway; that would be cheating,” Shane pointed out.

                      “Unless I was a Subtlety major. Then it would just be me doing my thing.”

                      Graham scoffed, a dusty sound filled equally with lung phlegm and ridicule. “A Subtlety major making it to Intramurals . . . that would be the day. Not saying the work they do isn’t necessary, but I still don’t think it belongs under the Hero banner. Did I ever tell you about my war buddy, Grayson Lamont? Best damn spy the country has ever seen, but he never tried to get cleared as a Hero. Of course, Grayson was as human as they come—”

                      “Relax, Paw Paw. I’m a Weapons major, through and through. In fact, I’m looking forward to smacking around the morons that think Close Combat is the mark of the strongest warriors.” Much as Angela cared for her grandfather, he’d reached the age where his stories tended to ramble and repeat if not kept on task. His mind was still sharp as ever, he demonstrated that with unnerving frequency, but he’d given up caring what others thought about his choice of conversation topic. Angela was annoyed by it, though she couldn’t wait to reach that age herself.

                      “Of that, I have no doubt. Go out and do our lineage proud, my granddaughter. Do it proud enough, and the opportunity to continue the legacy will be yours. Come on, Shane, help me find my seat.”

                      Graham began heading off, but Shane lingered behind for a few moments. “I’m not allowed to watch the match; not even grandfather has that pull. So since you won’t hear me cheering for you, I just wanted to say good luck. As much as he’s made us compete with each other, you’re still my sister, and I hope you do well.”

                      “Aw, that might be the sweetest thing you’ve said to me since we were kids. Come here, you big softy.” Angela grabbed Shane and pulled him in, hugging him more tightly than she’d dared risk with their grandfather. “Have no fear, little brother. I’m here to kick ass and chew bubblegum.”

                      “Let me guess, you’re all out of bubblegum.”

                      “Nope, got a whole pack in my pocket.” Angela let go and patted the side of her uniform. “I can do both at once; that’s how much of a badass I am.”

                      “Nice to see your confidence is as unshakable as always.”

                      “I don’t have much, but that I’ve got in spades. And hey, look at the bright side: next year at this time, I’ll be a Hero, which means, with a little negotiating, I can come cheer for you when it’s your turn to come here.”

                      Shane let out a long, low sigh. “Given how we’re ranked right now, I’m not sure I’ll make the cut for Intramurals.”

                      Angela reached over and grabbed his face, forcefully lifting it so that his eyes couldn’t see the ground. “Chin up, little brother. Unlike you, I know what the fourth year curriculum is like. All these years, you’ve been at a big disadvantage; your power just isn’t that well suited to non-lethal combat. When you hit fourth year, though . . . well, I’ll just say that you’re going to have a chance to shine.”

                      “Even if you’re right, it will be too late. As long as you don’t royally screw up, you’re going to be the next Captain Starlight.”

                      “You never know the outcome of a fight until it’s over,” Angela replied. “Yes, I will probably kick a whole mess o’ ass out there, but nothing is written in stone yet. Even if I do though, it’s just a name. No one knows you better than me, not even Paw Paw, so trust me when I say that you’re going to be a great Hero, no matter what they call you.”

                      “Oh Lord, are we having a moment? I’m not sure I can handle that,” Shane said. He pulled away from her grip, but he could still feel her words lingering in his head. Easy as it was to forget, every now and then, his sister could really be there for him.

                      “You’re right, the last thing I need before this brawl is to feel mushy. Get out of here already,” Angela said, making a shooing motion with her hand. “I’ve got a pack of bubblegum to open.”

     228.

                    “Come on, you have to be picking up something,” Hershel said. “With your range, there’s no way you aren’t getting a few random thoughts here and there.”

                      “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but the dean of this school, which the guests are no doubt sitting with, is Dean ‘I cancel out people’s powers’ Blaine,” Mary replied. She set her book down, giving up on trying to read while her dormmates encircled her in the common room.

                      “What about the contestants?” Vince pried. “Maybe they’re thinking strategy or something?”

                      “Part of me is beginning to see why so many telepaths hide what they’re capable of,” Mary groaned. “Look, the combat is being held deep down, and Dean Blaine is around most of the people. Maybe I could pick out a few random thoughts from the people fighting, but it’s not going to make any sense out of context. Sorry, I think we’re just going to have to be in the dark like everyone else.”

                      “I wonder if we can trade this telepath in for one with more interest in brawls,” Alice said, giving Mary a sly wink to let her know she didn’t mind that much. It would have been cool, sure, but at the same time, part of her wanted to experience whatever Intramurals was the way the seniors were: by being in them.

                      “Funny you should mention that,” Mary replied. She tilted her head toward the foyer’s entrance, where Chad and Alex were walking in.

                      “Hey guys,” Alex said. Even without telepathy, they could pick up on his evident nervousness. Alex was usually about as carefree as they came, but today, he was so hunched in on himself it was almost painful to look at.

                      “Hey bud, what’s up?” Hershel said.

                      “Actually . . . I was wondering if I could talk to Vince.”

                      A wave of confusion washed through the room, only passing over Mary, who seemed, if anything, relieved by the strange request. Vince hesitated for a moment, then walked over and unlocked the boys’ lounge door, motioning for Alex to enter. “Sure, I’ve got some time.”

                      Once the door shut had behind them, Alex faced Vince with a look of strangely pinched determination. He took several deep breaths, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Finally, he managed to squeeze out the words: “I don’t really know how to start this.”

                      “Alex, we’re friends. You can talk to me about whatever you need to.”

                      “I’m . . . Sasha and I have started seeing each other.” Alex paused for a reply, and, when none came, he barreled forward. “It happened after we started hanging out for the Star Puncher premiere, and we just sort of hit it off. I know it’s bad form to go after your friend’s ex without talking to him first and making sure it won’t hurt him, and I really didn’t mean to. Things just sort of kept happening, and before I knew it, we were pretty much dating. I’m sorry.”

                      “It’s okay,” Vince said. He grabbed Alex by the arm and forced his friend to meet his eyes. “Seriously, it’s okay. Yeah, it probably would have been better form to talk to me about this so I had some heads up, but I’m truly not bothered by you two being together. I care about you and Sasha. If you two make each other happy, then more power to you.”

                      Alex let out a breath that some part of him had been holding since the first morning he’d woken up with pink-streaked hair on the pillow next to him. His body language relaxed a bit, and he even allowed himself to smile. “Thank you. I didn’t think you’d be that put off by it, what with you and Camille finally getting together—”

                      “Well, it’s only been one date so far. I don’t want to count any chickens before they hatch,” Vince said.

                      “Hey now, Mary may be the better telepath between the two of us, but I’m the undisputed champ of sensing emotion in our class. I can tell how much you two care about each other. And honestly, I’m glad. You could both use some fun in your lives.”

                      “Seems like things are good all-around, then,” Vince said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Now, let’s get back to the common room before people think we’ve started slugging it out.”

                      “At this point, you’d probably beat me senseless,” Alex admitted.

                      “It’s possible, but there’s still a year of training left. No telling who’s going to pull ahead by the time graduation comes.”

     *               *               *

                      Nick sat quietly as he watched the older man walk through the coffee shop. Unlike Eliza’s meetings with Vince, for this occasion, the place had been cleared out and the sign was flipped to “Closed.” The shades were also drawn, though this was to prevent sniper fire as much as being seen together. The man moved with a careful confidence, as though he knew he was capable of handling much, but still saw no need to deal with more than was necessary. As he slid into the unoccupied seat across from Nick, his neutral expression lifted by a few degrees, and Nick could see the curiosity simmering underneath.

                      “When I first heard that Nicholas Campbell wanted to meet with me, I must say that I assumed it was a trap. A very foolish, poorly thought-out trap, but a trap nonetheless. There has never been any love lost between our families, after all.”

                      “When I first heard that Wilson Evers had accepted my meeting, I also assumed it was a trap,” Nick replied. “But I trusted that you had reached the same conclusion I had; this is beyond a mere matter of either family’s well-being. Your cousin is making some bold, dangerous moves, dealing with people who go far beyond our criminal enterprises. Whatever he has planned, it could very well bring the wrath of the entire Hero community down on both our houses.”

                      “We’ve distanced ourselves from Nathaniel since the start of this year. He was cut off from both money and resources. Whatever he’s putting together is not affiliated with the Evers family.”

                      “And I’m sure that will mean so much if he goes off and manages to kill a Hero or two. We have survived in this world specifically by avoiding things that draw their ire, and now, Nathaniel is out recruiting criminal Supers. Even he can’t be dumb enough to think of attacking Lander, but I’m sure his plans aren’t that far off.”

                      “What would you like me to do, exactly?” Wilson asked. “We’ve taken his resources and affiliation; he is currently working as his own man. Do you think he’ll listen if I go in and tell him to knock off whatever it is he’s planning? If so, then you don’t know my cousin that well.”

                      “I know Nathaniel Evers incredibly well,” Nick replied. “Which is why I know that no matter what moves he’s making on the board, I’m the king he wants to capture. No, I’m not asking you to try and stop him. I’d actually prefer he never knew you were in town, let alone that we met. I can handle Nathaniel; all I want is the freedom to do it.”

                      Wilson’s eyes narrowed. “Nathaniel is blood. Even if he’s on the outs right now, he’s still one of us.”

                      “Which is why I’m asking for permission before I kill him.” Nick met Wilson’s narrowed gaze with a steely one of his own. “I don’t want to start a war, but it damned sure looks like Nathaniel is gearing up for one. Even if you don’t like it, you can’t deny that I gave you more than enough evidence to make a case. Run it up the chain, and see what Giles decides. For the good of everyone in Vegas.”

                      There was a brief pause as Wilson mulled the proposal over. “I’ll send it up. You deserve that much. But I don’t have to tell you what happens if you make a move before a decision is made, right?”

                      “If I didn’t know that, your cousin would have been dead a long time ago,” Nick replied. “And, no doubt, I would be too.”

                      “You’re a smart kid,” Wilson said as he rose to leave the shop. “Just be sure you don’t go off and make any dumb choices.”

     229.

                    Angela was fully healed by the time Shane made it to her small room. Her uniform, however, had not been patched up. The burn marks, slices, and ripped sections made it look like a hundred-year-old patchwork monstrosity. Given how much punishment the HCP uniforms could take, it spoke to just how much damage she’d been dealt. Not that it had ultimately mattered, of course.

                      “Grandfather told me you won.” He was happy for her, happy for the family; hell, he was happy for Lander to have gotten such a victory. He just wasn’t happy about the implications that came with her triumph.

                      “I did, but that last guy was a real son of a bitch. If he’d had even a little more experience in losing, I might not have pulled that one out.”

                      “But you did pull it out,” Graham DeSoto said, walking in a few steps behind his grandson. “You put on a marvelous display of strength, strategy, and resolve. I’ve always known you to be impressive, my dear Angela, but today, you showed me how powerful you can truly be.”

                      “I am pretty amazing,” Angela agreed. “Though, I owe at least some of that to you, Paw Paw. Without your training, there’s no way I’d be this far along in my path. You gave me a solid foundation on which to build, and for that, I am truly grateful.”

                      “You may wish to save your thanks for another few moments,” Graham cautioned. “As you are both aware, I decided that, when you both manifested abilities, and should you prove yourselves worthy, I would pass on the Captain Starlight name to whichever one of you proved to be the most deserving. Shane, I have watched you for your whole life as you trained relentlessly, always striving to be better, never giving up on your dream of carrying on the legacy of the world’s first Hero.”

                      Shane bit his tongue, merely nodding politely. It would change nothing to tell them that he’d never cared about the fact that Captain Starlight was the first, or most revered of Heroes. He’d always wanted the name because it was his grandfather’s, nothing more. If it had been the name of a shamed Hero, Shane would have fought just as hard to take it, and likely come up just as short against Angela.

                      “However, after today’s victory, on top of her impressive career within the HCP, I think there can be no question as to which of the two of you is the more powerful. Against anyone else, your efforts would have certainly triumphed, but against Angela, I’m afraid they fell short. That is part of what makes her so suited to wear the title. She is indomitable, unwavering, and unstoppable. And, as of today, she is the next Captain Starlight.”

                      “Seriously? This isn’t some trick or test, right? I finally get it?” Angela rose from the bench where she’d been resting and approached her grandfather carefully, waiting for him to knock away the prize he’d been dangling since they were children.

                      “You have earned it, my dear granddaughter. The tests are done. I give you my word, the name, and all that comes with it, are officially yours.”

                      Angela seemed to swell up, not with the excitement of bloodlust, as Shane was so often accustomed to seeing, but with pride. He could only imagine how it felt, to have grabbed the ring after so many years of reaching for it. It was an experience he would never have, but he still tried to be happy for her.

                      “Grandfather, I’ve been waiting a very long time to hear you say those words.” Angela reached out and took Graham’s hands in her own, cradling them delicately as she stared into the older man’s beaming face. “So that I can finally tell you this: thanks, but no thanks.”

                      “I beg your pardon?” If Graham was told that one of his old nemeses had been resurrected and given zombie powers, he couldn’t have been more shocked than he appeared in that moment.

                      “I don’t want to be Captain Starlight. I don’t want to carry on your legacy. I love you, please don’t think that’s what this is about, but I’m not going to take up your name.” Angela squeezed the hands still clutched in hers, doing all she could to soften the blow.

                      “Why on earth wouldn’t you want to be the next Captain Starlight?” Graham asked.

                      “Because I’ve never wanted to be as good as you were, Paw Paw. I want to surpass you. I want to build my own legacy; one that puts every other Hero’s to shame. You’re the one who taught us to always be striving, to never stop trying to be the best. Well, that’s what I’m going to try and do, but I’m doing it my way. I’ll earn my own reputation, my own glory. I’m going to be my own kind of Hero.”

                      “All these years.” Shane’s voice came out like the hiss of a coiled snake, drawing both his sister and his grandfather’s attention immediately. He was staring at Angela, not as much in surprise as frustration. Unlike Graham, Shane knew the kind of person his sister was. He’d just thought this was important enough for even her to take seriously. “All these years, you’ve been ahead of me. All these years, you were so tireless. Always training, always keeping a step beyond reach. Why did you go to all that trouble if you knew you didn’t want the fucking name to start with?”

                      “Shane—” his grandfather began, but stopped when Angela released his hands and stepped toward her brother.

                      “Because there’s a difference in not getting to be Captain Starlight and choosing not to be Captain Starlight. I needed the decision to be mine and mine alone. Let me put it this way: now that you’re the default choice to take up the name, does it feel the same as if you’d beaten me out for it?”

                      “Of course not,” Shane spat.

                      Angela smiled and nodded her head slowly. “Of course not. You wanted to beat me just as bad as I wanted to beat you. Well here’s the good news, little brother. This contest doesn’t end when we graduate. I’ll be waiting out there for you, waiting to see which of us can truly become the greatest Hero. Oh, and as for why I always worked so hard to stay ahead of you . . . well, you’re stronger than you think. If I’d slacked off, then you’d have passed me for sure.”

                      “Don’t you dare try and comfort me out of pity.”

                      “Shane, you’ve been my rival since we could walk and this crazy old bastard started training us. Do you really think either of us would be this far along without the other to compete against?” Angela pulled her brother in and gave him a crushing hug. “I won this round. But something tells me you aren’t content letting that score stand.”

                      Shane hugged her back for a moment, but then pulled away. “You’re going to have a year’s head start, again.”

                      “Maybe a year out of the HCP will make me soft and sloppy. Being first isn’t always an advantage, you know.”

                      “Ahem,” Graham Desoto said, butting into the conversation. “Since you seem set on refusing to carry on the Captain Starlight name, do you mind if I ask what name you have chosen?”

                      “I was leaning toward ‘Oppenheimer,’ due to that whole ‘now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds’ quote, but I thought it might go over people’s heads. So, to answer your question, I don’t really have one yet.”

                      “Why am I not surprised,” Shane muttered.

                      “Perhaps we should talk about it over dinner,” Graham offered. “After all, we do still have quite the victory to celebrate.”

                      “Woo! I am ordering all the wine,” Angela declared before sprinting off. She made it halfway to the lifts before remembering that she needed to change into street clothes, and another several feet before deciding that she actually cared enough to turn back.

     230.

                    “That about wraps up class for today.” Professor Pendleton took down the chart of former Soviet leaders and tucked it neatly away in his briefcase. Discussing the fundamentals of interrogation wasn’t exactly a popular topic, but it was one that he’d seen the necessity for firsthand, so he refused to gloss over it. Around him, the bustle of students packing away their notebooks filled the air.

                      “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you all that tomorrow is your Subtlety final, but the dean insists that I do so anyway. Additionally, remember that whatever teams you turn in to me just before the match will be your official ones. Nothing you’ve said, signed, or submitted beforehand supersedes your final submissions. Something to keep in mind when making those last-minute choices.”

                      The stuffing of notebooks slowed slightly as his few students exchanged glances with each other. By Professor Pendleton’s estimations, there were at least two false alliances and one outright betrayal in the works. Alice had been quite the social butterfly, making inroads and half-promises since she first heard the assignment. None of the others seemed to trust her, but they also didn’t know who, if anyone, she’d truly aligned herself with. Much as he hated to admit it, his niece had a real gift for the social side of Subtlety.

                      Slowly, but steadily, the students filed out of his classroom, until Professor Pendleton could just be Sean again, at least until his sophomores came around for their next teaching session. He’d barely gotten the romance novel out of his desk when he heard footsteps coming back down the hall toward his room. Slipping the paperback out of view, he took a seat at his desk and waited calmly for the visitor.

                      Alice strode back into the room confidently, her usual stoic dislike fixed firmly in place. If he hadn’t already realized that she wanted to speak in private from the fact that she’d doubled back after leaving, Sean knew it for certain as Alice shut the door to his classroom on her way in.

                      “I don’t want special treatment.” She sounded as cold and removed as she had since discovering their familial bond.

                      “Dean Blaine oversees every evaluation you take for me and Professor Hill to make sure that you don’t get any,” Sean replied. “And honestly, have you ever really thought I gave you any special treatment?”

                      “God no, you’ve been such a dick to me since I walked in your door that I thought my father must have screwed you out of a job or something,” Alice admitted. “But that was before I knew about our . . . what you were and started being a dick to you right back. The last thing I want is you trying to make amends by giving me a little helping hand on the final. I’m going to pass that damn thing, and when I do, it’s because I earned the win.”

                      “Why do you even care, Alice?” For the first time since Blaine had shown him that picture as they sat in his cell, Sean felt the mask he’d fixed in place slip away. He’d tried so hard to protect her from the truth of her past, but now that everything was finally falling out into the open, Sean finally realized just how tiring the effort had been. “We both know you’re going to ace the Control final, and Professor Hill has probably already written your acceptance letter for making it your major. What does it matter how you do on my final?”

                      “Because you’ve been trying to push me out of this class since day one, and we both know it. You probably wouldn’t have let me stay in this year if Dean Blaine hadn’t given us free choice. Well, I’m going to show you that not only can I hack it here, but I can be one of the best.” Alice stared him down, and Sean flashed to one of the countless memories of Shelby when she dug in her heels on a subject. It was all he could do to keep from smiling at how similar they were.

                      “I bet you think I’m going to deny it. To tell you that I was just pushing you harder, or being extra tough so that no one would accuse me of favoritism. Well, I’m not. You’re absolutely right, Alice. I have been trying to make you quit. If it had been in my power, I’d have never let you in this class to begin with,” Sean said.

                      “Why? I’m smart, I’m cunning, and I’m damn good at a lot of the human elements of Subtlety.”

                      “Because I know what it is to be a Subtlety Hero,” Sean replied. “I know how it feels to have teammates that don’t quite trust you, to be the first one in the DVA’s sights when there’s an information leak, to lay awake at night and wonder where the line between Hero and criminal really is, and whether you’ve already crossed it or if it’s still looming on the horizon. I don’t want that life for you, Alice. Not when your power opens the door to one that can be so much better.”

                      “You know, if you had just told me that two years ago, I might not have spent all this time thinking you such an asshole,” Alice said.

                      “But you wouldn’t have listened.”

                      “Of course not.” Alice’s expression softened just a touch, the barest hints of a smile dancing on the corners of her lips. “I’d be exactly where I am right now: telling you to shove it, and that I’m going to kick ass. I’m stubborn, but at least I know it.”

                      “That you do. In fact, it’s a trait you get from our side of the family, which is why I’m still going to grade you as carefully as ever. If you slip up, don’t expect to pass.” Sean allowed his own grin to finally break through. Things weren’t really better than they had been, but it just felt so nice to stop having to pretend, even if only for a few moments.

                      “Honestly, at this point, I don’t even know how to take a test where the odds aren’t stacked against me,” Alice said. “If I ever get an easy test, I’ll probably freak out and bomb it.”

                      “Nothing to worry about there. In the Hero Certification Program, there are no easy tests, and we’re nothing compared to what it’s like out there in the field.”

                      “Bring it on, then,” Alice said. “I’ve got plenty of confidence in my strategy.”

                      “Tomorrow will tell. Please leave my door open as you leave,” Sean said, leaning back in his chair.

                      “No problem.” Alice headed over, pulled the door open, and started to leave. Before completely exiting, she paused to stick her head back in. “Oh, and enjoy your romance novel. Thaaaat’s right; Nick told me all about it.”

                      Sean could still hear her laughing for a solid half minute as she headed down the hallway.

     231.

                    Vince took a deep breath, extended his hands, and tried to make the world fall away. In the desert, it had happened naturally, day after day of relentless fighting had stripped every other thought from his mind. Lander, his friends, even his father had burned away under the scorching sun and steady rhythm of George’s fists. It was a state of calm and focus Vince had brushed against during his more intense battles, but never had he found a way to dwell in it the way he had in the desert. By the time their contest was over, Vince had been the deadliest version of himself to ever exist.

                      Coming back had dulled that sharpness, made it more difficult to find the spot of calm cold that lived in the center of his mind. Finding Eliza, saving Nick, facing his feelings for Camille, all while worrying about what his father was up to . . . life had piled back on and complicated the simple precision he’d discovered in the desert. That was a good thing, too. Vince had seen what happened when one spent too long in that mindset. It ate away at the person, made them forget what had sent them to that place originally.

                      The thermometer at the south end of the cell began to drop, slowly but steadily. None of the other three so much as twitched. Vince wanted to grin, but he suppressed the bubble of joy in favor of keeping his focus. Grabbing all of the energy he could was useful, however, it was also dangerous. The way he’d drained Thomas last year had proven that point all too well. What if he’d drained an energy his opponent needed to live? Vince had found the control he needed in the desert, when trying to cool it all would have been beyond dangerous. His need had beaten out his limitations, and he’d finally gained better control over what he absorbed. Vince could be careful and precise. With enough practice, he’d be able to use any technique, regardless of the opponent, just by tailoring the strength of it.

                      Vince let out a long breath and saw it turn to steam in the air. He had been breathing to the south, after all. At last, he let himself smile and put his hands down. Even after months of training, Vince couldn’t entirely push the world away. He’d reached a certain degree of peace with that, though. Maybe it was for the best if he couldn’t forget the world completely, not even for a few seconds of focus. The world was important, as were the people in it.

                      The only reason he allowed himself to go to that chilly, calculating place inside him was because there were people he wanted to protect, and a world he wanted to help save. If Vince ever allowed himself to forget that, he truly would be a monster. And Vince Reynolds had no intention of falling down that hole.

                      He was training to be a Hero, no matter what.

     *               *               *

                      Ralph watched the video for what had to be well past the hundredth time. It was playing on a DVA laptop that was two years ahead of what most people considered top-of-the-line, yet paled in comparison to what some tech geniuses could rig up with motor oil and a calculator. The world’s technology would likely have been centuries ahead of where it was if anyone could ever replicate a tech genius’s work, or even figure out what made their stuff function in the first place. Almost none were able to explain how they put their marvelous inventions together; they just knew it made sense in their heads. Sadly, science didn’t always want to comply with what worked in their heads, and reverse engineering their creations was often more difficult than trying to replicate them from scratch.

                      He reached over and picked up a glass of carrot juice as the screen showed Vince Reynolds bellowing with rage and firing blasts of electricity across the field. Even after all these viewings, it was still a sight to behold. Ralph had seen a lot of crazy, scary things in his time at the DVA, and Vince’s initial outburst still gave him the occasional chill. How many criminals had tried something like this to scare everyone off, only to look practiced and theatrical? That was the thing Vince brought that they didn’t: authenticity. In that moment, he really was ready to bring the entire world crashing down around him.

                      Ralph wasn’t an idiot; he understood how illusions and mental manipulation worked. Ralph knew that Vince wasn’t seeing students, he was seeing monsters. Ralph understood that, to Vince, it hadn’t been a simple testing situation. He got all of that, but Ralph also understood something else, something he seemed to be the only one to get.

                      No matter the circumstances, Vince was still in control of his actions. Maybe he was tricked into thinking he was fighting inhuman creatures, and that someone he loved was dying behind him. None of that changed what he’d become in those moments. The beast that had emerged from his psyche wasn’t considering collateral damage, or bystanders, or anything more than pure, unrestrained destruction. Yes, it had been a dire, emotionally hellish scenario, but those sometimes happened in the real world. Heroes died. Sometimes, that Hero died in front of people who cared about them. Anger was expected, even permissible to a certain extent. What Vince had done was an exponential degree above a mere fit of rage.

     Everyone else seemed content to brush over it by excusing the circumstances. Only Ralph could see the potential for devastation Vince Reynolds posed. Certainly, in daily, controlled life, Vince was a great kid. Kind, dutiful, caring, all the things Ralph would want to see in a future Hero. If he did make the cut though, sooner or later, something bad would happen around him. Maybe one of his friends would die. Maybe it would be the woman he loved, only this time, for real.

                      Ralph had to think about what happened when that Vince broke free again, the one he was watching tear through fellow students with no regard for human life. Vince the Person might be fantastic, but no amount of decency would excuse the damage Vince the Grief-stricken Murder Machine might unleash.

                      Next to his glass of juice, Ralph’s phone vibrated. He snagged it before the second “ring” and noted with mild annoyance that the number was blocked. Between government secrecy and those damn feuding mafia kids, he may as well not even have a caller ID function on his phone.

                      “Hello,” Ralph said.

                      “Good evening, Mr. Chapman.” The voice belonged to Nathaniel, the creepier of the two criminals he’d been forced to fall in with. “I’m calling to let you know that there will be quite a show this coming week. I can’t say when or where, as I’d hate to have a compromised phone ruin the surprise, but suffice it to say, you will certainly get what you need.”

                      Damn it, this stupid shit was probably going to endanger other people again. Ralph needed any information he could get if he wanted to stay ahead. “Do you mind pointing me in the right direction at least? I need as much evidence as I can get to do my job properly, so I’d like to be set up.”

                      “Oh, don’t worry about that. I promise, there will be no shortage of documentation when things are done.”

                      Just like that, the line went dead. On screen, Vince was punching Chad off the ground and into the air. As Ralph watched the ground fall away from the blond Super, sending him spinning helplessly through the air, he felt a strong pang of empathy for how Chad must have felt in that moment.

                      It was how Ralph felt every time he tried to picture what Nathaniel was going to do.

     232.

                    Alice put the folded slip of paper into Professor Pendleton’s lean hands, and he tugged it carefully away. She’d written her slip months before, though that morning, she’d made sure to publicly scrawl some gibberish on a different one before discreetly tucking it into her sleeve. The less people knew, the better. In a situation like this, trust was almost impossible. Maybe if Mary or Vince had been in the class, it would have been different. But she supposed the very reasons she knew she would have been able to trust them were why they hadn’t been chosen for Subtlety in the first place. No, her best bet was to trust in logic, and that told her that she would be the main target the moment the fighting began. But they knew that she was aware of that fact, and it meant she’d have been a fool not to make some sort of alliance. So long as no one was sure who she had partnered up with, however, they would have a grain of distrust for all the others. Taking her down would be futile if her secret teammates proceeded to beat the others.

                      Professor Pendleton had lied to them when he told them the point of the exercise; it was never about trust. It was all about confusion and misdirection. Doubt was the greatest weapon in their arsenals—if they could make people doubt their allegiances, and those owed to them, it would be more effective than a punch to the face could ever be.

                      The sound of a shutting door sealed the students inside their large combat cell. Moments later, Professor Pendleton’s voice crackled out over the speaker system as he gazed down at them from the viewing room. “As you all know, today’s battle is a team match, but only you know what teams you are on,” Professor Pendleton announced. “The fight goes on until only one actual team is standing. Until you hear me call the fight over, I’d recommend not lowering your guard, no matter what you may be expecting.”

                      He looked out over his students proudly; not all six of them would continue under his instruction, but there was no doubt that all who made it to the rank of Hero would be a little more tricky and cunning than their peers. That alone could make a difference, as he knew oh so well.

                      “Begin!”

                      The word was no sooner spoken than Britney disappeared, taking her rapier with her. Will was almost as quick in lifting his staff and taking a defensive position, waiting to see who would make a run at him. Alice was a second behind, leaping straight up and out of range for melee encounters, a move that demonstrated its intelligence seconds later, when Sasha arrived at the spot where Alice had been standing. Rich glared up at her, but Alice avoided catching his gaze. Her first priority was the young woman whose melodic notes were already beginning to drift through the room, slowing the movements of her opponents. Selena had a wicked glint in her eye, enjoying the fact that only she could strike at so many of her opponents simultaneously.

                      The glint turned into shock as she felt herself rising rapidly off the ground, though, true to her training, she kept right on singing. Still, she turned to Alice, who met her withering stare with a cheerful thumbs up.

                      “Don’t worry, I’ve got you! Keep on singing, and no one can touch us.”

                      It would have been simple enough for any of the students to read the shock and panic in Selena’s eyes, but Alice had tilted the siren so that only she could see the expression. Selena could certainly deny their status as teammates . . . if she was willing to stop her song. Alice could almost watch the thoughts cascading through Selena’s mind as she worked her way toward the inevitable conclusion.

                      A sharp cry of pain rang out as Rich was knocked to the floor from behind. He struggled to get up, but a wound suddenly appeared on his back, then one on each of his legs, and finally, one on his shoulder before he stopped fighting and allowed his hands to be zip-tied behind him by the unseen attacker.

                      Britney was just finishing handling Rich when a beam of light struck her from Will’s staff. Her head swam, and she struggled to stay upright, hoping dearly that whatever tech wonder he’d shot her with wouldn’t render her visible. That hope was crushed as she felt a sharp pain in her neck, and suddenly, it felt like someone was rattling her whole body down to the bones.

                      “My newest sonic neutralizer,” Will said. “Now in personal-size incapacitation models.” He was able to gloat for a solid half second before a fast-moving Sasha slammed into him from behind, sending him sprawling across the floor.

                      “Hands off my partner,” she declared as she watched him fall, ready for his counter. To her surprise, he kept on rolling, popping right up and meeting her gaze with steely resolve.

                      “Think this through, Sasha; do you really want to knock me out? I am the only one left with a ranged attack, after all.” He pointed the tip of his staff through the air, motioning to where Alice and Selena were suspended. “How about we deal with them next, and take on each other last? Gives both of us better odds.”

                      Sasha hesitated as her mind tumbled the offer around. Will was right; she’d have a lot more trouble taking out the flying duo on her own. Logically, it was the right move to make, but something still felt off about it to her. Unlike Alice, Sasha had not yet learned the power of trusting her intuition, so she gave a hesitant, but definite, nod of acceptance.

                      “Get ready to take care of Alice; this won’t stun her for long.” Will whipped his staff to the ready, took careful aim, and fired another beam of light. No sooner had it made contact with Alice than she began to drop like a stone—as did Selena. The siren’s song turned to a panicked scream as the concrete came rushing up at her. She hadn’t been that high, though from the snapping sounds her legs made on impact, Will estimated that she’d broken a leg or two.

                      Sasha zoomed across the cell, prepared to deliver the knockout blow as soon as Alice hit the ground. She was struggling with all her might, twitching and flopping and trying to hold on to her height even as she kept steadily falling. Alice was only a hair’s breadth away when Sasha reached out for her. To her shock, Sasha felt the ground slip under her feet as she was tugged upward. At the same time, Alice drifted away, spinning around to reveal a Cheshire grin on her face.

                      “I was worried about catching you most of all. You’re so fast, I’d have needed to cut off gravity to the entire room, and Professor Pendleton would have probably docked me points for not finding a more class-appropriate way to catch you. Like this one, for example.”

                      “Will!” Sasha yelled, trying to twist in the air and finding it fruitless. “Little help! Your gizmo wore off.”

                      “Oh, no, Will only had one real shot loaded,” Alice replied. “He zapped me with the laser equivalent of a blank. Done with Selena yet?”

                      “I put a sonic taser on her; hopefully, it will knock her out quickly. She seemed to be in a fair bit of pain.” Will walked calmly over from the now incapacitated songstress.

                      “But, you grabbed Selena and tried to help . . . aw dicks.” Sasha shook her head and grunted. “First fucking rule of this class is not to trust what you think you see. Guess I shouldn’t be that shocked that you two outfoxed me, though I am a little pissed.”

                      “It was a gamble. Sometimes, they work; sometimes, they don’t.” Alice pulled one of Will’s small Tasers from her pocket and released it from her hand, watching it float through the air for a peaceful moment. “This one did.” The Taser zipped through the air like a dart, slamming into Sasha’s shoulder. A moment later, the girl with pink-streaked hair was set gently on the ground as Alice landed next to her. She turned to face Will, who looked right back at her.

                      “So,” Alice said.

                      “So,” Will echoed.

     *               *               *

                      “I think we should form a team. You know, for the final.” Alice didn’t seem particularly nervous as she talked to Will outside the gym, though she was being careful to make sure no other students came within range to overhear them.

                      “Why? You’re certainly a skilled combatant, but my own capabilities in that realm are a bit lacking. Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to pair with someone who also a considerable physical force?” Will didn’t actually see this as a better strategy; he was more curious as to why Alice hadn’t gone that route.

                      “That would be silly. I’m already a powerhouse. I don’t need another me. I need someone slippery and smart, who can be precise while I’m being blunt,” Alice replied. “Besides, you’re the only one in there I could actually trust enough to make plans with.”

                      “I suppose we have been through a lot,” Will agreed.

                      “No, that goes out the window in a fight,” Alice said. “It’s because you understand numbers. If a team of two wins, then we each get about a hundred points, more than enough to pass us, since we did well on the mid-term. Yes, you could screw me over and get double that, but there’s no need for it. Half, even a third, will get you over the next hurdle. The others might get greedy, or really need the extra boost. You’re cold and calculating, in a good way. You understand that the best path forward is making a deal that gets you into the winner’s circle.”

                      “I’ll admit that your math adds up,” Will said.

                      “Thanks. And even if you do betray me, you’ll at least wait until all the others are taken out. No sense in making it harder on ourselves. If it’s down to just us two, and you turn coat, I can still work with that.”

                      “Alice Adair, you make a compelling case,” Will admitted. “I think that you and I can be partners. Until we’re the last ones standing, if nothing else.”

     *               *               *

                      An uneasy tension hung in the air as they watched each other, waiting for the slightest sign of aggression. One twitch, one quick move, and violence would dominate the cell once more. At last, their standoff was broken by the electric crackle of the speaker.

                      “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you both put each other down as teammates,” Professor Pendleton said. “The match is officially over. You could have at least put on a little bit of an after-show, though.”

                      “Maybe next time,” Alice said, slowly relaxing.

                      “Next time, for sure,” Will agreed.

     233.

                    “When this week is over, we’re going to have to do a night of celebration,” Vince said. “We know Alice has a good reason for one, and hopefully, after the other finals, so will everyone else.” He stooped down to pick up a box of balloons, which Hershel was stuffing with slips of paper that would represent points. It was a tedious task, though oddly, neither young man felt burdened by it. In fact, after weeks of craziness, it was actually nice to deal with something so simple.

                      “Roy can barely contain his excitement over the Weapons test,” Hershel said. “He’s hoping for another shot at Professor Cole.”

                      “Personally, I’ll be glad if we never have to fight another professor again. Once was enough,” Alice said. She was hunched over, painting the front of one of the many booths that had become decrepit over the years.

                      Around them, the entire junior class buzzed about. They’d been brought to the underground section where the carnival equipment was stored to begin work on their various tasks. Some of the more astute noticed that this work seemed to have been purposely scheduled for finals week, and the smartest of them even figured out that it was meant to keep their minds busy. None of them suspected the deepest hidden truth though: that all of the professors enjoyed the carnival, but loathed doing any of the work.

                      “At least Alice is going to have options,” Alex added. “I’m hoping to do well enough in Focus to make it through, otherwise, I’m in deep crap. There’s no chance I’ll be able to cut it in Control.”

                      “You’re going to do fine,” Mary told him. “I think you may even have more telekinetic finesse than Professor Stone. That alone will carry you through.”

                      “Finesse is good, but I’d prefer if it came bundled with at least a little more power,” Alex replied.

                      “Control always beats out strength,” Vince said, setting down a new box of unstuffed balloons. “Chad’s a walking testament to that.”

                      “Though, Chad is also pretty strong,” Hershel pointed out.

                      “Of course he’s strong, but my point is that—”

                      Alex’s scream halted Vince, as well as all other conversation in the room. It was a sound that tore its way from his throat unbidden, screeching out in an inhumanly sustained note before tapering off to a sickly sustained pitch. He grabbed his head, fingers pushing against his skull, and began to rock back and forth. Sasha appeared at his side, zipping over from across the room and grabbing him in her arms.

                      “Alex? Alex, what’s wrong?”

                      “Oh . . . oh God, no.” Mary’s face turned pale, and her eyes began to water. “Someone

      . . . someone just set off a bomb in one of the aboveground buildings. People are running around. They’re so terrified; no one knows what’s happening.” Mary tried to calm herself down, tried to focus on what was needed instead of drowning in the sea of sudden terror that had risen up above her. It was all she could do to move from thought to thought. She couldn’t even imagine what Alex was going through; his power was so much more empathically tuned than hers.

                      Then, just like that, the thoughts were gone. She whipped her head up, nearly smacking Hershel, whom she hadn’t realized was holding her. Sure enough, there he was, the only man who could have possibly stopped the flood of thoughts so easily.

                      Dean Blaine strode into the room with an expression none of the students had ever seen on his face. Before he spoke a single word, they knew something was up. The man that stood in front of them was scarcely recognizable as their kind, patient dean. Instead, he looked like the incarnation of Wrath, scarcely being constrained by a human form. In an instant, it was clear that something bad had happened, and it was just as apparent that someone would pay for it.

                      “Everyone, drop what you’re doing and come with me this instant. If any of your friends are having trouble moving, help them, but don’t fall behind. This is an emergency situation, and moving you all is a top priority.”

                      As freshmen, they might have blundered about, uncertain about what was happening. Three years in the HCP had trained them on more than how to throw punches, though. Before Dean Blaine was entirely done speaking, his students were lining up in front of him.

                      Mary staggered to her feet slowly, leaning on Hershel for support. Alex seemed to be slowly coming back around, as well, thanks to Dean Blaine cutting off their powers. Vince and Sasha picked him up between them, carrying him more than helping him walk. Mary felt another hand slide around her, and smiled up at Alice, who was looking at her with a face full of pinched concern.

                      “What do you think is going on?”

                      “I honestly can’t imagine,” Mary said. “Who has the sort of death wish that would make them attack an HCP school?”

                      “I’ve got a guess,” Alice replied. She didn’t say it out loud, though, because, even without her powers, there was no way Mary wasn’t thinking the same thing. Nathaniel had already blown up a club, and that was just to try and knock Nick off his game. Deep down, Alice truly hoped that it wasn’t that crazy orange-eyed bastard.

                      Because if it was, then there was no way he was going to stop at one building.

     *               *               *

                      As soon as Nick heard the explosion, he knew what had happened. There was no need for deduction, or guesswork, or even contacting resources. He’d been waiting on this for months. True, he might not have known the exact form it would take, but he’d known it was coming. He grabbed the small briefcase he kept behind his couch before his windows had even stopped rattling and tore out the door.

                      He could see an orange glow in the night sky, the tips of the flames visible over the other buildings obscuring his view. By his calculation, it was probably the Business and Mathematics building that had gone up. The good news was that they had precious few late classes there, so it would have been largely empty. The bad news was that it was between two dorms and in the center of campus, so there had to be ample collateral damage.

                      The worst news, however, was that it was where Nick took most of his classes. No question about it, Nathaniel was piloting this shitshow, and he wanted Nick to know it. This wasn’t a warning shot or a cheap trick. Nathaniel was gunning for him, and he was using Nick’s friends as bait.

                      Sprinting down the stairs, Nick slapped an earpiece on just in time to realize his phone was ringing. He accepted the call but didn’t slow down, metal case still firmly in his grip.

                      “Did you see that?” Eliza’s voice rang out, genuine shock and panic audible for the first time since Nick had known her. That had been Nathaniel’s intention, of course. Shock and awe; come out so strong that no one knows what to do.

                      “I see it, and there’s sure to be more to follow. Take Jerome and get the hell out of here. Grab one of our stashed cars in case the usuals are being watched.”

                      “Are you out of your fucking mind? I can see you running across the parking lot toward campus. You really think we’re going to let you go alone?”

                      “This has nothing to do with you,” Nick snapped. He vaulted the border between Lander and the surrounding areas, coming down on the soft grass of a well-tended college campus. “The moment Nathaniel brought this fight here, it was no longer a Vegas battle. As of right now, this is an HCP issue.”

                      “Even if I bought that, you aren’t even in the HCP.”

                      “Maybe not, but I . . .” Nick trailed off as he watched the yellow dome slam down behind him. It was translucent enough to see through, but from the way it was burning the grass where it settled, Nick had a feeling he should avoid touching it. Just to be sure, he threw a coin from his pocket and watched as it hopped and sizzled against the yellow barrier. Lifting his head, he traced the massive concave enclosure as far as he could see. By his estimate, the entire campus had been surrounded by this yellow force.

                      “Eliza, I think this debate has become pointless. Lander just got cut off from the rest of the world.”

     234.

                    They were scared, and with good reason. The Hero world was supposed to be terrifying; it was a fact their teachers went out of their way to drill into their heads. But that was out there. At Lander, in the HCP, they were supposed to be safe. There was still a line between the villains and them. Now, as Dean Blaine looked through the gym and saw all the uncertain faces of his students, the stalwart expressions of the professors, and even the fear in the DVA employees he’d been meeting with, Dean Blaine knew that the line had been forever blurred. No matter how this night ended, they would never feel quite as safe in their home again. Sad as it was, if it was the worst outcome of this evening, then he would count it as a success.

                      “There is no pretty way to say this, no nicety I can use to make it better. Our campus has been attacked. A bomb was detonated inside the Business and Mathematics building, and it is currently on fire.” Dean Blaine kept his voice steady by sheer force of will alone. He wanted to rant and rave and have his suit on, kicking the living hell out of the sons of bitches who had dared to do this to his home. But that was the job of the Heroes who would be responding. His duty was to keep his students safe and calm. The odds of someone managing to actually get below ground were ludicrously low, but if some poor bastard did manage it, they would find professors and a dean ready to show them the error of their ways.

                      “Additionally, there are unconfirmed reports of people in combat gear and armed with assault weapons. As such, we are forced to assume this attack is targeting all of you, as future Heroes, and thus, we have gone into lockdown.”

                      Throughout the gym, he could see the sentiment that announcement stirred. Most of those already down here were the juniors and sophomores who had been working on their carnival, though there were a fair amount of freshmen and seniors that had come down for training as well. None of them were comfortable with the idea of staying penned up below ground while chaos ran rampant over their heads.

                      “I’m keenly aware that you all hate what I’m telling you, but it is imperative that you listen to me. What’s happening right now is a job for Heroes, and right now, none of you have the training or skill to wear that title, to say nothing of being officially sanctioned. The situation is being handled, and I assure you that those responsible will deeply regret the day they set foot on our campus.”

                      Dean Blaine was going to say more, but the ringing of his phone caused him to stop. It was Mr. Transport’s ringtone. By this point, Professor Fletcher should have reached the suited duo and gotten them to commence bringing the other HCP students underground. There was no need to call him . . . unless something had gone wrong.

                      “Just one moment, perhaps this is the call letting me know things have been handled.” He grabbed his phone from his pocket and turned away from the students, hoping against hope that his lie would magically be turned true.

     *               *               *

                      Alice’s own phone vibrated a few moments after they watched Dean Blaine begin talking, and then harshly whispering, into his. She pulled it out without hesitation, relief spreading through her as she saw the number that was calling.

                      “Thank goodness you’re all right. After Mary told us a building got bombed, I wasn’t sure if you’d been targeted too.”

                      “Oh, I think it’s safe to say there’s no doubt that Nathaniel is targeting me,” Nick replied, his voice hushed in a way that made Alice’s fears rise right back up again. “But from what I’m seeing, I think he had to piggy-back with someone else to get his revenge. These guys are well-trained, have great equipment, and at least some of them are Supers.”

                      “How do you know that?”

                      “Well, one of them lowered some sort of energy barrier over the campus to keep us from getting out, or maybe to keep the Heroes from getting in. Also seems to be fucking up phone signals, keeping them from going out. I had to crack mine open and route it through Lander’s internal system to call you directly.”

                      “Glossing over why the hell you would know how to do that, have the other Heroes shown up yet? It’s been at least ten minutes; there should be capes and cowls tearing these dicks apart,” Alice said.

                      There was a pause, and suddenly, Alice knew. She’d been too well trained not to recognize the tell. Nick didn’t pause; he always had words at the ready. The only exception was when he had something truly terrible to say.

                      “Alice, right now, I don’t see a single Hero around. They might be working in the areas I haven’t been to yet, but it’s seems that something is definitely holding them up. Like I said before, I think Nathaniel piggy-backed onto someone else’s plans. Whoever these people are, they’ve clearly put a lot of thought into how to raid an HCP school.”

                      She started to ask more, but the sound of gunshots and scuffling came from the other side. Just as her heart started to pound, Nick’s voice came back on. “Sorry about that. I think it’s time for me to get on the move. I’ll keep you in the loop when I find places to hole up. Stay safe down there, Princess. I’m sure the cavalry is right around the corner.”

                      Alice lowered the phone slowly, staring at her friends, who’d been listening to her side of the conversation. Damn Nick. God damn him. He was so good at lying, so much of the time.

                      Why couldn’t he make her believe that last line, even the slightest bit?

     *               *               *

                      “What in the hell do you mean you can’t teleport? No neutralizer in the world has that kind of range, and I should know, because I’m the strongest one.” Dean Blaine wasn’t shouting, but his ability to keep up that feat of willpower was quickly deteriorating.

                      “It’s not a neutralizer. Mr. Numbers and Mr. V—Professor Fletcher are still able to use their abilities. My guess is it’s a teleporter who can block others, an anchor; probably several of them. They knew we’d want to have Heroes teleporting to our location, so they cut off the option.”

                      Dean Blaine very nearly crushed the phone in his grasp, not due to enhanced strength, but merely as a result of a life of training combined with blinding rage. “They’ll still be able to teleport near campus. That yellow wall you described will be a minimal burden to cut through.”

                      “If the distress signal even went out,” Mr. Transport replied. “Anything not run through our local system doesn’t seem to be getting through. I know the HCP has safeguards on top of safeguards, but so far, every move they’ve made has anticipated what we’d do. It would be dangerous to assume they weren’t a step ahead of us from the very beginning. What does protocol say you should do?”

                      “Exactly what we’re going to—remain in here and make sure our students stay safe. Gather as many as you can and get them to the lifts. I will not let these monsters have the hope of tomorrow.”

     235.

                    “Dean Blaine . . . are there really no Heroes out there?”

                      The dean lowered his phone slowly. They shouldn’t know that, but he was hardly shocked they’d found out. After all, he’d been specifically training them to be self-reliant, ingenious, and determined. In the end, it didn’t matter though. They knew, that much was clear from Vince’s tone, and now he was going to have to quell the flame of action that was no doubt burning inside them.

                      “Yes, Vince. I’m afraid whoever has come to our school did so with a fair amount of preparation. The Heroes have been delayed, but they should arrive soon.”

                      “Assuming they get through the weird energy barrier and can receive signals through it, right?” Alice was standing next to Vince, a hard look set in her eyes. All of Melbrook was clumped together, save only for Chad, who was currently sitting with Shane and Amber.

                      “They’ll break through, have no fear of that,” Dean Blaine assured them. “These are nothing but stalling tactics; once they are hurdled, the situation will be well in hand.”

                      “And in the meantime, all we get to do is sit around down here, while all those other innocent people are in danger.” Vince was unexpectedly calm. Dean Blaine would have expected him to be frantic or delivering a passionate plea. Instead, the silver-haired young man seemed almost detached from what was happening. “Dean Blaine, sir, you know we can’t do that.”

                      “No, Vince. I know that that’s exactly what all of you are going to do. Fighting crime, especially when other Supers are involved, is a crime in itself. The sort that will get you expelled from HCP consideration. You may not like it, you may even hate me for it, but I cannot, in good conscience, permit you all to go out there. Without the proper training, you’ll just get yourselves killed.”

                      “So, we won’t fight.” Mary stepped up next to Vince, her small frame a sharp contrast to his height and wider shoulders. When had these kids grown so big? Dean Blaine could still picture them as the scared freshmen that had been waiting at orientation.

                      “We’ll evacuate the students down the lifts,” she continued. “If I can find Mr. Transport, he can start popping them out in groups.”

                      “No, he can’t.” Chad spoke from the across the room. “There’s at least one Super, probably more, blocking teleportation.” He turned to Dean Blaine with a somber expression. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.”

                      “That’s all the more reason we should be out there, then, helping to get them down here,” Thomas said. Violet, Jill, and Will all huddled near him; Violet and Jill were bobbing their heads in agreement. Will didn’t echo the gesture, but from the way he watched Jill, it was clear he would go where she did.

                      “It’s a noble sentiment, but you still aren’t certified for rescue work either, to say nothing of the amount of exposure you’d get using your powers out there. You have my apologies, but I’m not permitting you to leave this area.”

                      “With all due respect, Dean Blaine, and I really do mean every ounce of respect I’m capable of giving someone, this is our choice. We’re not Heroes under the DVA; we’re still students. If we decide to leave this place, then you can’t stop us,” Vince said.

                      Dean Blaine met those sharp blue eyes with his own and stared the young man down. So much damned resolve was in that boy. If he wanted to stop them, Blaine was going to have to play hardball. “That’s right, Vince. You are physically able to walk out of here. And in the process, all you have to do is throw away everything you’ve worked for. Let me take the ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ out of this: anyone who walks out that door will be removed from the Lander Hero Certification Program. If not by the DVA, then by me. If you aren’t capable of showing enough discipline to stand by while waiting for reinforcements, then you don’t have any place as a Hero. Sometimes, you’ll have to make the hard calls; consider this an object lesson in that. So, you decide, Vince. Go up there a few moments before the real Heroes show up and sacrifice any hope of helping people for the rest of your life, or sit down and stay on the path toward making the world a better place.”

                      The few seconds of quiet that came down after Dean Blaine’s speech seemed to last a lifetime. For a moment, he thought he’d succeeded. Then Vince carefully stepped away from the rest of his friends, over the students who were still sitting, and came up to Dean Blaine. He kept walking until he was only a few feet away, then stopped.

                      “You’ve been a great teacher. This has been the best three of years of my life, bar none, and as insane as it’s been, there’s nothing I would change. But you’re wrong, Dean Blaine. If I stand here and do nothing while I know people need my help, then I can never be a Hero. Maybe I’ll get the title, maybe people will love me, but it will always be a lie. Heroes help people. That’s what my father taught me; that’s what I believe to this day. I’m going to go save as many people as I can. Because you can stop me from being a Hero, Dean Blaine—there’s no question you have the authority and power—but you can’t stop me from helping people. No one has the right to take that away from me.”

                      “Sometimes, Vince, you’re a real prick about these things.” Roy stood where Hershel had been moments before, lowering the flask back down to his side-pocket. “I mean, how the hell am I supposed to stick around after you say something like that? I’d spend the rest of my life feeling like a world-class pussy.”

                      “If you two idiots are going out there, then I’ll have to come keep an eye on you.” Alice followed Roy as he walked toward Vince, with Mary only a few steps behind.

                      “Heaven knows what will happen to you lot without me around.” Mary was focused on moving forward, so much so that she nearly missed the people getting up and walking next to her.

                      “Truthfully, I’m ashamed I even let myself entertain the idea of staying,” Thomas said. He was right by Mary, with Violet, Jill, and Will in tow.

                      “I’m a little embarrassed, but I can’t think of a good Jedi quote for this occasion,” Alex admitted as he started heading over.

                      “Come on: ‘Adventure. Excitement. A Jedi craves not these things.’ It’s like the first one that comes to mind,” Sasha said.

                      “Yeah, but I don’t see it fitting here. We’re definitely about to court a lot of excitement, but it’s probably the bad kind.”

                      Camille hurried over from the corner she’d been jostled into so she could join up with Violet. “I’m sure there are a lot of people up there who need healing. Probably, some of you will too.”

                      Around them, many of the other students began walking forward as well, stopping by Vince and Dean Blaine. Not everyone chose to join, but it was well over sixty percent of the students that had been brought down, and almost the entirety of the junior class.

                      Just as the movement was starting to halt, one of the final holdouts stepped forward. Chad Taylor walked past the crowd, and past Vince, to stand directly before Dean Blaine, the godfather who had been looking over him since he was a baby. Guiding him, teaching him, all in the tireless pursuit of becoming a Hero.

                      “You here to join them, or help me talk them into staying?” Dean Blaine asked. His voice was unnaturally thick. Most assumed it was with fear or frustration; only Chad had an inkling of the true emotion trying to force its way to Blaine’s face.

                      “I wasn’t entirely sure until I got here,” Chad admitted. “I have wanted for so long to be a Hero like my father, and for the past several minutes, I’ve been trying to figure out if he would have stood with you, or joined with them. I was unable to come to a conclusion, however. The truth is, I never really knew Joshua Taylor; everything I have of him is stories and anecdotes.  None of that tells me how he’d react in this sort of situation.”

                      Chad paused, looked at Dean Blaine, and then glanced at the small sea of faces behind him. “It occurs to me, however, that it ultimately doesn’t matter what my father would have done. I’m going to do what’s right; because that’s the path I want to be on. I’d really like to think my father would have done the same, but I know my godfather would, if the positions were reversed. We’re going up. Please don’t bar our way.”

                      Dean Blaine lowered his head, hands that had balled into fists falling limply at his side. It seemed as though he were completely beaten, but when he raised his chin and looked his students in the eyes, they were nearly knocked out by the ferocity in his expression.

                      “You’re all still probably going to be kicked out for this. I might have been bluffing, but the DVA has no tolerance for uncertified Supers getting involved in this sort of thing. You’re all idiots, the entire lot of you, and I can’t imagine how any of you got so far in my program. That said, I want you to know how impossibly proud I am of each and every one of you. The DVA might tear you down for this, but in my eyes, you all have the hearts of Heroes.”

                      “Actually, I may have a way to help with that.”

                      Of all the people that turned in surprise and confusion to the source of the voice, no one was more shocked than Dean Blaine. He’d been through enough hells to learn that sometimes, aid came from the unlikeliest of sources.

                      Even still, he’d never have expected to hear an offer of assistance pass the lips of Ralph Chapman.

     236.

                    “These are what we call blank masks,” Professor Stone said. The ear of every student around her was perked and paying attention. No one needed to be told how crucial each bit of information they were getting was. They were walking the finest line they’d ever been on; if they wanted hope at a career after this night was through, then they were going to need every advantage they could get.

                      The professor held up a gray, neutral mask that left only the eyes, underside of the nose, and mouth exposed. She turned it around, showing a slightly open section in the back where those with longer hair could push it through. Demonstration done, she handed the mask to the person nearest to her, then grabbed two more and commenced passing them out.

                      “Why do you have these on hand?” Violet asked, handing masks off in the conveyor belt of a line they’d formed.

                      “While HCP students are not authorized to take action during situations like these, evacuations have had to occur in the past. We found it better to have a way to conceal identities in the event our entire student body had to suddenly flee aboveground. I never expected to have to use them like this, though.”

                      “I don’t think anyone could have seen this coming,” Selena muttered. She was near the back, and at last, a mask came into her hands. It was heavier than she’d expected. Dense, strong, and tough. Selena could only imagine the weight it would carry once it was actually on her face.

                      “Listen up, everyone,” Professor Stone said. “When you leave this room and go to the lifts, you are temporarily authorized as emergency responders. That means you are allowed to get the people up there to safety, and use your powers as you see fit in the process. You are not, however, allowed to engage our enemies unless it is in the capacity of self-defense. Don’t take the fact that we let you get your weapons as license to run free. I don’t know why Mr. Chapman found it in his heart to give you the emergency responder authorization, but do not try and test the limits of his kindness. Get up, get people to safety, and stay clear of engagement. The entire top floor of the HCP will be designated as a safe house for students, so bring as many as you can get.”

                      Professor Stone looked around the room, marveling at the change that had come over her kids just by donning those gray, featureless masks. Sometimes, it was easy to forget why she’d gone into teaching after retiring as Emerald Hydra. There was paperwork, politics, and so much more hand-holding than she was accustomed to dealing with. But as she looked at those masked faces and saw the determined eyes shining underneath, Esme Stone remembered exactly why she’d chosen this path, and she couldn’t imagine having gone down a different one.

                      “Keeping in mind what I said about self-defense, also realize that you’re running around in HCP uniforms and masks. You’ll be targets, and if someone tries to kill you, then I damn sure expect you to handle that threat. Consider yourselves declawed, not neutered. And one more thing before you go: you are going to be the only people who can activate those lifts. The professors will be topside, handing the problem in an official Hero capacity, so down here will be sparsely defended. If you can’t transport a group here without letting one of your enemies in as well, then don’t activate the lift.”

                      “What about any students we’ve gathered?” Thomas asked.

                      “Get them clear if you can, but they can’t be saved at the risk of endangering everyone else we put down here,” Professor Stone instructed.

                      “You want us to just let them die?” The shock in Jill’s voice said more about what she thought of the order than her words ever could.

                      “I want you to protect the greatest number of lives possible. Sometimes, that means making the hard choices for the greater good. It’s an awful, shitty thing to thrust on you kids, but it’s also part and parcel of what comes with being a Hero. You want to save everyone? Then you better have power on par with a god’s, because that’s about what it takes. For the rest of us, we save as many as we can, and find ways to cope with the guilt over the rest.”

                      To her surprise, there were no more objections, only hard stares and grim nods. They’d made peace with what was ahead of them, or at least thought they had. No one could really know what it was like until they were actually in the field, making those decisions.

                      “All right, everyone, this is about as prepared as you can be. Break into groups, get up those lifts, and go save this campus.”

     *               *               *

                      “In the absence of the ability to escalate situational information up the chain of command, I am enacting rule nineteen of the DVA’s Emergency Hero Charter. As of right now, I am the highest-ranked official in the chain, and as such, all repercussions for our use of force will fall on my shoulders. Any objections?”

                      Dean Blaine looked around his office and was met with only agreement, and perhaps a bit of simmering rage. As he spoke, he stripped off his work clothes until he was down to only shorts and a tank-top. No one in the room was alarmed by the undressing. They knew perfectly well what was coming, and if anything, were a bit anxious to bear witness. He pressed a button under his desk, and a section of his office’s rear wall slid away. Behind it was a black suit, heavily fortified and stocked with gadgetry from every tech-genius Blaine had worked with through the years. Mundane weapons might be a threat to him normally, but that’s what armor had been invented for, after all.

                      “Since everyone is on board, I am officially escalating this situation. There is no limit on lethal force once a target is confirmed. These people came here to kill; it’s only proper we meet them with the same resolve.”

                      “As a DVA representative, I support that escalation,” Chapman said. “So long as protecting the students comes first.”

                      “That, thanks to you, is what our kids are doing,” Dean Blaine replied. He began to step into his suit, piece by piece. It was still heavy, and still took strength to move in, strength that Blaine Jefferies had in spades. “They’ll treat the symptoms, while we handle the source of the disease. Everyone has their coms?”

                      Again, his team nodded, watching as he disappeared into his armor.

                      “Good. They’re run through the local network, which means we can keep in contact. If that fails for any reason, Emerald Hydra will coordinate communication. Impact, I want you up high, giving us the lay of the land while providing cover fire. Any issues?”

                      Professor Baker shook her head, sending copper strands of hair swirling around the green mask she’d donned.

                      “Seamstress, you’re on crowd control. Cut down as many of the mundane ones as you can. Wisp, I want you to find out where the Supers blocking our comms and teleportation are. If you can get the location of the dome projector too, that would be useful, but consider them second priority.”

                      Professor Cole gave a thumbs up to signal her agreement, but Sean Pendleton actually spoke up. “I know lethal force is authorized, but if I have to do in-depth information extraction

      . . .”

                      “These motherfuckers have come to our home, murdered innocent people, and are trying to target our kids. Do what you have to do. I’ll deal with the fallout after.” Blaine had finished putting on nearly all of his black suit. The only piece that remained was the helmet with a small, white oval painted near the top.

                      “Understood.”

                      “Good. Black Hole, I want you backing up Emerald Hydra. She’s going to be scouring minds for any information on where Wisp’s targets are, where more bombs might be, or what they’ve got planned. She’ll be vulnerable while doing all that searching, so make sure she’s looked after. If she gets anything, she’ll relay it to Wisp, or . . . I suppose Mr. Volt will have to do for Professor Fletcher’s call sign. At any rate, he’s using his speed to search for more bombs. Once Emerald Hydra wraps that job, start hunting every enemy Super she can identify. Does anyone have any questions before we go?”

                      Only Ralph Chapman spoke up, an act which, ordinarily, would have garnered mocking and rolled eyes from the others in the room. Tonight, however, he’d acted with the good of the people in the forefront. They still didn’t care for the man, but he’d earned at least a single night of respect.

                      “Blaine, do we have any sort of estimation on when the Heroes will arrive?”

                      “No clue if, or when, any outside help is coming. But I can tell you this much: the Heroes will be there in less than two minutes.” Blaine slipped the last piece of his costume, his suit, his armor, over his head and latched it into place.

                      “And it’s not ‘Blaine’ anymore. Tonight, call me Zero.”

     237.

                    Nick slipped quietly between a pair of hedges and tucked himself into the corner of a dorm covered by shadow. It was one of the many places he’d marked as a good hiding spot during his time walking around campus. Some would have called that sort of habit paranoia, but Nick liked to think of it as being prepared. Given how the night was playing out, it seemed like he’d been in the right. That thought was little comfort, though, as he watched one of the patrols move past.

                      So far, they didn’t seem to be doing much more than making a fuss and stirring things up. Despite those sizable guns in their arms, no one was doing anything other than firing warning shots to panic every student they encountered. That and searching the base floor of every dorm and building they could find. By Nick’s estimates, it was a double-pronged approach designed to draw out Lander’s Supers, as well as locate the lift locations. Someone in that organization had clearly been in an HCP, though, if it were Lander’s, they’d already know where the lifts were.

                      A slight click filled the air as Nick opened his briefcase, and he held his breath to see if anyone would notice. There was still so much chaos going on around campus that it seemed unlikely, but Nick hadn’t survived as long as he had by underestimating his opponents. He gently removed a pair of pistols, as well as a set of holsters. He slipped on the latter with practiced speed and stowed his weapons. Next, he removed a set of miniature night vision goggles. While Lander was still well lit from lamps and the orange glow of a burning building, there were too many shadows an enemy could hide within, like the one he was using. Besides, the last thing he wanted was for anyone to see his eyes tonight. If he was going to need even half as much luck as expected, they would give him away in a heartbeat.

                      Nick closed the briefcase silently, then pulled one of his pistols free and clicked off the safety. There were ten spare clips in the briefcase, along with one in each gun, but he still needed to conserve ammunition. Finding Nathaniel would be hard enough, and there was zero chance he wouldn’t have to fight his way through some thugs to put that bastard down.

                      The silent, creeping movements Nick was so carefully employing were suddenly drowned out by screams and the sound of machine gun fire coming from within the dorm. He braced himself, trying to think of a way to help that didn’t end with getting shot to pieces, when all of a sudden, the gunfire came to an abrupt halt. Moments later, he watched as the diminutive woman he knew as Professor Stone, now clad in a bright green mask and costume, emerged from the front of the dorm. From behind her poured at least a dozen students in HCP uniforms, most of them gray. They also wore masks, though theirs lacked the flair of Professor Stone’s; clearly the mass masks were tools meant to disguise features, not create an identity.

                      Nick smiled and lowered his guns, noting that there were similar sounds coming from nearby buildings as well. He hadn’t expected this much backup, but he was glad to have it. With his former classmates handling the brunt of the attacking force, Nick was free to stick to the shadows.

                      That was where he was best, after all.

     *               *               *

                      The unit leader motioned to his team, silently ordering them to go around and flank the unexplored room. So far, they’d yet to turn up anything in the library aside from cowering students. There had to be a lift here somewhere, though. A place this accessible, where students could come and go without being noticed if they vanished, it was the perfect spot to hide a lift. According to the radio chatter, three had opened up already, and the squads unlucky enough to witness it were cut to pieces. If this one was about to spit out some Supers, he intended to be prepared.

                      With one motion, he kicked down the door, gun at the ready. It was still at the ready as a golden sword appeared from nowhere and stabbed him a few inches below his throat. The second took him the chest, barely missing his heart. A pair of blades attacked from the sides, severing his arms at the elbows. He collapsed to the floor, trying to scream, but finding it hard to find a voice through the combination of pain, shock, and blood loss.

                      As he lay dying, he saw the rest of his team sprawled in a bloody heap on the other side of the room. From nearby, a distinct clicking filled the air. It sounded wrong. Like . . . like metal treading over the tile floor. When a figure came into view, he knew he was hallucinating.

                      How else could he explain someone walking around in a golden suit of armor? His hallucination walked over to him, peering down as it seemed to notice his shallow breathing. It kneeled, picking up his head in its hands. To his surprise, the metal wasn’t icy cold like he’d expected. It was warm. A soft, gentle warmth, like sunshine through a window.

                      “When I came out to study for my finals, I was not expecting things to get this lively,” said a voice, a female voice, from within the armor. “You pricks have really stuck your dick in a beehive tonight. Still, I don’t see any reason not to show a little mercy.”

                      A long knife appeared in her armored hand. Before he could even wonder what it was for, the armored woman struck, slamming the knife through his helmet, skull, and brain matter as easily as if she were cutting open a piñata. His helmet made a bouncing sound as it fell to the floor.

                      Above his corpse, the armored woman stood, releasing the knife from her grip. It fell only a few inches before vanishing in a glow of yellow light. She surveyed the gory results of her work, expression inscrutable through that golden layer of protection, then turned and began to walk briskly out of the room.

                      She passed the hidden entrance to the lift that the team had been looking for—tucked away behind a soda machine that only sold non-caffeinated fruit beverages—but made no movement to head down to the safety of Lander’s world below. Angela knew chaos like she knew her own heart, and there was no doubt in her mind that everyone she cared about would be up here, doing things they weren’t ready for.

                      As their senior, it was her job to watch over them as best she could. Besides, she wasn’t going to do something as sane as miss all the fun.

     238.

                    “Sir, we’ve received reports that a significant portion of Lander’s students have come topside.” The man in combat gear stood rigid as he made the report, a fearful expression in his eyes. Nathaniel could feel the terror in him even from across the room. He was almost hurt that none of it was inspired by him or his eyes. Every bit of fear this mercenary had was reserved for the handsome older man sitting next to Nathaniel.

                      “Interesting. I didn’t expect them to actually break protocol. Well now, that’s why we make contingency plans. Give the order to detonate bombs three, four, and six. That should spread them thin and occupy their effort.”

                      “Understood.” The mercenary turned and headed out of the room, moving more quickly than was strictly necessary.

                      “You seem to be enjoying yourself, Crispin,” Nathaniel remarked. He studied the older man’s face carefully, but was unable to find more than sincerity in his wide, constant smile.

                      “Why wouldn’t I be? Thanks to you helping us secure funding, the Sons of Progress are finally able to enact a plan I’ve had designed for years. Do you know how much of a blow we’ll have dealt the Heroes when this night is done? Not only will we wipe out an entire school’s crop, but we’ll also show the myth of the unassailable HCP to be just that: sheer myth. How many parents will let their children attend an HCP school once they see the havoc we wrought? The anonymity they’ve enjoyed for so long will be stripped away, and we’ll be there to capitalize.”

                      “Just remember your part of the deal,” Nathaniel said.

                      “My men waited until your target was on campus before creating the shield, didn’t they? Like you expected, he soon dropped out of sight, but we know he’s here,” Crispin said. “I assume you have a plan to draw him out?”

                      “There’s not much need. Nicholas Campbell isn’t one to sit around and wait; he’ll uncover where I’m hiding and come to me.”

                      “Oh my. Well, that will be quite the surprise for him then,” Crispin replied. “I have high hopes that this night will end with both of us getting exactly what we want.”

                      “Things are certainly on track,” Nathaniel agreed. “Though, I have to say, you really hate Heroes. I grew up in a family of criminals, and even we don’t despise them this much.”

                      Crispin’s smile broadened by a few inches. “I don’t hate Heroes, Nathaniel. I hate the system that creates them. We were born with gifts, power beyond mortal understanding, yet humans, our lessers, seek to tell us when and how we can use them. Because they can’t fly, they want to tear off our wings out of spite, and ‘Heroes’ are the tool they use to do it. I want these poor, brainwashed victims to be free, just as I want the rest of the Supers to be free, but unfortunately, to earn us that freedom, there must be sacrifices. I will mourn every one of our Super kin that falls tonight, and know that their sacrifice went toward making a better future.”

                      “All I care about is killing one Powered,” Nathaniel said.

                      Crispin nodded and kept right on smiling. Nathaniel had many connections and a fair amount of clout, but he also had an unerringly one-track mind. So far as Crispin was concerned, this was actually a positive factor. It made his partner so much easier to control. And Crispin was a big fan of keeping everything under control.

     *               *               *

                      Though she could feel practically feel the heat from the explosions as they rocked three more buildings, Impact kept her mind focused on the task at hand. It had been a while since she’d had to set up a viewing station, and her hands fumbled with the monitors, adding precious seconds to the task. At long last, she completed her work, and stood back to admire what she’d fashioned.

                      Around her were an array of cameras, pointing off in every conceivable direction across campus. Each was equipped with a short, medium, and long-range lens, so she could get a good view of anything in their line of sight. The cameras fed to a wall of monitors, giving her complete sight over the entire campus. Taking in information from so many sources was a difficult task, but she’d spent decades practicing it. Often, she was thrown into situations where she had to take shots on the fly; however, when she got the chance to prep a nest like this one, well, that was when she was truly at her deadliest.

                      “Zero, there’s a unit coming away from the Science building. I’ll take them all out, just be nearby in case any are Supers. Seamstress, there’s a squad to your southeast, one of which seems to have minor ground manipulation abilities. Black Hole, you’ve got two squads doing patrols near your location. They might not see you, but be ready to silence them quickly if I give the order. Wisp, any luck on the locations we need?”

                      “Nothing so far. These grunts are either being kept completely in the dark or have wills of steel.” From the background of Wisp’s communicators came a harsh, animal-like scream. “Personally, I’m betting on the former.”

                      “Keep trying. Mr. Volt has found and deactivated two bombs, but the damn things are hidden well. We need to get teleportation on the table or lower the dome, if we want to evacuate.” Impact checked the monitors again, making sure the situation hadn’t changed while she was relaying information, then reached into one of the buckets she’d stashed up here along with her equipment.

                      In the pouches of her costume were metal balls of various densities and with distinct purposes, but she was saving those for when they were needed. Dipping her hand into the bucket, she pulled up a handful of bullets. Hollow-points, technically illegal to use on humans, assuming someone wasn’t sanctioned to kill. Impact, along with every other Hero on campus tonight, was not under orders to wound.

                      She turned back to her monitors and squinted slightly. Every mercenary near Zero had a softly glowing mark appear on the back of their lower spines. They couldn’t see them, of course. Only she could see the marks she created. In her hand, three of the bullets glowed as corresponding glyphs appeared on their casings. They rose up from her palm and floated slightly forward before bursting away at speeds faster than they could ever reach when being fired from a mere gun.

                      On screen, the mercenaries fell in heaps, as what appeared to be streaks of light zipped down from the sky and struck them squarely in the invisible marks on their body. There was a lot of blood, and in her experience, they were all likely to be paralyzed at best, but she’d still given them a chance at life.

                      Given how many people had certainly been in those buildings, it was more than they were owed, but she couldn’t bring herself to kill without need. No matter how angry she might feel, that line was what distinguished Heroes from the monsters prowling the night.

                      Plus, it wasn’t as though Wisp could interrogate a corpse.

     239.

                    “Bubbles, get back!” Larry yanked his friend backward just as section of the burning floor gave way. Of course, this had to be the night he’d booked a damn lab for extra credit, and even worse, the night he’d dragged his best friend along to help him.

                      They watched the floor fall away, crashing in cinder splinters to the floor below. Historic Lander, with so many of its buildings made of wood; all-too-flammable wood. He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hallway, trying to peer through the tears that smoke and fear were putting in his eyes. When they were almost to the corner, he caught sight of two men in dark clothes with guns held at the ready. Without thinking, he grabbed Bubbles and jerked her back against the wall.

                      “What are you—” Larry pressed his finger to her lips before she could finish asking her question. He might have been flunking chemistry, but he was good enough at math to put all these factors together. One explosion might be an accident; add in others, and you had an attack. The sort that people with giant guns and what looked like SWAT-grade armor would be carrying out. He tried to hold his breath to keep from taking in more fumes, desperately racking his brain for a way out that didn’t involve going past the gun owners.

                      The sound of bullets filled the air, followed by what sounded like a crackle of static, and then several grown men yelping in pain. Larry wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but if it had hurt those men, then it probably wasn’t all bad. He and Bubbles moved away from the wall just as they heard voices coming down the hall.

                      “That was a good hit, Energy Taker Lad.” The voice was female; Larry could pick up that much.

                      “Energy Taker Lad? Really?” A new voice; this one male. Larry thought he might have heard it somewhere before, though, between smoke inhalation and fear, he didn’t exactly trust his senses at the moment.

                      “It’s what came to mind. It’s not like we have code names, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want me using your real one, since there are two people in the next hall.”

                      Larry felt his blood run cold, despite the oppressive heat around them. He glanced back down the hall they’d come from, only to find the fire had spread to the walls and ceiling. Even if he were willing to risk jumping down a floor, they’d just be leaping to their fiery deaths.

                      “If you can hear us, please stay calm,” called the male voice. “We’re here to help, and should reach you soon.”

                      “And Larry, I know you’re scared and upset right now, but we’re not the enemies. You don’t need to be afraid of us,” added the female.

                      He barely had time to process a stranger calling him by name, and addressing exactly what he was thinking, before two figures came into view. They both wore layered gray outfits and gray masks, though he could still see enough of their bodies to figure out which was the guy, and which was the girl.

                      “Oh hell, you didn’t tell me there was this much fire!” The man hurried forward, past Larry and Bubbles as he stood over the brim of the collapsed floor. He stretched out a gloved hand and seemed to be staring directly into the flames.

                      “Wait!” his shorter partner yelled over the dull roar of the flames, grabbing his attention. “If you absorb all of that, you’ll burn out the floor below us. Remember, you take the stuff that’s going to burn too.”

                      The unknown man smiled, one of the few expressions they could make out beneath the featureless mask, and again, Larry felt a slight tickle of familiarity in his brain. “I might have been saving an ace or two up my sleeves for finals.”

                      Bubbles let out a squeak of shock, and Larry echoed her as they watched the fire below surge upward, striking the man in gray and vanishing as it swirled around him. In a matter of seconds, the flames were gone, and he had turned back toward them.

                      “Don’t worry, that fire’s out for now. Let’s get you two—”

                      A loud creaking interrupted him, and the floor below them began to splinter.

                      “What the hell?” This came from the woman, who was staring daggers at her partner.

                      “I didn’t burn any extra, I swear! It must have already been about to collapse,” he yelled back at her.

                      Moments later, everyone was screaming, as the floor below them gave way and all four people found themselves tumbling through the air. Larry had just enough time to reflect on how much bullshit it was that he was going to die in school, of all places, before the man in gray grabbed him in a tight hug and spun around in mid-air.

                      They slammed into the fire-rotted wood, the guy holding Larry taking the brunt of the impact on his back. Sadly, their trip wasn’t over, though, as this floor immediately gave way as well, sending them hurtling down fifteen feet to the ground floor. Larry felt his whole body tense for landing, in spite of knowing perfectly well that he was supposed to stay loose in a crash situation. His body refused to listen to his brain, however, and he grit his teeth as the marble floor came rushing up at him. At the last moment, he lost his nerve and slammed his eyes shut.

                      To his shock, when they hit the ground, he felt nothing. No splat, no pain, not even a slight push from the sudden stop. Peeling his eyes open slowly, he found himself staring into the smiling face of the man who’d been holding him.

                      “You have no idea how glad I am that that worked,” the stranger said, releasing his hold on Larry.

                      “Actually, I think—shit, Bubbles!” In his momentary flood of relief, he’d forgotten that she was in danger too. Jerking his head upward, he found his best friend floating down, along with the short girl in gray.

                      “Sorry, it’s hard for me to lift people and myself, so we had to go slower.” The girl set Bubbles down, who immediately ran forward and squeezed Larry in a hug with all her might.

                      “I understand this is stressful and terrifying, but you need to come with us quickly,” said the guy. “We’re going to take you somewhere safe, and the entrance is only one building away. The sooner we get you there, the sooner you can relax.”

                      “Let’s go.” Larry gently pushed Bubbles away, who immediately leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

                      “L-Ray, do you think we can trust these people?”

                      “They just saved both our lives. Besides, we always knew there were Heroes-in-training at Lander. I just never expected to see them out and about like this.”

                      “To be fair, this is a surprise to us as well,” said the mystery girl. “But we should move now. The closest goon squad is still far enough away that we can get you underground before they arrive.”

                      “Underground?” Bubbles asked.

                      “I’ll explain as we go,” the masked man offered. “So long as we start moving now.”

                      The four hurried out of the building and into the warm night air. Larry could see the glow of more fires, as well as several more burning spots in the building they were leaving. It was all so impossible, so surreal, and he had a solid hunch that it wasn’t going to get less crazy anytime soon.

                      “Hey, mind if I ask what you meant back there? About being glad it worked?”

                      “Oh, that.” The man in gray turned back and gave a somewhat sheepish smile. “I’ve never tried to absorb the kinetic energy from a fall before. It made sense in theory, but this was the first chance I had to put it to use.”

                      Larry’s eyes widened, and he quickened his pace. The last thing we wanted was to be around for any more of a Super’s test sessions.

     240.

                    The knock on the door was light, but firm. It opened immediately, revealing a slender young man whom Nathaniel had seen scurrying about since he first met with Crispin. Unlike the others, he didn’t treat the old gentleman with a fearful reticence; he marched right in and began to address him.

                      “Reporting an update: our Team A task forces have fallen below the sixty percent threshold. As you instructed, Team B has been gathered, and is awaiting you outside.”

                      “Thank you, Sherman.” Crispin rose from his chair and gave a slight wave of apology to Nathaniel. “Looks like it’s time to commence the second phase of our project. Once I finish with them, we can get you properly prepared for your reunion.”

                      Crispin and Sherman left the room, heading into a softly lit, white tiled hallway. As they passed a corkboard hanging on the wall—pinned full of flyers for upcoming campus events and various businesses—Sherman began to speak once more.

                      “There is also another matter, one I didn’t want to bring up in front of your guest. Iyanna reported two disturbances in her energy dome. She was able to heal them quickly, but it’s possible someone either escaped or got in.”

                      “Between Iyanna’s dome, Gretchen’s spatial anchoring, and Woodrow’s talent for stopping electronic communication, I highly doubt the Heroes have been able to figure out the situation and mount a proper response. Especially not with the gifts I gave them. Which reminds me, when are we due for the next refreshing?”

                      “Ten minutes and nineteen seconds from now,” Sherman replied briskly. His dark shoes make a light clicking sound as they walked down the hall, a harbinger of his impending arrival.

                      “Excellent. We should consider the possibility that one or two Heroes might have been lucky enough to be near and saw the dome, even if the official call isn’t out yet. Bring Gretchen to an adjacent room, just in case we need her to halt suddenly.”

                      “Consider it done.” Sherman stopped and pushed open a door, one that revealed a large classroom that was almost deserted. Its only inhabitants were five people—three men and two women—who ranged broadly in age and race. The only thread connecting them, in fact, was the pin each person wore. It bore the symbol of a sunrise over a city, with the letters “SOP” etched into the metal below. As soon as they laid eyes on Crispin, each stood straight at attention, scarcely daring to breathe.

                      “Please, relax, all of you,” Crispin said, patting the nearest one on the shoulder as he came through the door. “I know you wish to be respectful, but it is I who am honored to be in your presence. You five are some of the most dedicated brothers and sisters our movement has ever known. Each of you was handed tremendous power, and you refused to let society strip that gift away from you, which took courage. Even more impressive, you didn’t give in to the temptation of money and fame in exchange for acting as a hunting dog against your own kin. And that, my friends, took integrity.”

                      Crispin walked along in front of them, studying the faces of each one. They’d had names once, but those had already been purged from Crispin’s records. There were not people anymore. They were better. They were warriors in the battle for freedom, and he etched every feature they possessed into his mind so he would remember them as such.

                      “Too many others have not shared your integrity. They have become tools used by the humans to subjugate the species they immediately recognized as their betters. Today, we strike our first blow back against those tools. Today, we remind Heroes and humans alike that we are many, we are strong, and we will not be put down. While our other team is hunting for the entrance to their hidden rat hole, you are to be given a different task. A noble mission. Beyond these walls, right now, are many of Lander’s future Heroes, and you should crush them as best you can, but they are not your targets. Tonight, our goal is to kill something far more powerful than a handful of half-trained children. Tonight, we slay the image of the unstoppable HCP staff. Find the professors and the dean, and kill them. If the morning sun rises on even a single corpse from Lander’s staff, all of our sacrifice will have been worth it. The others out there, scared of the monster the media has made of the HCP, will see that it is not immortal. It can bleed. It can die.”

                      Crispin stepped to the front of the room so he could look each of his five recruits square in their eyes. “The gift I am about to give you is precious. It is one I bestow carefully and with great intent. Never do I hand it out for personal gain or attainment. It is a tool for our cause, the only thing a simple man like me can possibly offer. Know then, that when you leave here with it, you are truly my chosen ones. The hopes of every Son of Progress rests on your shoulders. Make great use of my gift, for I’m afraid that it will only be with you for so long.”

                      “About half an hour,” Sherman added. Poetic language and inspirational speeches were great, but he felt it best if the team actually knew how long they had to work with.

                      “Yes, my dear friend speaks the truth. About half an hour to do your work in. By then, the Heroes will have discovered something is wrong, and our job becomes nigh impossible. Be swift, be brutal, and be precise. Even with my gift, Lander’s staff will not go down easily. You must put all you have into this battle, and if you die, I pray you do so with the glory of success shining in your heart as you pass. Truly, that is a death all of us can only hope for.”

                      Crispin stepped forward and put his hands on the cheeks of a dark-skinned young man with high cheekbones. Fire burned in the man’s eyes, a passion for the cause he’d given his life over to. There was no doubt in Crispin’s mind that this man, that all of his chosen five, would fight to their last breath to see his orders fulfilled. His smile deepened at that thought, and he could scarcely wait to have them out the door.

                      Lander had done well at knocking off his pawns so far. It was time to see how they handled the knights.

     241.

                    A loud snap was all the warning they had. Nothing more than a sound like the roided-out cracking of a branch and suddenly, there was a beam plummeting toward them from the ceiling. The three women grabbed each other; there was fire on either side, and no place they could run for safety. So, in their final moments on earth, they acted on instinct. Humans, for all their vices and virtues, were herd animals deep down. When faced with impending death, these people each found that the only inclination which remained in their hearts was to reach out to one another, trying to impart just a small bit of comfort before a horrible finale. It was futile, of course, but it was also what made humanity such a rare and beautiful creature.

                      The young man who leapt forward was not human, not truly, but he was also acting on instinct. Before their eyes, he slammed his palms into the burning beam, causing it to shatter on the outer ends. Splinters and cinders spun about like flurries in a snowstorm, yet the women remained unharmed. This strange young man wearing all gray, including a face-covering mask, had stopped the section that would have turned them to paste. And he’d done it with his bare hands.

                      “Come on! The rest of this area is going to give out soon.” He turned away and chucked the section of burning beam still in his hands off to the side. As he faced away from them, one of the women noticed what looked like a baseball bat strapped to his back. She began to giggle, softly but continuously, as the insanity of the evening finally pushed the limits of what her sanity could bear. Sudden bombings, fires, even a man stopping a huge section of wood meant to kill them, she had somehow handled. But the idea that their savior had been on his way from the batting cages? That was the straw that caused her mind to sag, just as the beam had only moments before.

                      Her friends tugged at her, yet she stayed planted on the floor. At least, she thought she did. Suddenly, the world wasn’t only heat, smoke, and flickering flames. Darkness spilled out before her eyes, and the soft wind of a late-spring night caressed her burned cheeks. She blinked, unable to comprehend the shift that had taken place, and noticed the man with the bat was carrying her in his meaty arms. They came to another man in gray, this one with hands that glowed a soothing orange color. There were more students gathered around him, and in the air overhead, a blonde woman circled about before dropping back to the ground.

                      “Obi Wan just left; he said there were no more people trapped that he could find,” said the woman who had been floating through the air moments before.

                      “Good Lord, we have got to do better when we actually pick our code names,” said the man who was slowly setting her down.

                      “It’ll be a nice summer project,” the man with glowing orange hands agreed. “Are there any nearby patrol units?”

                      “None that I could see,” said the formerly floating woman. “We’ve got a pretty big group though. Probably best to drop them off before we go looking for more.”

                      “You two handle that,” said the man who’d held a beam off her. “I’ll go find Obi and see if he’s located more people yet. Our class is short on people who are fireproof, so I need to stay on rescue duty.”

                      “That’s fine. Between her flight and my shields, we shouldn’t have any issue getting these folks to safety,” said the man with glowing orange hands.

                      “Yeah, you get back in the game, Slugger,” agreed the blonde woman, already rising slightly off the ground.

                      A loud groan escaped the biggest one’s mouth. “Tonight, and only tonight, is the one time I let a name that dumb fly.”

     *               *               *

                      Nick wiped the blood from his hands on a towel he’d taken out of his metal briefcase. It didn’t come off well—only strong scrubbing and powerful soap would get that job done right. This was merely a temporary measure, so that everything he touched wasn’t slippery as he continued his quest to find where the hell Nathaniel was.

                      By this point, he was certain that none of the mercenaries knew anything. They’d been hired, plain and simple, and kept in the dark as much as possible. Even coming to campus, they’d been directed by phone and transported in separate groups. It was a smart play and showed a lot of planning, more than Nathaniel was possibly capable of. Nick had been cutting his old nemesis a lot of slack based on the skill in his recent game, but now, he had to face the truth that Nathaniel wasn’t his real opponent. The orange-eyed bastard had become the puppet for someone else, someone with actual cunning and skills.

                      The towel, now stained red, was folded up and tucked back into the briefcase. Nick stepped over the corpse still wearing its same dark combat armor, and paused. If he was playing someone smarter than Nathaniel, then his best bet was to assume they were as smart as he was. Nick looked out into the night and thought hard about the situation at hand. If he were the one plotting this game, where would he station himself?

                      One of the un-bombed buildings was the obvious first clue, though who knew how many would stay un-bombed by the end of the night? It was a shell game; sticking a pea under a cup, shuffling them around, and making the customer guess which one the pea was under. Only, in this case, looking under a cup ran the risk of finding a sudden explosion.

                      Nick paused his steps as that analogy tripped something in his mind. A shell game . . . the good ones were built around speedy hands, misdirection, and subtlety. But the best ones . . . those were the ones where the shuffler slipped the pea into his hand without being seen. No matter which cup you looked under, you were wrong. Because the first assumption you’d started with, a pea being under a cup, was flawed.

                      He turned his gaze to the Business building, the first one to be bombed. It had hit one of the lower floors, and the flames were slowly climbing upward. Whoever was doing this had planned out every step so far. They’d locked down communications, dropped a dome over the campus, and probably added a few safeguards Nick didn’t even know about. Why not bring along a Super with a knack for keeping fire at bay? After the initial evacuation, the Business building was the last place anyone, human or Super, was going to go.

                      Hiding right in plain sight. They’d bombed the building where they wanted to set up shop. It was ingenious, assuming Nick was right. As he lifted his briefcase and began to move across campus, he had a feeling he was. It just fit so well, right along with the rest of this person’s plan. Of course, if they’d been able to think this far ahead, there was another factor Nick had to consider.

                      They knew he would figure it out, and would be waiting for him to arrive.

     *               *               *

                      Orange light dimmed as the last of the mercenary team slipped into unconsciousness. The energy tendrils faded away, and the young man in gray turned to find his next obstacle. To his shock, it was already there, wearing a tattered red coat as it gazed down at him with familiar eyes.

                      “Please tell me you borrowed that properly this time.”

                      “Of course. We were in a pinch; I had pick of the powers.” Thomas’s voice sounded strange in the night air, being moved by a mouth unfamiliar with all its nuances. “But this is a good one, and easy to use without a whole lot of practice. More on topic though, what the hell are you doing here?”

                      “What little I can,” the man said. From behind him, a much smaller form emerged. It greeted Thomas’s body with an uncertain wave.

                      “Much as I want to charge in here, I can’t. The questions it would raise, the connections people might make . . . we’re so close, and it isn’t my right to sacrifice everything based on my own beliefs. Still, I had to do something. Shift down. We’re going to give them a helping hand.”

                      “How much help?” Thomas’s voice warped and stretched mid-sentence as the vocal cords creating the words changed into that of another person. Despite the gray mask covering his face, many of the student population could still have picked out the familiar form of Adam Riley.

                      “I’ll be working unseen, tweaking whatever I can, but we need someone more overt. Luckily, I have just the candidate in mind.”

     242.

                    Zero slammed a fist through the feeble padding offered by his opponent’s armor. Even without his own suit’s augmentations, Zero could have made short work of the small squad. He was thankful for every second of advantage it did provide though. Time was both their greatest asset and enemy at the moment. True, every second lost meant more time for innocents to die, but it also brought the inevitable moment of victory closer.

                      The Hero Certification Program had been given an almost impossible task when it came to securing their facilities. How does one account for defending against every type of power they knew about? Even worse, what about all the ones yet to be seen? It had quickly been established that a truly impregnable defense was impossible unless they were willing to keep dozens of specialized Supers on hand at all times. What they could do, however, was implement safeguards on top of safeguards. The possibility of losing communication during an attack was one of the first issues they tackled. The solution was a simple one: a server in the DVA pinged each HCP on multiple communication networks once per hour. If any of them failed to connect, it tried redundancies. If those failed too, an immediate distress call was put into place. It had caused some costly misunderstandings more than once, but the system was never altered. One necessary situation justified ten thousand fuck-ups.

                      “Zero, we have an issue.” Emerald Hydra’s voice crackled over his earpiece, sending a shot of dread through his spine. It took a lot to rattle that woman, but from the tone of her voice, something had achieved that lofty goal. “We’ve got new players on the field. I can barely pick up their thoughts, but their minds feel . . . warped. I don’t know how to describe it. The only thing I can tell is that they seem strong.”

                      He’d been waiting for this, deep down. One Super with the power to block teleporting was rare, though not unheard of. The DVA employed one in its most secure location, after all. Getting enough to cover a whole campus, on the other hand, was damned near impossible. Same for the dome; there was no way they wouldn’t be abreast of a Super with that kind of scale. No, the simplest answer was the scariest one: they had a power amplifier in their fold. Someone was juicing up the abilities of low-powered Supers to accomplish this attack. And if they could do it on defense, it was folly to assume offense wouldn’t follow.

                      “Get me to the nearest one,” Zero ordered. No doubt, this was their big move, a push to wipe out Lander’s opposition. They’d accounted for the strength of the professors, possibly even the response of the students. But there was no way they’d accounted for him. Aside from his presence being a highly guarded secret, it was a realization dictated by simple logic.

                      If they’d known Zero was at this school, they’d never have come in the first place.

     *               *               *

                      Larry and Bubbles marveled at the world that had been hidden under their feet all along. The massive concrete corridors went off in who knew how many directions, and in front of them, lifting platforms kept rising and falling, bringing with them more fellow students in gray masks and uniforms. They’d noticed that a few of the masked people wore black uniforms as well, and they’d even seen one in white. Neither had any idea what it meant; they just had a hunch it meant something.

                      Around the room walked a tall woman with a soothing voice. She wore no uniform at all, just a pants suit and one of the gray masks. As she made her way around, she paused every time she found someone who had been injured, touching them for a few seconds and moving on. Burns vanished, tears dried, and broken bones were reset as she walked among them.

                      Two other men were also milling about, these each wearing black suits and more masks. Despite their formal attire, they seemed more casual than the woman, greeting students as they were dropped off by the lifts and explaining that everything would be okay, they just needed to stay put. No one put up much of a fight; after the hell they’d escaped above ground, everyone was happy to have found an oasis of peace.

                      “Damn it, I still can’t get a signal,” Bubbles said, tapping at the buttons on her phone. “No internet, cell, nothing. How are we supposed to check on Steve? What if he saw the report and came down and got in, and now he’s stuck up there, while we’re sitting around and—”

                      “Steve is fine,” Larry assured her. “He’s smart enough to steer clear of something like this, first off. Secondly, even if he wanted to bust in, there’s that giant yellow dome keeping everyone out. I’m sure he’s more worried about us than we should be about him.”

                      “All the more reason to call.” Bubbles went back to messing with her phone, and Larry felt around in his pocket for his special sunglasses case.

                      His fingers closed on it, and he let out a small sigh of relief. That sigh grew exponentially as he opened the case up and saw that his frames hadn’t been damaged in the fall. At least the lenses he’d never needed to worry about; the things were made of solid lead, after all.

                      Larry had abandoned his lead-lined eye makeup, along with the nickname of L-Ray to everyone but Bubbles, mid-way through his sophomore year. He’d found that he no longer wanted quite that much attention as he got older, especially since it was like hanging a sign that said “Powered” around his neck when people asked. Larry refused to be ashamed of what he was, but he also didn’t feel compelled to explain to everyone who asked about his silver-shining eyelids. The glasses had been what he started using instead. It wasn’t as quick as shutting his eyes when an attack came, but after so many years of having spontaneous X-ray vision, it took more than glancing guts to wig him out. In that time, he could pull out and don the specs as needed.

                      Tonight, he wasn’t willing to take that chance. These people had gone out of their way to save his life, and had opened up their secret base to offer him sanctuary. Maybe that fell in line with normal Hero duty, maybe it didn’t. All he knew was that he owed them, and respecting the secrecy of whatever faces might lurk under those masks was the least he could do.

     243.

                    Shane felt the hot pain carve its way through his leg before he even registered the loud cracking sound of the gun firing. He fell against the soft grass, already too aware of the footsteps racing toward him. Stupid. It had been stupid to try and cross this open area. It had been stupid to split up from Chad so his friend could run a group to the base. It had been stupid to do a perimeter sweep alone. He knew better than that, had been trained better than that, but it didn’t save him from making key mistakes in the heat of actual conflict. Now, he was going to pay for those mistakes, unless he acted quickly.

                      Flipping onto his back, Shane was momentarily knocked dizzy by the movement and blood loss. He could see the three men coming, dressed in the same combat gear as every other squad he’d managed to avoid so far. There was no avoiding these three. Their weapons were trained on him; it was clear they were lining up their shots. If he hurried, if he was precise and quick, he could cut them all down. There would be no time for wounding, however. Shane had to kill them. He had to cut their lives away with their flesh, and as he tried to focus, that thought kept bounding back to the front of his mind. He’d never killed before, and as he looked at their approaching forms, Shane DeSoto did something he’d never done before. Shane hesitated.

                      It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Even as he tried to refocus, Shane knew it was pointless. The bullets would shred him long before he could counterattack. All that was left was to wait for the inevitable.

                      This time, he heard the bullets before he felt them; chiefly because they never hit Shane at all. Instead, they ricocheted off a golden wall that had suddenly materialized in front of him. At a single glance, he knew who had created it. Save only for its owner, there was no one in the world more familiar with the golden metal than Shane. He’d been fighting against it for as long as he could remember.

                      As the sound of bullets died away, Shane realized he could make out the noises of a battle taking place on the other side of the wall. It wasn’t what he was accustomed to hearing, though. Rather than the soft slaps and ruffles of blows striking flesh or clothes, Shane heard a cacophony of light-whistles, painful screams, and wet sloshes. He tried to pull himself up to look, but his leg refused to bear his weight and the wall blocked his view even as it protected him. Then, with one last sound of something crashing to the ground—and splashing into a puddle by the sounds of it—the fight was over. The golden wall disappeared, revealing Angela in her usual suit of Sunlight Steel armor.

                      He was glad to see her, not to mention relieved that he was no longer about to die. She shone under the stars, a pillar of power and protection. For a moment, all Shane felt was thankfulness, relief, and joy. That wonderful moment marked the last time he would ever see his sister in exactly that way, and it ended as his gaze continued downward to find the bodies of his attackers. Or, rather, the pieces of them he could still recognize as human.

                      Shane was barely able to get his stomach facing the ground before the first wave of vomit escaped. It stung as it left him, burning along with the tears that were pouring unbidden from his eyes. He’d always known the duty of a Hero. He’d always been perfectly aware of what he was training for. But to know it and to see it scattered in the grass, bits of blood and sinew still clinging to her golden weapons . . . that was a whole other beast.

                      “Shhhh. It’s okay.”

                      Angela was standing over him, gently stroking his back as his vomiting turned to dry heaving and slowly began to die off altogether. He braced for the joke, for her teasing, but neither came. She just stood over him, offering comfort and keeping him safe.

                      “I’m . . . fine,” Shane managed to grunt out at last. He began to pull himself up, but the fierce, shooting pain in his leg made it clear just how not fine he was.

                      “Like hell you are. A few inches over, and they’d have hit your femoral artery. As it is, we need to get you underground and to a healer.”

                      Shane let out a soft snort. “I don’t think I’m walking anywhere.”

                      “I wasn’t going to ask you to.” Shane felt a massive hand close around him, completely enveloping his torso. He glanced down to find a giant golden gauntlet hovering in the air as it hefted him upward, Angela standing a few feet away and presumably guiding the process. “Don’t worry, little brother. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

                      “Thank you,” Shane said. He felt worthless, ashamed, and defeated as he floated along next to his sister. She hadn’t hesitated, not even for a moment. She’d seen what needed doing and had acted without a second’s thought. For the first time in all of his years trying to catch her, Shane finally understood how different they truly were. “Not just for the lift, for saving me too. I . . . I should have been able to handle them, but . . .”

                      “Shane, I’m going to tell you something that I’ve known for a long time. The gods played a very cruel prank when they made you, little brother, because they took one of the most murderous powers I’ve ever seen and gave it to a boy with an impossibly kind heart. Don’t apologize for not wanting to take a life, and don’t you dare feel bad for it. Killing isn’t supposed to be easy. You’re not the one who is messed up here.”

                      “I’m not that kind. All I do is train and practice. I’m not even like Chad, who spends his time helping others improve. The only thing I’ve ever focused on is getting stronger,” Shane admitted.

                      “We grew up in a house full of Heroes. And we saw so many of them fall. There were only two conclusions we could reach in that sort of environment: either to not be Heroes, or to be as powerful as possible so that we could live a little longer,” Angela replied. “You’ve known the score since you were a child, Shane. Them, or us. On the battlefield, that’s how it is, and we’ve seen the headstones to prove it. You’ve had all that drilled into you for so long, and yet you still train in non-lethal combat. When the time comes to kill, you look for another way. That’s how I know you have a kind heart. Because a normal person can’t hold on to that goodness while living in our kind of world. It breaks them inside, takes away the little morality checks that keep us human. It turns them into someone like me.”

                      “Angela—”

                      “Don’t.” Angela shook her head, causing a metallic rattle through her armor. “We both know I’m fucked up. I made my peace with that a long time ago. But I’m glad you’re not like me, little brother. Hell, I’m proud you’re not like me.”

                      They walked (well, floated in Shane’s case) in silence for a few moments, save for the far-off sounds of gunshots on occasion.

                      “Charon,” Shane said finally.

                      “What did you call . . . Sharon died a long time ago, Shane. Are you getting confused from blood loss?” Angela picked up the pace, and Shane felt himself being jostled about.

                      “No, stop! I mean, slow down.” The hand dropped to a slower pace, and Shane found himself grateful that he’d already spent all of his stomach’s contents on the grass. “I said ‘Charon.’ It’s the name of the ferryman in Greek literature who brings people across the river Styx. One who ushers in the dead, if you will. I was planning on using it as my Hero name, you know, to fit my creepy shadow-cutting vibe, but honestly, I don’t think it would fit anymore. You’ve had trouble thinking up a Hero name, right? Well, you can have that one.”

                      Angela tilted her armored head as she considered the offer. “Charon, huh? I’m fond of the name, obviously, but for a Hero it sounds kind of mundane.”

                      “Yet you are anything but.”

                      “But they won’t know that, at least not at first. Still, I do like that bringer-of-death thing. Plus, it’s a gift from my dear little brother, and a reminder of one we lost. All right, I’ll take it. Thanks.”

                      “It is, sadly, the least I can do.”

                      “Chin up,” Angela said. “We’re almost to a lift, and once you’re patched up, we’ll get you back up here and in the fight. Only, this time, you’ll have a partner.”

     244.

                    The bank of fog whispered up the side of Lander’s Foreign Language building, moving far too quickly for a normal bank of moisture being bandied about by wind. As it reached the top, the fog drew closer together, twisting and binding until it took the shape of an adult man. He was wearing simple clothes and one of the generic gray masks, like the students. It wasn’t because he didn’t have a costume and code name all of his own, though; Wisp had just never bothered to get new duds made. He wasn’t a Hero anymore; that could only happen temporarily if he was given emergency reactivation, and he’d never actually anticipated such an event happening. He blamed himself for that oversight. As a Subtlety Hero and pessimist, he should have known it was only a matter of time.

                      “I’ve got eyes on one,” he said, tapping the com piece in his ear. “It looks like a giant insect hybrid or something. My guess is shifter, though it seems to have a lot of weird appendages. Maybe it’s someone who can touch insects and gain their power.”

                      As Wisp watched the creature clawing its way up the side of Brenner Hall, it opened its mouth and fired a line of sticky liquid that solidified as it hit the ground. It took two more strands before Wisp realized exactly what he was seeing.

                      “Widen that power set to bugs in general. I’m watching this thing spin a web as we speak.”

                      “Roger that,” Impact said. “I’m sending Black Hole over to deal with it.”

                      “This doesn’t rate Zero’s involvement?”

                      “Look to your northeast,” Impact instructed.

                      Wisp complied, not bothering to ask how she’d known which direction he was facing. As soon as he was paying attention, he saw the sparks of bright red light flashing in the indicated direction.

                      “Insanely strong energy-projector. Her beams can cut through whole trees without breaking, and the shield she raised is too strong for even my projectiles to break through. She’s the top threat in terms of destruction, so that’s the one Zero is heading off to face.”

                      “Yeah, seems like a pretty good call,” Wisp agreed. “That’s two of them; what’s left?”

                      “We’ve got a speedster moving too quick to pin down, a telekinetic or possible full advanced mind that’s staying low, and a strongman that’s leaping around. All of them are too powerful for me to take out at range by myself.”

                      “Then who do we have going after whom?” Wisp asked.

                      “Since they’re all moving around so much, we’re switching to a quadrant response system. You’re to meet up with Zero and his target once they’re neutralized, though. We need to find out where the anchor and shield-maker is pronto.”

                      “On it.” A younger Hero would have protested at being cut out of the action. Wisp could fight; after all, if he was defenseless, they’d have never given him the cape. Age and experience gave perspective, however, and Wisp understood that he wasn’t being cut out of the action at all. He was being trusted to do a job that only he could do, just as Zero was the only one who could stop the energy-projector with minimal casualties.

                      The fog descended back down the side of the building and onto campus, eager to begin what Wisp hoped would finally be a successful interrogation.

     *               *               *

                      Alex leapt nearly a foot straight up at the small burst of air and sound that came from behind him. He spun around, ready to do battle, only to find a familiar smile staring back from under a gray mask. Were he to pull it back at that moment, he would send pink-streaked hair tumbling out.

                      “Any new finds to report, Obi Wan?”

                      “Not so far.” Unlike most of the other students, who were using whatever nickname had first popped into their heads, Alex was greatly enjoying his. Though he could never make it his actual Hero name due to the myriad of licensing and royalty issues, it was nice in the moment. Plus, it meant a lot to him that people were finally beginning to at least humor him when it came to how his power worked. He’d have preferred outright belief, but at this point, progress was progress.

                      “Wait, aren’t you supposed to be checking in through Short Brain?” Alex asked. He and Mary were both scouting for people in trouble, but since she had the larger range, she was the checkpoint for more of the class.

                      “Maybe I wanted to pop by and make sure you were still doing okay,” Sasha admitted.

                      “Relax, I’m one of the safest people here. I’ll get ample warning before anyone—”

                      This time, it was not a slight burst of air and sound that came from behind, but instead, what felt like a miniature hurricane coupled with the sound of a cannon being fired. They both turned to find a man in mundane clothes staring back at them. Even without the context clues, they would have known in a moment that he was a Super. It was all in the eyes. They weren’t an abnormal color; in fact, they were a rather dull shade of brown. No, what gave it away was that his eyes were vibrating in their sockets, scanning about so fast they almost looked like white blurs.

     Alex moved slightly, just to reposition himself, and found a fist lodged in his gut. The force of the blow sent him flying backward, but he felt a strong hand slam into his back before he could even hit the ground.

                      It was impossible for someone to be this fast. The only person Alex had seen come close was Professor Fletcher, and even he hadn’t seemed capable of moving so quickly. As Alex smacked into the ground at last, he heard hurried steps zipping toward his location before Sasha’s voice rang through the air.

                      “Back off, fucker!”

                      He pulled himself up in time to see the fast-man easily avoid Sasha’s attack, as well as her follow-through, and the one that came next. The man was toying with her; he’d achieved super-speed on a level she couldn’t have dared hope to match.

                      Alex gritted his teeth and focused through the pain in his stomach and spine. Bones were broken and organs had likely ruptured, but he pushed all of that aside as he narrowed his thoughts down to the man attacking Sasha. Most Supers couldn’t use their powers well when distracted by pain. Most Supers also hadn’t spent three years getting the daily shit kicked out of them in preparation for moments exactly like this one. He just had to find the right opening.

                      It came as the man stopped in front of Sasha, taunting her by moving his head away from her punches as quickly as she threw them. There was a moment, just a single one, when his feet stayed planted. Alex never wavered; he reached out mentally and grabbed the man’s ankle, jerking him up into the air.

                      Sasha let out a yelp of surprise as her opponent suddenly did an unwilling flip and found himself airborne. As soon as the man was off the ground, Alex readjusted his grip, snagging the man’s torso, and turning him right-side up. The aches from his body were getting worse, but Alex refused to let it impact his focus. The ferocity of the man’s first attacks left no doubt in Alex’s mind: this guy would kill them if given the chance.

                      “That was a great grab,” Sasha said.

                      “Only able to pull it off because you kept him distracted,” Alex replied. “If you could go get a healer, and maybe someone strong enough to snap his legs, I’d really appreciate it.”

                      “It would be a waste of time. There is no healer who can bring back the dead.” Both Sasha and Alex were shocked at the sound of the man’s voice; it was the first time he’d spoken since they encountered him. Before their eyes, he began to vibrate in the air, much the same way his eyes were already shaking. At first, it seemed fruitless, but then Alex felt his grip on the man beginning to slip. It was like trying to hold a ball bouncing in every direction. He narrowed his eyes and put all he had into keeping the man aloft. On nearly any speedster in the world, it would have been enough. But, tragically, the man was just a little too powerful.

                      Alex gasped as he lost his grip, the sudden snap of broken effort causing him to feel dizzy. He saw the man’s eyes as he hit the ground, and Alex knew without a doubt what he intended to do. The next few seconds passed too quickly for him to register.

                      A blur. Pain. Blood. More pain.

                      Screaming.

     245.

                    Nick was moving through a small hallway, careful to make sure he wasn’t walking into an ambush, when his entire body seized up. This wasn’t a reaction of fear, or an instinct kicking in and telling him to be silent. Nope, this was one hundred percent due to outside influence, as Nick quickly determined by trying to struggle and finding it fruitless. He ran through the class roster and couldn’t come up with anyone who could keep him so effortlessly planted, which meant it was either an enemy or an unknown ally. Enemy seemed the obvious answer, but since he wasn’t dead yet, Nick tried to keep a positive outlook on things.

                      Moments later, he saw the air in front of him shimmer and part, revealing a man Nick was intimately familiar with through pictures and video, but had never had the fortune of meeting in person. His tattered red coat hung to his knees, and the mask on his face seemed a bit pointless, since it was even more wanted by authorities than whatever his actual face was. Still, Nick let himself feel a touch more hopeful about his chances of living through the next five minutes. Globe, whatever else he might be, was dedicated to Vince. With his son in trouble, he was more likely here as help than hindrance . . . unless this whole attack had been perpetrated by him.

                      “Nick Campbell. I must say, your reputation precedes you.”

                      Nick tested his mouth and found it able to function once more. So, this was meant to be a dialogue, not a speech before Globe killed him. “I mean, I could say the same, but it seems a little bit pointless. Your reputation is like, a hundred miles out in front of you. And to the sides. Basically in all directions.”

                      “Yet you don’t seem overly worried about meeting me in an isolated hallway amidst an attack on your school.”

                      “That’s because I’m not an idiot. I don’t know what happened all those years ago. Maybe you killed Intra, maybe you didn’t—”

                      “I did,” Globe interrupted. “Make no mistake, my best friend died by my hand.”

                      “Fine, so you killed Intra. But you know who you didn’t kill? Any of the guards at the prison break where you sprang George. Or any of the class, when you had someone break into Lander’s system and steal files. Or any of us, when George was kidnapping Mary as your proxy. That man has a bloody history, and yet, he never even tried to take us out for good. I’m guessing you’re the one who gave those instructions. So one murder, sure, but attacking an entire school? No way is this your style.”

                      “Seems like that reputation of yours wasn’t all bluster. Now that we’re on the same page, let’s talk more casually.” Globe made a motion with his hands, and Nick felt his body be released from whatever iron grip had been on it. Nick’s mind immediately sprang to work. Invisibility and body-binding? No, too disconnected. He must have another Super with the invisibility power nearby that had extended their cloaking to him. Good trick to keep people guessing on one’s abilities.

                      “I’m assuming you didn’t stop me just to chat, and time is sort of the essence here, so can we skip the phase where we slowly feel each other out to see how much trust there is? My friends are in danger, as is your son; let’s just take it on faith that we both want this night to end without any HCP bloodshed.”

                      “You’re certainly right on that point,” Globe agreed. “Unfortunately, I can’t very well go out there and start dropping people. If people see the terrible villain Globe here, protecting Lander, they’ll, at best, assume Vince has been in league with me this whole time. And at worst, the DVA will assume the entire school is corrupt. None of that will help my own plans either. I can only do so much, which is why I need you.”

                      “Not sure if anyone sent you the memo, but I’m actually the lowest Super on the totem pole here. I’m great in terms of strategy, not so much at actual combat. I mean, combat with other Supers. I can handle these mundane assholes all day long. You want someone to make a big difference; I’d recommend one of our heavy hitters.”

                      “Funny you should mention how weak your ability is. From where I’m standing, it’s actually quite potent. The ability to affect luck, that could quite easily turn the tide of this battle,” Globe said.

                      “Hang on a moment, this has come up so often I actually had some pamphlets made. They’re titled: How My Power Actually Works.” Nick patted his pants in mock search for the non-existent items in question, then threw up his hands in frustration. “Damn, forgot them at home. You get the Cliff Notes version, then, which is that I can only affect the direction and intensity of luck. Make it varying degrees of good or varying degrees of bad. How that actually manifests is out of my hands.”

                      “Is it really? You, Nick Campbell, have probably spent less time working on your power than anyone I’ve ever dealt with. You avoid it whenever possible, treating it like a handicap rather than an asset.” Globe gave him a small, knowing grin. “You’re not the only one who can do homework. And I think you have the potential to do more than you have, if only you would push yourself.”

                      “Even if you’re right, that does us dick all good right now. I doubt you have any cute techniques or sudden insight that’s going to change what I can do. So again, I have to ask what it is you expect from me here?”

                      “I want you to push your limits,” Globe replied. “There might not be any secret technique that can show you how far your potential goes, but there are people with abilities. In fact, the man helping Nathaniel is one such Super. He’s unleashed five amplified minions that are far beyond the capacity of most Heroes to deal with. From what I can tell, they seem to have only one goal: killing everyone in the HCP they come across.”

                      “You want me to go to this guy and see if he’ll juice me up too?” Nick asked. He already had an inclination of where the conversation was going, but every bit of information he could extract from Globe in the process might prove useful.

                      “No need. I have someone whose ability dwarfs his. That man can push people’s abilities to the breaking points of their bodies. My friend can, when properly prepared, push your power beyond what your body was equipped to handle, and give your body the strength to survive. I’m looking to fight fire with fire.”

                      “Personally, I prefer to fight fire with a well-timed CO2 blast, as well as a team of snipers for whoever set the fire in the first place,” Nick replied. “But your way might work in a pinch. That’s your whole plan, though, just amp me up? How do you even know that will be enough to make a difference?”

                      “I don’t,” Globe admitted. “But this is the most I can do. When this is all over, Lander will be combed up and down by DVA officials. If they get a whiff of my power, too many things could come tumbling down. My son trusts you, Nick. He trusts you like you’re family. I’ve decided to believe in Vince’s judgment and ask you for help. Perhaps I overestimate your abilities, but I have a hunch that giving you even a slight edge could make a real difference. Being amplified isn’t always a pleasant experience, however, especially not to this degree. I won’t force it on you.”

                      Nick made a show of thinking things over, but in truth, he’d made up his mind several minutes ago. This was a bad scene, and if there really were five extra-strength baddies tearing around campus, it made things exponentially worse. He didn’t see how getting more power could make that much difference, but it might make a little. One second faster, one step in the right direction, one moment of insight, they could all be the line between life and death. No one understood that better than Nick Campbell. If he could give those things to his friends, he had to at least try.

                      “Let’s just make it quick. I have an old enemy waiting for me to come kill him.”

                      Globe made a motion, and the air behind him shimmered again. This time, it revealed a young boy, though Nick found it hard to calculate his exact age, mostly because of the crackling purple energy cascading over his skin and off his body. The kid looked like a generator ready to explode, and when he took a step toward Nick, it dawned on the sandy-haired young man just where all that power was about to go.

                      “This is going to hurt like a bitch, isn’t it?” Nick unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt and began rolling it up past his forearm.

                      “Usually, yes, but I’ll help manage the pain. Sadly, I can’t assist on the other parts,” Globe replied.

                      Before Nick could ask what “the other parts” meant, the child had grabbed his exposed forearm. All thoughts of the question, all thoughts at all, dissolved from Nick’s mind as awareness fell completely away from him.

     246.

                    The world stretched out before him, expanded and shrunk all at once. It was tinged with gold, a soft light emanating from the lines curving across space and time. He could see them now, could follow the way they bounced about, interconnecting, and yet remaining seemingly unchanged. Some were firm, unyielding, as set as a dead man’s final thoughts. Others were a touch flexible; they could shift paths slightly. Often, this seemed to change nothing, but on occasion, it brought lines into contact with others. And, on precious rare occasion, that interaction could form new lines that bounded forth, children of a collision that was little more than chance, at best.

                      He reached out to those lines, the ones that could be wiggled. Breaking them was impossible, as was rerouting them entirely. What he could do was give them a nudge, however. A slight push in the direction he wanted. There would be consequences, of course; even as he caused the lines to shift that became clear. They were connected behind and before him for as far as he could see. Every alteration impacted others. Nothing existed in isolation. Everything was connected.

                      Despite knowing this, or perhaps because of it, he pushed onward. This was all he could give them. This was the most he could do.

     *               *               *

                      A stray gust of wind carried the sound of a choked out sob to Vince’s ear. He turned in place, scouring the area for someone hurt or trapped. Nothing immediately met his eye, but now that his ears were straining, he caught the sound of more muffled crying. Picking a direction, Vince sprinted forward, dashing across the campus. He tried to stretch his energy outward, searching for the warm heat of a human body, and after several moments of effort, he succeeded. Strangely, he felt one as he’d come to recognize it, but another had a fainter signature, and it was only growing weaker the longer he sensed it. As soon as Vince realized the explanation, he ramped up his speed. There was only reason the heat would be fading away . . . that person’s body was slowly growing colder.

                      He bounded across the grass, finally coming over a small hill to the side of the sprawling sidewalk. As soon as he crested it, Vince saw what had happened. His heart, previously pumping hard from the strain of running, stopped. When it resumed operation, Vince could feel his blood screaming through him, lighting up every nerve and muscle as they all tensed, trying in vain to physically rebuke the truth of what lay before him.

                      Alex looked like hell. His face was busted up, there was a bone sticking out of his left arm, and bruises covered his whole body. Vince had seen people walk away from being hit by cars with less damage, and yet, Alex was not the sight that was forcing Vince to grapple with a hellish sense of déjà vu.

                      Sasha was cradled in Alex’s arms. Unlike him, she looked relatively normal, save only for the fist-sized hole in her torso. It was a strange contrast to see the brutal, bloody wound next to the almost peaceful expression on her face. A face with closed eyes that was covered in Alex’s tears.

                      “No . . .” Vince stared at his friend, former lover, and classmate. He could almost feel the heat from the explosion as he stared down at the boxcar where his father was supposed to be. Even though he’d later learned his father had survived, the scar of that moment, of being helpless and watching as someone he loved died, had never truly healed. The pain seared Vince to his soul, and he could feel every ache of it as he slowly forced himself to step forward, nearly tumbling down the minor incline toward his friends.

                      Alex whipped his head up, ready for battle, but then fell back into grief as he saw Vince approaching. “It’s my fault.” The words were mere whispers from Alex’s bruised lips. “It’s my fault, Vince. I couldn’t hold him. I couldn’t stop him. He was beating me, trying to kill me even though I was half-passed out, but she got between us . . .”. His voice fell away.

                      Vince leaned down and carefully touched Sasha’s cheek. It was lukewarm, held that way only by the spring heat. As night fell further, it would cool down, and Sasha would be cold. She was supposed to be zipping around, making snarky comments, spending her time with her friends. But she wouldn’t. Not anymore. She’d be here, cold, and forever beyond the reach of what even the most powerful Supers could do. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

                      “This isn’t your fault, Alex. The people who came to our school did this. The one who killed her, that’s the person who’s at fault. Tell me what happened.” Vince’s voice didn’t seem particularly hard or resolved, not like the other times when Alex had witnessed Vince backed into a corner. If anything, it sounded hollow, as dead as the woman he was staring down at.

                      “One of them has super speed. Beyond what we’ve ever seen before. He’s wearing street clothes, but the w-w-way his eyes blur, you c-c-c-can’t miss him.” Alex realized his teeth were chattering involuntarily, and it struck him for the first time how cold it had gotten. He glanced down and saw frost forming on the grass around them.

                      Vince leaned in and hugged Sasha close for a brief moment, the blood of her wound smearing onto his already soot-stained uniform. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear, then pulled away, leaving Sasha fully in Alex’s arms once more.

                      “Mary will find my thoughts and send over a healer soon. If I see anyone else along the way, I’ll pass a message that you need help. You’re fairly out of the way here, so you should be safe.” Vince turned, his foot crunching through the newly frosted grass as he moved. He stared down at it in surprise and let out a long sigh.

                      “Vince, you can’t go after that guy. He’s too strong. I’m not sure even the professors could stop him. Please, don’t make me lose another friend tonight.”

                      “You won’t, Alex. I promise, you won’t. That’s exactly why I’m going to find the man who killed Sasha. No more die tonight.” Vince looked out at the campus, searching as best he could for a bursting bundle of kinetic energy. He’d never tried this trick before, but he was on a roll. And he was very motivated to succeed.

                      “No more of us, anyway.”

     247.

                    The world burned around her. All of it was so fragile, so unable to bear the weight of her power. A single motion and a beam of energy tore through the upper levels of a building. Debris rained down, the few bits that came near her scorched away by her shield upon impact. She was invincible and unstoppable. Once, she’d barely been powerful enough to blast through a single brick, and her shields had been laughable. That version of her was weak, and worthless. She would complete her mission and return to Crispin’s side. She could never go back to who she’d been before. One taste of true power, and she knew there was no returning to the fragile woman she’d once been.

                      “I am going to give you one, and only one, chance to surrender.”

                      She turned to find a man in a suit of custom combat armor staring back at her. He must have moved quite silently, in spite of the cumbersome outfit he wore. It was meant to protect him, no doubt. Meant to keep him safe from the dangers of the world. She would rip through it as easily as she would rend his flesh.