by Drew Hayes
“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.