by Drew Hayes
“I’ll do that,” Mary said. “After I’m done with the final match, I mean. Just trying to better my telekinesis is time consuming enough.”
“As are all things worth doing,” Professor Stone replied. “Just be sure you are focusing on bringing your abilities to their upper level, not trying to duplicate someone else’s.”
“Message received. Work on precision, but accept that I might never be able to pull off some of Alex’s stuff.”
“Exactly. My advice is to keep up your exercises and try to find ways to work around your limitation.”
“Like what?”
“Well, in our first out of class meeting I pummeled you with a barrage of rocks,” Professor Stone reminded her.
“I recall.”
“In that exchange I was able to do it because all you tried to do was move the original hunk of concrete. With your mental strength you could have easily done that and wrapped a bubble of force around yourself simultaneously.”
“I didn’t know I needed to.”
“Do you anticipate your enemies will tell you all of their objectives in a fight beforehand?”
“Not intentionally, but yes,” Mary countered. Professor Stone gave the small girl a thin smile.
“My point is that while Alex can use telekinesis to interact with people without crushing them, you can use that formidable focus of yours to simultaneously do three things he could only manage to pull off one at a time. There are a bevy of tactical options besides throwing heavy objects at people. I advise you to start exploring them.”
157.
Nick’s left shoulder came out of socket and his wrist exploded into bone fragments, barely contained by the skin wrapped around what had once been a solid bone. He stifled a cry of pain that even two weeks ago would have worked its way past his lips, using breathing techniques to focus through the initial blast of pain.
“Better,” he said, his voice low and strained under the considerable effort of not passing out from shock. He’d learned that he could communicate in two-syllable bursts. Any more than that and he risked throwing up. It had not been a pleasant learning process. “Heal.”
Camille obliged, laying her hand on his uninjured right arm so as not to make the process any worse than it already was. A few seconds later Nick’s brain was awash in pleasure as the chemicals designed to fight back pain suddenly found no injury to contend with. He took a moment to compose himself then addressed the small girl once more.
“Again. One finger, and only a light brush.”
Nick hadn’t chosen to train with Camille for the reasons he’d listed, and while no one would be shocked to learn he’d had ulterior motives, they might had been served a healthy dollop of surprise if they’d known what he’d had planned. Sure, some of it was close to what he’d told them: helping Camille to become a better close-ranged brawler. His real emphasis was on giving her the chance to improve an aspect of her power he suspected she’d had very little opportunity to use. Nick was making Camille injure him over and over.
The emphasis they were focused on initially was speed. The more damage Camille could impart in the least amount of time maximized her chances of taking someone down before they had a chance to counterattack. As they’d trained, it had become apparent that the level of touch she needed to sustain was also a hindrance; it took a solid grip to impart more significant injuries. So part of their training had become teaching her to leave larger wounds with a lighter touch. She had been making serious progress, and as a side effect, Nick’s, already healthy pain tolerance was growing by leaps and bounds.
Five broken ribs, a concussion, a splintered femur, and countless bruises later, Nick finally held up his hands to signal an end for what his body could handle in a day. Although Camille could remove the actual injuries, there were certain chemical processes in the brain triggered by the barrage, adrenaline and dopamine and dozens of other things swirling together into a cocktail that would render his formidable mind useless if continued for long enough. This lesson had come after the first day when they pushed as long as they could and then Nick slept for eighteen hours, dead to the world and any attempts at waking him. Some quick lying had convinced the others he’d merely had too much to drink the night before, but from then on both of them were keenly aware that certain limits had to be observed.
“Okay,” Nick said as he pulled his shirt back on. For the sake of convenience he only wore a tank-top and shorts during their fights, but soon he’d start adding layers to force Camille to work around them. “Good training session. While we’ve got time left, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“I’m all ears,” Camille replied. Nick wasn’t always the most upfront person, yet she had grown to trust that he had the best interests of the team at heart. Besides, his methods, while crazy and dangerous to him, definitely produced results.
“I had Mary stop by to end Roy and Vince’s sparring a bit early. She sent Vince back to Melbrook, and she’s currently walking the halls with Roy under the guise of getting an update as to where his skills are. What she’s actually doing is listening to both of our thoughts, waiting for you to tell her it’s okay to bring Roy in here.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because it’s time to let him in on your little secret.”
“Roy? Why on earth would we tell him?”
“Well, we don’t have to,” Nick said. “I have to say, I think he’ll figure it out anyway when you start breaking his bones.”
“I see. You want me to see if my powers work on him,” Camille surmised. Nick cheerfully bobbed his head in agreement; it was so much easier when he got to work with someone competent.
“Your ability is incredible; right now it makes you one of the strongest people in our class. There’s an unknown factor, however, one we need to test. Does your ability to impart wounds get reduced or even nullified by people with enhanced endurance?”
“I don’t know,” Camille admitted. “I was the only Super in my high school, and I’ve never tried it on someone like Roy or Chad.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. But if it can, if it somehow just creates the damage in spite of their ability, then your power is more than just incredible, it’s downright insane. To completely bypass someone else’s defense like that, well, you’re one of the smart ones. I don’t have to paint a picture for you of how big a difference it can make.”
“I understand; I just don’t know that I trust Roy to keep this secret.”
“He’ll keep it from the other teams, and I feel reasonably confident I can convince him that Vince is too naïve to be trusted with it. That said, we’re getting down to crunch time. Pretty soon you’re going to have to make a choice about which you want to protect more, your secret or Vince.”
“You already know what I’ll choose,” Camille said without hesitation. He did, too. The girl was many things, but dedicated was absolutely at the top of the list.
“Then let’s make sure that when the time comes, we know exactly what you can and can’t pull off,” Nick replied.
“Fine,” Camille agreed, making sure she thought about her agreement in no uncertain terms so Mary would get the message.
It evidently worked, because some minutes later the metal door to the training room opened, revealing Mary and Roy.
“Hey, guys,” Roy greeted. “What’s going on?”
“Roy, my friend, today we are going to perform a fascinating science experiment,” Nick told him. “If you’ll be so kind as to shut the door we can get things started.” Roy obliged the request, and Camille took a moment to mentally prepare herself. Then the door was closed and there was nothing else left but action and explanation. The conclusion would be that either Roy had an exceptional defense or Camille had an ability that would make many a previously unassailable Super cringe in fear.
It was time to test some limits.
158.
“Thank you all for coming,” Dean Blaine said, greeting the sophomore class
as they took their seats in the central auditorium, a place they hadn’t been to for some time. The dean stood at the center of the stage, an enormous screen at his back showing the cover for what most students correctly concluded was a slide presentation. Each of the professors sat in a metal folding chair, all six lined up behind the dean and below the screen. The looks on their faces ranged from bored all the way to disinterested. Given that the month had just turned to May, the sophomores would have far rather been training than attending some presentation, so they looked far from enthralled as well.
“I called you all here because, as you know, the end of the year is almost upon us,” Dean Blaine continued. “As you might also recall, that comes with more than just the commencement of our year-end exams. The upper classmen all work together to put on something of a carnival event for the freshmen, a congratulatory celebration to put them at ease before their trials.” He left out how chaotic last year’s had been thanks to Michael Clark hijacking a microphone and outing the Melbrook residents. No need to reopen old wounds.
Dean Blaine started to speak again; however, he was interrupted by the high-pitched chirping of a cell phone. He would have admonished the owner for not turning their phone on silent had he not been the owner. He had turned it on silent, however there were certain numbers programmed in that bypassed such restrictions, numbers so important that they were intended to never be ignored. This time he pressed a button to mute the chirping anyway, reasoning that he had a short speech and could return the call as soon as it was over.
“Sorry about that. Now, while the juniors and seniors do the bulk of the work, the sophomores will still be participating in some committees to help out, utilizing their unique skills to-”
The high-pitched tone echoed through the room again and Dean Blaine had to bite back a curse that tried to sneak its way across his tongue. He smashed the button to silence it again, this time far less delicately, and turned back to his audience.
“Apologies once more. Today we’re here to allow you all to volunteer-”
More ringing, this time accompanied by a wave of curious whispers that passed through his students. It seemed this was a battle he was going to lose. Rather than continue with the vaudeville routine, Dean Blaine pulled the phone from his holster and turned his back on the audience of students.
“What is so damned important?” Dean Blaine snapped into the small black device. He stood silently as he listened, the voice on the other line too quiet to even be heard, let alone discerned. Amber was getting curious enough to try and amplify the waves, but before she had a chance, the dean lowered his phone and clicked a button to end the call. When he turned back around she found herself very glad she hadn’t done anything of the sort. His usual good cheer and patience were gone, wiped from his face, leaving the haggard look of a man who has seen too much blood in his life and has a sense he was about to look upon more.
“Everyone stay here,” Dean Blaine informed them. “Your professors and I have something to attend to. The other HCP students will be coming in to join you shortly. Please sit quietly until we return.” He motioned to the people seated behind him, all of whom rose from their seats immediately and followed him out of the room. The thick door shut with a clang, followed immediately by the sound of a large lock sliding into place.
“Something tells me this isn’t all because a snow cone machine got delivered too early,” Nick muttered.
“Gee, you think?” Stella said, not bothering to keep her tone quiet. “Obviously some big shit is going down. I think they just locked our asses in here.”
“If they locked the door it is for our safety,” Chad said calmly. “There are protocols for certain events designed to maintain the safety of the student body. This structure is highly fortified, even against natural disasters such as earthquakes.”
“Wait, so something that was important enough to have all four classes gather in here would be a pretty big deal, right?” Jill asked.
“Not guaranteed, but it would be very likely,” Chad agreed. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to see if that thing gets cable,” Jill replied, pointing at the screen that still showed the title page for the slideshow it seemed unlikely the dean would be presenting anytime soon. She closed her eyes and the screen flickered, switching through various input functions before a local television station airing a daytime soap opera filled the screen. The channels began flipping by as Jill moved through them, finally settling on a national news network.
The moment the channel came on it was clear this was not regularly scheduled programming. The newswoman’s make-up was smudged, as if she’d been throwing it on in the car ride over instead of being professionally groomed by a trained artist. Uniformed officers milled about behind her, occasionally shooting the girl and her crew angry looks, making it clear they despised even their presence at such a scene. Her lips moved wordless for a few seconds before Jill turned the sound up, and when they heard what she was saying many of the students immediately wished she hadn’t.
“-no casualties being reported so far. For those of you just tuning in, again the breaking story today is the jailbreak that happened at the Sanderson Maximum Security Prison for Supers. One incarcerated man, being identified as the former Hero Relentless Steel, was pulled free by a group of three Supers intent on his extrication.”
Eyes widened and nerves tightened at this announcement. Although the media was not allowed to release the names of even disgraced Heroes, it was common knowledge that the man once called Relentless Steel had the ability to transform into a living robot, a power most had observed was strikingly similar to another man they all knew, one who had also been stuck in prison after kidnapping a student last year.
The reporter blurred for a moment, the signal from her location clearly not stable. They could all see waves in the background, which made sense. Sanderson was an island penitentiary; she was probably reporting from the shoreline. The image became crisp again moments later, and she continued her report.
“Normally this would be the most shocking turn of event, given Sanderson’s reputation for being inescapable; however, we’ve gotten confirmation that not only were two of the three criminals former Heroes Raze and Mood Swing, both already with warrants out for their arrest, but it seems they were being led by another former Hero, this one believed to be to deceased.”
Vince felt a very heavy sinking sensation somewhere in his gut.
“We’ve just received security footage taken of their escape,” the reporter said, her face vanishing as four people floating on what appeared to be a giant rock filled the screen. Two of them were familiar: despite the costume and mask, Persephone’s figure would have stood out clearly in a burlap sack. George didn’t have any concealment as he kneeled on the floating piece of earth, only a threadbare prison jumpsuit. The other two men wore Hero masks as well. Even without the facial coverings, they would have still been unrecognizable to most of the students. Most, but not all.
“As you can clearly see, the man known as Globe is leading their attack and coordinating their escape. Inquiries to his former teammates who reported his death have so far been met only with silence.”
The screen zoomed in on the man; he was saying something to George that couldn’t be recorded from the camera’s distance. He wore a long red coat, tattered with time but still highly recognizable. One student would have known it anywhere, just as he would have known the line of the man’s jaw or the way he stood when he was trying to protect someone.
“Father,” Vince whispered, his voice barely audible even to himself. It might have traveled further than he realized, because a mass of eyes turned to stare at him. Vince didn’t notice, couldn’t even see them. All he could see was the face on the screen, all he could hear was the strange ringing that filled his ears. He did notice a curious orange tint that seemed to be coloring the edge of his peripheral vision, but he couldn’t have told you what it was. Vince didn’t see anything other than the man on th
e screen, his face superimposed over a half-decade old memory of a burning boxcar that Vince had looked down on from a cliff. He could hear his own screams from that day, or maybe someone else was screaming. Maybe a lot of people were; it was so hard to tell.
His line of sight to the screen was cut short as a pair of fleetingly familiar eyes appeared in front of his own. That was the last image Vince got before his body fell limply to the floor.
159.
“Put him down!”
“What the fuck did you do?”
“I stopped us all from being burned to death. Some of us aren’t fucking flame retardant!”
“Roy, put him down right now.”
“I will when he lets Vince go.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Rich is right; he was having a mental breakdown. He didn’t even seem to notice the fire.”
“Then what do you suggest? He’s got to deal with it when he wakes up, and he can’t stay out forever.”
“Can you still craft fake situations after you’ve already put someone under?”
“Sure, I just have to look in their eyes again. Why?”
“I’ve got an idea.”
* * *
Vince’s eyes snapped open as he jerked upright in his bed. He could still hear the voices bickering somewhere in the depths of his mind, but he couldn’t really remember what they were saying. His brain felt groggy, like he’d barely slept a wink last night. It wasn’t really surprising; that had been one hell of a detailed dream. He swung his feet out of the covers and hopped onto the floor, officially beginning his day.
The sunlight streamed through his window. Outside the neighborhood was just waking up. It was a quiet little cul-de-sac, mostly full of three bedroom houses cut from the same set of design templates. The exception was the Adairs’ house down the street, which had been custom-made and easily dwarfed the rest of the abodes surrounding it. Vince never understood why Charles Adair wanted to live in a neighborhood like theirs when he clearly belonged in a higher income area. His mind slid over the question, unable to even conceive of it as something he should dwell on.