Super Powereds: Year 3

by Drew Hayes

  All around her were other young women in various stages of undress as they changed into their team outfits. Some had chosen function over fashion, picking clothes that were easy to move in and provided good coverage, while others were wearing clothes with only a few inches of fabric more than a bathing suit. A couple of teams wore matching ensembles, but most had only gone as far as trying to coordinate color-scheme. Alice felt dizzy in the once familiar area, though whether it was due to the crush of bodies or the fog of hairspray was impossible to say for sure. Just as she began to reel, a strong hand reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the thickest part of the crowd and off to a corner.

  “Hell of a lot of competition,” Angela said, as she hauled Alice to safety. She was already dressed in jean shorts and a pink-and-white plaid, button-down top with more than a few of those buttons left unlatched. Atop her head was a pink cowboy hat, an aspect of the planned outfit she hadn’t bothered relaying to Alice. “But we’ll take ‘em all down. Now, hurry up and get changed. They’re going to do team intros in ten or so.”

  “Yeah, sure, just give me a second to get my lungs working again,” Alice managed to choke out. “There are a lot of people here. At least a hundred. It’s going to take forever for us to all do every event.”

  “Oh no, only ten teams actually get to compete,” Angela explained. “We do the intro walk, and then it is right into the qualifier round. Top ten teams get to play for the win; everyone else gets a free beer as thanks for coming out.”

  “Wait, what? We might not even get to compete?”

  “Relax.” Angela put an arm around her teammate’s shoulders. “I made the qualifying rounds last year with a deadweight partner I had to pull along the whole time. We’ll crush it with no issue. Plus, unlike most of these gals, you and I are used to playing for high stakes.”

  “You still could have warned me about it,” Alice grumbled as she stripped out of her jeans and stepped into an outfit that, while similar, wasn’t quite a perfect match for Angela’s. Her shorts were a bit longer, and the design on her shirt was slightly different. Still, anyone who looked at them would see them as a group, and that was the point of the outfits in the first place.

  “Sure, I could have, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, if I thought you needed preparation to win something this easy, I would never have asked you to be on my team,” Angela said.

  Alice realized this was a fight she wouldn’t be winning, so she decided to focus on doing something productive, like information gathering, instead. “Fine, can you at least tell me which event is the qualifier, so I know what I’m heading into?”

  “I suppose it can’t do any harm.” But despite Angela’s words, the gleam in her eye said it could do just so very much harm. And that gleam rarely lied.

  * * *

  Though the line outside Six-Shooter had been massive, the bouncers managed to process each person’s entry with a methodical, efficient speed. IDs were shown, money was collected (from both genders, in a rare change of policy), and students were ushered in. While the dance floor in the middle of the bar was roped off, as well as filled with various props and tools, the bars were certainly open and doing brisk business. Nick and Will managed to get a small round of drinks due only to the fact that Chad was working and dealing with things at his usual relentless pace. Roy stood beside him, and with the free time created by Chad’s speed, he managed to slip his friends their drinks ahead of the others in the large crowd congregated in front of the bar.

  Since conversation was impossible, Nick and Will merely took the drinks across the club to the small area where the others were closely guarding the single small, circular table they’d found free. Vince and Thomas stood on either side with hands clearly resting on the area, their size and evident muscles keeping anyone from attempting to hi-jack the momentarily drink-less table. That need was remedied as Nick and Will deposited their load of beverages and began handing them out.

  “Okay, sodas for Vince and Mary,” Nick said, carefully sliding the fizzing liquids the short distance across the table to their owners. “Camille and Thomas both had beers; leaving me with my gin and tonic, Alex with the screwdriver, and Will with his cider.”

  “It’s so strange to see an order come back from the bar without an array of unwanted shots attached,” Thomas noted, as he watched the drinks being handed out. “I suppose that’s because the only time I come to these places is with Violet, though.”

  “Personally, I’m rather enjoying the lack of peer pressure,” Will said. “Almost makes these places more enjoyable. We should talk Jill and Violet into entering things like this more often.”

  “I’ll wait to see the damage before I get on board with encouraging them,” Thomas replied.

  Nick, drink-dispensing duties fulfilled, allowed himself to sip his own cocktail, and as he did, he noticed Mary staring wordlessly from the other side of the tiny table. She lifted a single eyebrow for only a second, to which Nick responded with a half-shake of his head.

  He imagined it was hard for her, unable to pick out many thoughts with the loud music pounding around them; especially since she was the only other one besides Alice who knew about the danger that might be lurking. So far, he hadn’t found anything to hint at an attack tonight, and that was bothering him. This was a huge event, with tons of witnesses around and far too many people to keep watch on. Add in that Alice had announced her presence by signing up in advance, and it was the perfect chance for Nathaniel to strike. Were the tables turned, it was the sort of opportunity Nick would have certainly seized. All of which made it the more confusing that Nick hadn’t spotted so much as a single red flag.

  Because it meant that either Nathaniel was perfectly concealing his plan of attack from Nick, or that Nick was entirely misreading Nathaniel’s timeframe for a move. Either way, it meant playing in the dark, and Nick loathed such circumstances.

  Somehow, he’d have to find a way to cheat.

  197.

  Roger’s voice boomed over the microphone, despite its ever-present detached tone, making him sound like an overlord who really couldn’t be bothered with any of this and would very much like to get back to his proper duties. He called names as the women walked out, most of which were entirely foreign to Alice. She recognized a few others as girls she worked with at the bar, but the only people besides Angela that Alice knew especially well were Jill and Violet. They gave a polite wave, which Alice returned when their eyes met. It was the maximum amount of greeting possible with the throng of women between them. They were ahead in line, and a few moments later, that duo headed toward the repurposed dance floor as Roger’s voice announced their names.

  “Our next duo coming up is Violet Sullivan and Jill Murray.”

  A loud burst of cheering rang out, much the same as what greeted the others as they left, though Alice thought she recognized a few familiar voices among the cheers. Once they were gone, there were only a few teams left before she and Angela walked out. Alice felt the familiar sensation of nerves in her gut, and then immediately chastised herself for such a sentiment. She’d fought Supers and robots and professors; this was not the sort of thing that should worry her in the slightest.

  “Buck up,” Angela said. “You look like you’re thinking about puking. Which, if that’s the case, please do so while we’re back here. No one is going to root for the gals who vomit.”

  “I’m fine,” Alice replied. “Nothing to worry about at all.”

  “Uh huh. There’s nothing wrong with a little stage fright, you know. No shame, I mean. Almost anyone would get it in a situation like this.”

  “You seem pretty calm,” Alice pointed out.

  “True, but you’re forgetting that I’ve already done this thing once before. Plus, and this part is super important, I am really fucked up overall. The sort of things it takes to scare me are neither healthy nor reasonable, so I should in no way be used as the litmus test for what fears are natural.” Angela’s tone never wavered; s
he delivered such a self-effacing statement with the same sly grin and cheery voice that accompanied most of the things she said. In a way, that made it all the more unsettling for Alice.

  “That’s a fairly weird thing to think about yourself.” Alice was clawing about for what to say in response, ultimately deciding to keep her reply as neutral as possible.

  “First rule for any warrior is to know thy self. What makes you strong, what makes you weak, what parts of you are fortified, and which pieces are broken beyond repair. When you know everything, no one can use your own flaws against you. At least, not easily.”

  Despite the fact that Alice would have very much liked to continue that conversation, the line moved forward, and it was their turn to head out into the club. The one upside of talking to Angela was that Alice’s nerves about the games had altogether vanished. Now, she was more preoccupied with wondering just what sort of things Angela had been through to produce such sentiments.

  And, more importantly, if another year in the HCP would lead Alice to think the same way.

  * * *

  The table erupted in cheers for Alice and Angela, just as it had for Jill and Violet. A nearby group shot them a few dirty looks, but said nothing as the cheering died away once Alice and Angela took their spots on stage.

  Two more teams came out, and with that, the entire roster of entrants in the Cowgirl Rodeo was officially lined up. Dozens of young women were there, some looking shy, others waving to the crowd in an attempt to win favor. The pageantry only lasted a few moments before Roger’s voice came over the speakers once more.

  “Another big thanks to everyone who entered our competition this year. I’m proud to report that this is the largest number of entrants we’ve ever had.”

  Though nothing in Roger’s words called for it, another round of cheering erupted from the contestants and the audience, because alcohol and a show are known for producing a very easy-to-please audience. Once it died down, Roger’s narration resumed.

  “However, as many of you know, we can only accept ten teams into the events. Which means, right now, we’re going to have a contest to see who makes the cut into the official games. Bartenders, if you would.”

  From the back came a parade of bartenders, Chad and Roy included, who carried quarter barrel kegs—better known as pony kegs—out with them. Some men carried only a single one, while the larger or stronger ones had a keg in each hand. They made their way across the stage, setting a single keg down in front of each team. As the kegs were being doled out, Roger’s voice continued the explanation.

  “Our first event is a simple test of determination; we’ll check to see which contestants want to make it the most. On my signal, your team will lift the keg in front of you up from the ground, using any grip you like. All team members must have hands on the keg, however. After that, all you have to do is keep it from touching the ground. Last ten teams with their kegs still up in the air are our qualifiers. Couldn’t be simpler.”

  Alice thought she heard a bit of snark creeping into Roger’s voice, but then decided she must be imagining it. Roy appeared in front of her seconds later, carefully setting down the pony keg in front of her and Angela.

  “Technically speaking, we’re neutral in all this, but I’m still gonna wish you both good luck,” he said.

  “I’ll gladly accept it,” Angela replied. “Every advantage helps.”

  Roy nodded and moved on to the next team, setting their keg down without adding the bit of good cheer. Alice and Angela positioned themselves around the metal cylinder, each gripping one of the handles. They didn’t need to speak or coordinate; the task before them was obvious.

  Just don’t quit. That was all they had to do. Alice almost felt bad for everyone else there. They had no idea how much experience the HCP women had at refusing to give up, no matter how weary or battered they felt.

  “Everyone, lift!” Roger announced.

  And just like that, the Cowgirl Rodeo had officially begun.

  198.

  A pony keg, Alice would later learn after a curious internet search, weighed ninety pounds when filled with beer, and the one she and Angela were hoisting most certainly was topped off. Split between two people, that made for forty-five pounds each, not a trifle, but hardly something that was beyond even a relatively weak person’s ability to support. The issue wasn’t the weight, unfortunately, but rather the metal that started digging into her hands after only a few moments. Her grip would be the thing to give out before any other part of her body; Alice saw that immediately. Roger’s summation of the events was an apt one. It was, more than about strength, about the willpower to keep hanging on despite growing discomfort.

  The first keg hit the ground less than twenty seconds after the contest started. From the way it clanged and clattered, it was evident that someone on the team hadn’t gotten a proper hold when they lifted and had ultimately lost their grip. Within two minutes, the first true losers set down their keg, giving up the battle in favor of a free beer and pain-free hands. After that, teams began dropping quickly; with the stigma of being the first to quit erased, wills broke quickly as fingers protested.

  Despite her training, Alice’s hands were only somewhat more powerful than the other contestants’. Since she didn’t need a particularly strong grip for her fighting styles, it was an aspect of her body she trained perfunctorily in gym, with no extra emphasis in her off hours. Thankfully, it wasn’t a contest of who had the strongest grip; it was about who could hang on through the pain, and that was an area Alice was a damned expert at.

  Compared to her gym sessions under the professors, the wounds she’d taken in class matches, and the exhaustion of training until she couldn’t see straight, holding up a small keg was nothing. She met Angela’s eyes, and they both knew, without saying a word, that they would collapse on this stage before letting themselves be broken by something so trivial. In fact, Alice was so lost in keeping her resolve firm that she didn’t even notice as the eleventh team still standing lowered their keg and signaled defeat.

  “And that’s the end of our qualifying round,” Roger announced, shocking Alice so much she nearly dropped the keg in surprise. Only training and a fierce grip kept it in her hands, which was good—both for not being embarrassed on stage, and for the feet she had positioned directly beneath the steel cylinder.

  “Everyone still holding a keg, please set it down. Our bartenders are going to come collect them and set the stage for the next event.”

  “One down,” Angela said, carefully lowering her side of the keg to the floor.

  “If they’re all that easy, we’ve got this in the bag,” Alice replied.

  Angela snorted, and then nodded her head to the right. “After this, we can’t just survive, though. We have to win, and your friends are still in the running.”

  Alice did a quick glance to the right and was unsurprised to see Jill and Violet lowering their keg as well. She hadn’t expected the others to be knocked out by such an easy event, and in fact, would have been disappointed if they had been. While she might not be quite as thrilled as Angela at the idea of a tough competition, she did like doing things with her friends. Even if she was set against them, Alice was happier having Jill and Violet in the fray.

  If nothing else, it would prove to keep things entertaining.

  * * *

  Nick felt his phone vibrate against his leg and casually slipped the device out of his pocket. He was glad this was coming during an event shift; taking a text while he was supposed to be cheering for Alice would have put the others on alert. As he skimmed the contents, Nick realized that it didn’t quite matter when he’d gotten this message. It required action, more than he’d be able to pull off while sitting at the table. He needed to get clear, as quickly and as inconspicuously as he could. Since his presence would obviously be missed, that meant he had to take an approach that was overt rather than covert.

  “Aaaaaand this is the day when I learn the price of my hubris,” Nick s
aid, reaching down and gripping his stomach. “Oh, sweet mercy. Oh, good Lord in heaven.”

  “Are you okay?” Vince asked, immediately at his friend’s side.

  “I’m fine. The gas station burrito I ate before meeting up with you guys, on the other hand, has seemingly decided that I’ve taken it prisoner like a war criminal, and it demands to be set free.”

  “You can just go to the bathroom,” Thomas said. “We don’t need every detail.”

  “Well, blame Vince for asking. I’ll be back in . . . I don’t know. This is going to take however long it takes; I’m merely holding on for the ride. If I’m not back by the next event, cheer for Alice extra—” Nick winced and tightened the hold on his stomach. “Yup, that ends my time to talk about this. Got to go!”

  Without another word, Nick slunk away through the crowd, moving with the swiftness of a man presumably on the verge of public humiliation and ruined clothes. He was nearly to the bathrooms, which were conveniently near the back exit, when he felt a small hand tighten on his arm. Before he even turned, he knew who it was. Still, he kept the pained expression on his face and the grip on his stomach as he looked at the person holding him, just in case.

  “What excuse did you use?” Nick asked.

  “I just excused myself,” Mary replied. “I’m a girl; we don’t make such spectacles of our internal functions.”

  “Normally, neither do I, but when you gotta go . . .”

  “But you don’t, at least, not in that way. Tell me what’s going on,” Mary demanded. Since they were near the restrooms, the normal racket of the club was slightly diminished, allowing for non-shouted conversation. This small measure of privacy wasn’t much, but it was enough for Nick to risk giving her a reply.