by Drew Hayes
“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 mes
sage 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 th
at.”
“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.”