by Drew Hayes
* * *
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 pa
tterns 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 e
very 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.