Super Powereds: Year 3

by Drew Hayes

  “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 kno
w 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.”