Super Powereds: Year 3

by Drew Hayes

  “She’s going to be fine.” Vince was watching the screen so intently he may as well have been trying to light it on fire. “Camille can do this. I know she can.”

  He’d barely gotten the words out when the Sim finally struck, bringing down a pair of hands so large that when they hit Camille, they obscured her completely. There was a thud, a muffled scream, and then silence.

  * * *

  Broken sternum. Bruised spine. Ribs too shattered to account for. Hip still fractured. God only knew what kind of damage to her organs. The pain, oh fucking hell, the pain. She nearly blacked out, then had to push down the blood-filled vomit that was clawing its way up her throat. Camille was a crushed, broken, bloody mess.

  But she was smiling.

  Her red-toothed grin came not from any sort of sadomasochism, but because she’d managed to grab that big, dumb, powerful red-light Sim’s fist with her hand when it came down. It’s bare, unclothed hand. She didn’t have long until the other Sims realized something was wrong, and she needed to be back in fighting shape. Beneath the unexpected protection and concealment of its massive metallic hands, Camille began absorbing the damage out of her body and into whatever strange space her ability kept it in. There wasn’t nearly enough time for a complete recovery, but the bones reformed as if they’d never been pulverized, and her organs slid back into their proper places.

  Around her, she heard the soft scuff of feet moving toward her. The others were coming to see what had happened. That was an unexpected bonus, a silver-lining to the cloud of horror she’d just suffered. For the briefest of moments, her head swam, and suddenly, she felt like she was eight years old and curled up on the ground again. She was small, she was scared, and she was surrounded. But she wouldn’t let today end like all those days in her childhood. Now, things were different; she understood that some evil wouldn’t back down until it was stood up to. And this time, she wasn’t waiting for some mysterious young boy to come along and save her. This time, Camille would be the one standing up.

  The sounds of movement finally came to a stop, and Camille struck.

  In one motion, Camille rolled out from under the frozen fist, pushed off with her arms, putting her into a runner’s stance, and vaulted up from the ground at the nearest Sim she could see. It was a yellow-light, one that clearly hadn’t been expecting a downed opponent to suddenly jump at it. It raised its arms in defense—beautiful, bare metallic arms that Camille grabbed on to as if she were snatching a life-raft while stuck at sea. The Sim immediately powered down, and Camille realized there was another right by it. Without pausing to think, and still hanging off the first Sim’s arms, she delivered a quick kick directly to its temple. Only as it was powering down did Camille realize that this one had been letting off the glow of a red-light.

  She dropped to the ground, spinning on her heel and facing the remaining three yellow-light Sims. For the first time since she was under the large Sim’s fists, she allowed herself to breathe. This fight was far from over, but three yellows was a damn sight better than six total.

  “All right boys, who’s up for a little tag?”

  137.

  When Camille stepped back into the room, the dark streaks of blood staining her face and hair were the only signs of what she’d endured in the exam. Even her body was masked, thanks to re-donning her usual uniform. Gone was the brutal woman who had managed to slay a cluster of six Sims using only her touch. Instead, she was the girl the whole class had thought they knew, smiling meekly as she walked back over to Violet and Thomas. She was going to need a very long shower when this was all said and done, but otherwise, she couldn’t have been happier with the showing she’d managed to put on.

  It was Dean Blaine’s turn to draw a name, and he did so easily, as there were only two slips of paper remaining in the jar. With quick hands, he snared one, pulled it out, and announced the name.

  “Rich Weaver.”

  Rich stepped forward immediately, a smug smile on his face. He’d been awaiting a situation like this for the past two years. The HCP had all these little tests and trials pitting him against unlikely circumstances, all designed to obscure what he considered a person’s real capability. The truth of the matter was that Rich believed his ability to be the most useful in the entire class. Sure, Chad and Roy could punch through concrete, and Shane could call up his little shadow attacks, but Rich could lock down opponents with nothing more than a single glance. Who could possibly defend against a thing like that? Of course, there were exceptions, like Chad or Dean Blaine, but it was to be expected in the world of Supers. That’s what the rest of the team would be for—batting clean-up on the few anomalies.

  “Do you require any weaponry?”

  “Just my staff.” Rich patted the weapon he’d buckled to his back, though he didn’t imagine he would actually need to use it. He’d drop the whole gang without lifting a finger. Still, Professor Cole was a terrifying woman whose class he was in until the end of the year. No need to insult her by leaving his weapon behind.

  “Very well, then. Follow me.” The two headed out of the room and into the stairwell that all the students, save for Mary, had already walked.

  “This is going to be a cakewalk for him, isn’t it?” Alice said, turning her attention to the monitors. “Like Selena’s enchanting, all over again.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not,” Chad said. “Rich’s ability is very potent. It may be one of the more powerful I’ve ever seen in terms of real-world application. Unfortunately, he is keenly aware of that fact and often gets lost in the sense of superiority it provides him.”

  “It’s a damn useful power, but it don’t mean shit if the person using it can’t keep his head in the game,” Roy summarized.

  “Especially if one of the Sims manages to take him by surprise,” Vince added. Unbidden, a slight smile came to his mouth as he recalled Nick using exactly that strategy the year before. He wondered how his friend would have done on this exam, if he were still around. Surely he’d have come up with some outlandish and unexpected tactic for victory, all while shooting off his mouth at inappropriate moments. Vince missed Nick dearly, and looked forward to seeing him that night. Perhaps they’d tell him about their day, and he would be relieved not to have had to undertake the grueling task.

  If nothing else, at least Nick could revel in the fact that his time enduring such tests and trials had passed.

  * * *

  Nick and Nicholas emerged at the same time, a fact which both had come to expect by this point. The memory they’d walked through was the most recent one before the divide, the only one from Lander they’d gone into: blackmailing Rich into hypnotizing Vince so that he could let his real power out. Nicholas had been a bit shocked by the experience—this was one Nick had never had the chance to give him notes on—but for Nick, it had been a rather pleasant memory. He was proud of what he’d pulled off that day; not just of what he’d accomplished, but of finding the strength inside to put a friend’s well-being over his own.

  The tunnel had ended, and now they were in an open, frozen landscape. Though the floor was snow and ice, neither had difficulty moving as they walked. Around them was an oddly familiar sensation, something almost impossible to pin down, yet inescapable at the same time. Nick couldn’t have placed it easily, but Nicholas was far more accustomed to the feeling this place provoked.

  “I believe we’re at the block in your memory,” Nicholas said. “This is the ice that obscures the information I try and access, or at least a mental representation of how it seems to me.”

  “This dream just keeps getting more interesting,” Nick said, eyes sweeping the terrain carefully. In front of them was a single chunk of ice sticking up, just a little higher than their knees. Aside from it, the entire landscape was utterly barren. He began approaching the ice-block carefully, noting that Nicholas was shadowing a few steps behind him.

  “Oh yes, revisiting our many crimes and sins from the past. Such a thrill.”

  “Personally
, I found it refreshing to see our skill and techniques grow, like watching a montage made just for us,” Nick said.

  “I highly doubt that was what we were supposed to take from the experience,” Nicholas said. The two were drawing closer to the chunk of ice now, near enough to see it had no recognizable shape, aside from jagged ice.

  “Are you bothered by who we are?” Nick asked.

  “Are you not?” Nicholas shot back.

  They stared at each other for a moment, and Nick felt a strange tickle in his mind as a new thought tried to bloom. Unfortunately, before it had the chance, something very distracting occurred.

  From the chunk of ice came two enormous chains and cuffs, one snapping around Nick’s right ankle and one around Nicholas’s left. Each link in the ice chain was as thick around as one of their forearms, and the cuffs seemed to seal completely when they locked, as if they’d been one solid piece the entire time.

  “You have learned nothing. You have repented for nothing. You have experienced no growth whatsoever.”

  The image of Professor Stone was back, and this time, she didn’t look nearly so cheery.

  “You were given the chance to regain yourself, to experience your memories with new clarity and see how you became the man you are today. With that knowledge, you could have made a new path, become someone worthy of carrying around the memories of Heroes. But you have done nothing. Changed nothing.”

  The image blurred slightly, and a disturbing sound began to fill the air. The ground splintered as new ice grew up from it, moving slowly but unmistakably. It was coming up all around them in a perfect circle, with Nick and Nicholas trapped in the center.

  “You have failed.”

  138.

  For most of Rich’s match, it seemed his ability was going to work out exactly as he’d predicted. He walked briskly through the halls, clearing his throat when he encountered a Sim to make it look his way. Each one immediately shut down as their mechanical eyes made contact with his Super ones. As he made his way into the room with five Sims clustered together, he seemed like a lock for easiest take-down since Will. Rich stepped in, saw the various opponents, and struck the ground with his staff to draw their attention.

  Rich did manage to get three of the Sims with this technique; however, two of them didn’t bother to look him in his eyes. That was because they were targeting his center of mass. He managed to dodge the jolt of green electricity, but the blast of compressed air took him by surprise and sent him sprawling. Rich scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, making it up just in time to see another strike of electricity coming his way. This time, he wasn’t able to get away, and he slammed into the nearby wall as his consciousness faded away. As he crumpled to the floor, the Sims’ protocols kicked in, and they retreated.

  There was no need to bother with a downed opponent.

  While Rich was taken to the infirmary after some quick on-the-spot healing to make sure he was stable, the rest of the students in the room began to turn and look at Mary. With only one slip of paper left in the jar, it didn’t take a giant leap to figure out who the last examinee would be.

  “Mary Smith,” Dean Blaine said, looking over at her. “By process of elimination, you are the last remaining student. Do you require any weaponry before we begin?”

  “No, thank you,” Mary replied. “I feel comfortable going in with just my abilities.” She gave her friends a hurried smile as she walked over to the dean. They didn’t even look slightly worried; most were eager at best. She’d been number one among the girls in the first year and number two ever since the ranks were combined, so it wasn’t as though anyone expected Mary to be easily overcome. In fact, they were expecting a hell of a good show out of her.

  “Follow me,” Dean Blaine said, leading his final student of the day down the stairwell. He laid out the rules for her as they walked, carefully covering each aspect of the trial in the same detail he’d used with the others. For her, however, there was an additional addendum, the same one he’d had to give to Alex.

  “As a telepath, I’m certain you were able to dredge up the code words from the Subtlety students. The system, however, will not recognize them from you. It is keyed to only allow such entries from students enrolled in the Subtlety program.”

  “I sort of figured as much,” Mary said. “Plus, that would be cheating, and I get the feeling that using any kind of tricks in this exam only really cheats me out of the experience.”

  “You always have been one of the more perceptive members of your class,” Dean Blaine complimented.

  “But, that leads me to a question. People can’t use abilities that work on technology, because we’re supposed to treat these Sims like humans. That leaves me at a significant disadvantage, since my ability won’t work on robots. If they really were human, I could read their minds and find their positions.” Mary wasn’t accusatory with her words; in fact, she was smiling and had a bit of a gleam to her eye.

  “Mr. Griffen managed to make it work.”

  “We both know Alex and I have different abilities,” Mary said. “Just so we’re clear though, there’s nothing wrong with going outside the box?”

  “Mary, you’ve been in this program for two and half years now. If you haven’t realized that out-of-the-box is where you should be spending most of your time, then nothing I say is going to help you.” Dean Blaine gave her a slight grin of his own. “Any more questions?”

  “No, that pretty much takes care of it.”

  “Then proceed forward, and I wish you the best of luck.”

  * * *

  “Pretty sure luck isn’t going to get us out of this,” Nicholas said, jerking on the ice chain and trying to find an angle with better leverage.

  “If you have a better idea, I’d love to hear it,” Nick replied. His eyes glowed beneath the sunglasses, calling up all the positive luck he could manage. As he worked, he also kept an eye on the growing ice around them. It was moving slowly, but steadily. He’d have tried to gauge how long they had left, but time was meaningless in this place.

  “Try and break these damn chains. With the two of us—”

  “With the two of us, we’ll accomplish nothing,” Nick snapped. “Those things would be tough for Roy to break; you and I aren’t going to do crap.”

  Nicholas gave up struggling for a moment, pausing to reassess his best angle of attack. “Do you think she really meant it?”

  Nick needed no clarification. After her announcement that they’d failed the test, the image of Professor Stone had informed them in no uncertain terms what that meant. Even as he watched the ice grow, her words echoed in his head.

  “You will both be sealed here, as will all recovered memories from your time at Lander. A full-wipe is occurring, and when it is done, it will be as if Nicholas Campbell never set foot on the Lander campus. All memories of time in the Hero Certification Program will be forever sealed.”

  “I don’t think she locked us up down here with a bluff,” Nick said. “But I also don’t think it’s as cut and dry as she made it seem. If she was just going to finish the wipe she started, then why all the theatrics? No, we probably didn’t do what she wanted in the memories, but I’m pretty sure it’s not over quite yet.”

  “Then why aren’t you helping me try to break free?”

  “Why should we double down on the same method? There are two of us, but we’re nearly identical in most ways. Odds are slim one of us will figure out a trick the other doesn’t, so it makes more sense to try different tactics.”

  “You don’t even know if you’re really using our powers,” Nicholas pointed out. “We’re in a dream. It’s possible that the real body isn’t calling up any luck at all.”

  “I know,” Nick said.

  “Then why are you still bothering to try?”

  “Come on, since when have we minded taking a long shot?” Nick ran his fingers through his hair as he fought back the growing headache from constant power-use. Even if he was actually doing noth
ing, he still refused to let himself give up. Nick Campbell might go down, but it would not be softly or gently. He’d go down fighting until the end. It was what any of the others would have done.

  “Even if it’s working, how is luck going to pull us out of this?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest of ideas,” Nick admitted. “But we’ve never been able to control luck beyond deciding if it’s good or bad. Just because I don’t see a way, doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”

  “When did you get so stupidly optimistic?”

  Nick smiled and continued his work. His doppelganger didn’t know it, but he’d just paid Nick an oddly endearing compliment.

  139.

  As Mary headed toward the outside of the fake building, keenly aware of the various mechanical adversaries awaiting her inside, she forced herself to remain calm and centered. What she was doing would require splitting her concentration in various directions; she couldn’t afford to waste mental capacity on pointless things like fear. Mary moved slowly, determined not to make too much noise and give herself away by accident. With every step, she extended her telepathic senses, searching for the minds she needed. If the Sims were real people, then they would be who she was looking for, gathering information about their positions, capabilities, and perhaps even whether they were inclined to surrender. Sadly, she was not going to be able to get such data from their heads.

  But, lucky for her, there were human minds nearby that were still accessible.

  Mary skimmed the thoughts of her peers as they watched her and, more importantly, the Sims on the various monitors stocked throughout the observation room. Their keen eyes and focused minds made her task all the easier; they were thinking about almost nothing besides her and the impending battle. By the time she reached the door of the building, Mary not only had a reasonable idea of the building’s layout, but also of each Sims relative position in it. She was dealing with four independent guard units—two reds and two yellows—with the other five remaining clustered together in the central room.