by Hayes, Drew
Her telekinetic strike dented its kneecaps but didn’t have enough power to completely break them. Evidently, this one was packing some enhanced endurance. Power, however, was not something Mary lacked. In fact, learning to control her force enough for more delicate manipulation had been her highest hurdle at Lander. If this task required letting loose, then she would happily comply.
This time, the strike shattered both metal kneecaps, bending them backward and sending the Sim tumbling to the ground. As it landed, Selena’s song took hold once more, and it went limp.
The plan had been a simple one, as soon as they’d realized who had gathered to take on the fight. Selena had begun to sing the Sims to sleep while Amber put up a sound wall that amplified and directed her voice, making it much louder while pushing it away from the humans’ ears. The combination was devastating, as nine of the twelve Sims immediately began to succumb to her song. Those who didn’t were easily spotted, and as soon as they were, Allen, Mary, or Amber picked them off with their ranged abilities. Some went down easier than others, but with Selena working as crowd control, they were able to neutralize them carefully, focusing on injury over death. Her song wasn’t perfect, though; every now and then one of the conscious Sims would begin to fight off its effects. That was why Mary kept a keen eye trained on their opponents, ready for any sign of their will to fight returning.
Allen had blasted the limbs off of his Sim while Amber merely snapped her fingers and another dropped. Allegedly, she was targeting their inner ears and making them too dizzy to stand, but Mary would be curious to see the actual reports when the test was done. Amber was powerful, no one doubted that, but her control had never been quite so well-honed. Then again, it had been a long summer with a lot to think about. It would be foolish to assume the only training that had gone on took place at that out-of-the-way camp.
“This feels a little too easy,” Allen said. He wasn’t being boastful; there was genuine worry in his voice, and Mary could understand why. They’d lucked into a dynamite combination with Amber and Selena, but still… this was going a bit better than she felt comfortable accepting. Too many years in the HCP had taught her that if it seemed easy, she merely hadn’t grasped the true challenge yet.
“Amber, can you do that echolocation thing again?” Mary asked. “There were a lot of straggler Sims outside the fights, and I want to be sure we’re not getting surrounded.”
“One sec.” Amber puckered her lips and let out a long, low note that seemed to wash across Mary as it bounded out into the world beyond them. “I’ve got a blind spot where Selena is singing, obviously, but for the most part, they’re staying… wait, never mind. We’ve got a group coming from the west. About five more, heading here fast.”
“Damn it, they’ll come up right behind us,” Allen said. His distraction caused him to miss a shot, neatly tearing the head off a Sim instead of merely injuring it. Mary winced involuntarily at the sight. Even in practice, that sort of thing set her teeth on edge.
“Amber, can you wrap that sound wall around us in a circle?” Mary asked.
“Probably, but it’ll take more concentration, so don’t count on as much firepower,” Amber replied.
“That’s fine. Bring Selena closer, then wrap us up. I’ll go around that with a wall of force. As long as Selena is singing, we can keep picking them off one at a time.” Mary hesitated, doing a sweep of the Sims remaining in her line of sight. “One thing, though. Telekinetic shields are usually only good against physical attacks, stuff with mass. Allen, you and I have to take down every Sim we see wielding any kind of energy. If they get off a shot, we’ll be sitting ducks.”
“It’s going to be hard to go for the knockout at this range.” It wasn’t a request for permission, not really, but Allen still wanted her to know what her plan entailed. This method would come with casualties, and even though they were simulated, the students would be held accountable for them. That was what this training was all about.
“Our priority is saving the civilians and putting down the Sims,” Mary replied. “If you can do that without killing, do. If not… well, we can’t let them run around destroying things. They made their choice.”
“I’ll do my best to help out where I can,” Amber replied. “Just try not to depend on me.”
“Got it. Anything you bring down is a bonus. Allen and I will do the heavy lifting.” Mary glanced to the west; she could see the new Sims moving as they made their way between the buildings. Amber’s echolocation had pinned them perfectly, and Mary was thankful for it. They might have been caught unaware otherwise. However, thinking about that skill gave Mary a terrifying realization.
“Amber, if you’re wrapping us in a sound wall and broadcasting Selena’s voice in all directions, does that mean you can’t do more echolocation?”
“Fuck… yeah, it does.” Amber snapped her fingers and took down another of the original twelve Sims. There were only four still standing, all under Selena’s spell, but the more than time elapsed, the more signs of life they showed. “As long as we’re hunkered down like that, we’re going to be blind to any other Sim’s movements.”
“All the more reason to get it done quickly,” Allen said.
“Quickly and carefully,” Mary countered. “Remember, Heroes don’t kill because it’s convenient.”
Allen snorted, shaking his head just as the first of the new Sims finally stepped into view. “We’re about to be surrounded on all sides by robotic opponents, several of which are shaking off Selena’s song and the rest with abilities about which we have no information. What part of any of this feels convenient?”
Though Mary would never admit it, Allen had her there.
34.
Vince had learned a tremendous amount about electricity since he first wrecked a ranged training room freshman year. He’d learned how to direct it, how much it took to knock out a human, how to ramp up his attacks against a fellow Super carefully, and, most importantly, he’d learned just how useful it was to keep stored. None of that changed the basic truth Vince had uncovered the first time he’d tried to consciously fire it at a target, however. Electricity, at least when wielded by a Super, wanted to spread, to hit everything. Normally, he used the techniques he’d developed to suppress that tendency, but in moments like this, it was that very trait which made electricity such a useful energy.
“Everybody down!”
Violet and Roy hit the ground, and although Chad was still out of sight, Vince trusted him to do the same. With Sims gathered around him in every direction, Vince let loose a payload of stolen lightning. He didn’t bother directing it beyond aiming a few bolts at the nearest targets. Instead, he simply let the energy do what it naturally wanted to: course through every conductor it could reach.
Blinding arcs of blue-white energy burst from his body, slamming into the nearest Sims and flowing outward, hitting the ones adjacent to them, then the next nearest, and so on. Vince kept up the output as the bolts leapt from Sim to Sim in a spider web of light. Fast as it came, the lightning quickly died, as the technique rapidly exhausted Vince’s supply of electricity. The whole process took at most ten seconds, and when it ended, they were still surrounded by Sims, although ones with a fair bit of smoke rising from their bodies.
It had not, however, been a vain effort. Two Sims fell to the ground, and the rest of those directly surrounding Vince moved with sluggish, uncertain motions. One powerful bolt might be able to bring down a single Sim, but Vince had succeeded in stunning far more. It wouldn’t be enough to stop them all, of course, but that had never been the goal of the attack. All Vince had wanted was to create opportunity, and in that regard, he’d certainly succeeded.
“Hit ‘em hard and hit ‘em fast!” Roy yelled, leaping up from the ground, bat in hand. He swung the weapon so quickly it was a blur as it smashed through the nearest Sim’s legs, sending the robot flying into the air as everything below its knees became scrap. Roy didn’t hesitate, striking at the next Sim’s same area
. For him, hitting without killing in a situation like this was hard, bordering on impossible. If it were just Roy in the fray, then maybe he could have depended on his endurance to see him through, but with friends depending on him he didn’t have the luxury of taking his time. So he leaned on the tried and true strongman technique of going for the legs. It took away an opponent’s mobility, probably wouldn’t kill them unless they went into shock, and had the added benefit of inflicting too much pain for those with mental-based powers to focus.
Nearby, a spiked chain whizzed through the air, wrapping around a Sim’s chest. No sooner had it made a single loop than the chain dropped, its density increasing several hundred-fold in moments. That weight came crashing down onto the Sim’s shoulder, driving it to the ground and leaving it prone as Violet bounded over to finish the job. She dropped ultra-dense fists on its knees and elbows, leaving it helpless on the ground as she pulled her weapon, now light as air again, free.
Another Sim went flying upward, arcing over their heads and then bouncing off one of the buildings, knocking loose some debris as it slid limply to the ground. It landed only a few feet from Will and a group of civilian bots, all of whom stared at the battered Sim in surprise and worry.
“Dial it back, Vince!” Roy yelled over his shoulder.
“Sorry!” Vince dodged an attack from one of the Sims with massive, armored fists. Kinetic energy was harder to wield in battle than some of his other abilities. It wasn’t just punching, where the strength in one’s muscles gave feedback as to how much force a blow would have. No, this involved throwing a punch, then adding a bunch of extra energy right at the end. It hadn’t been an issue when he was smashing through Sims in a warehouse, but in more delicate surroundings, he had to be careful how much he used. Unlike most strongmen, he hadn’t gotten a lifetime of practice with such power.
The big Sim threw another punch, one Vince easily slid to the side of. Unfortunately, this put him directly in the path of a second Sim that had been lying in wait. It struck at him with burning metal hands, no doubt meant to melt the very flesh from his bones. Vince took a quick step back, easily seeking the wave of heat from the flaming fingers and pulling it in. In a blink, the fire flowed from the Sim to Vince’s own outstretched hand, leaving his opponent flameless and confused.
It was almost nothing, just the sound of clanking metal that was a bit too close, that gave Vince the sliver of warning. Even three months prior, it would have been too late, but Hank’s “sniper” training hadn’t just been a way to dirty Vince’s clothes day after day. No, all those shoves to the ground had been honing his reflexes, specifically the ones related to kinetic absorption. On pure instinct, Vince readied for the blow, and when it slammed into his back, the tremendous power of his attacker flowed into him rather than shattering his spine.
Spinning around, Vince saw the large Sim, fist still extended, staring at the man its sensors probably said should be down in a bloody heap. It was stunned, and not in the same way as those who’d taken the brunt of the electrical blast. Vince was not one to squander an opportunity, so he leapt forward, placing a hand against its hip and angling the shot downward.
“Thanks for the charge, but I brought plenty of my own.” The kinetic blast shattered the Sim’s equivalent of a pelvis, along with a healthy chunk of its left leg, and sent it sprawling to the ground. It skidded along, knocking out the feet of several Sims behind it, sending them tumbling. As they fell, Vince caught sight of something he’d missed before: a blur in a white uniform darting between the mechanical enemies.
Chad was moving like a gymnast’s ghost, flipping around and staying completely out of every Sim’s grasp. Wherever he went, his arms and legs slashed, taking out artificial spines and tendons with surgical precision. He didn’t stop every Sim he encountered, but he at least slowed them down. And he certainly drew their attention, which was the heart of their job.
“Might want to step it up,” Roy called from behind Vince. “Your score is only three. I’ve seen Chad take down two just while he was near us, and that’s not factoring in how many he’s crippled.”
“We’re not competing,” Vince replied.
“Sure we’re not. We’re just doing the best job we can. Which still means you should step it up.” Roy turned away, kicking off from the floor and tackling another of the larger Sims. He sent it to the ground, where it raised its powerful arms in defense, only for them to be shattered under the blows of Roy’s bat.
Vince scanned the area and found the one whose fire he’d drained. Certainly, they weren’t competing or keeping score—that would probably be looked at as distasteful—but it still seemed prudent to fully neutralize a Sim he’d already fought. Especially before anyone else could add it to their tally.
35.
A tray that had earlier held a tower of sandwiches rested atop a table in the back of the room, only the most undesirable of fillings left to be claimed. Along the walls, giant television screens showcased the battle taking place down in the mock city, with different cameras capturing every aspect of the seniors’ trial. Roughly two dozen costumed men and women sat in dark, cushy chairs as they picked at their leftover sandwiches and watched the fighting unfold. Dean Blaine, along with all the other Lander professors—save for Carl Fletcher and Sean Pendleton—stood quietly around the room, ready to answer any questions a viewing Hero might have. It was not their place to offer unsolicited commentary—who the Heroes took interest in was their own decision—but sometimes, one would want to know more about a student’s training or ability. When those questions arose, it was the duty of the educators to fill in the gaps.
There was a rustle of movement from the chairs as a woman wearing a red and blue costume rose from her seat. She made her way around the others, walking quietly to the back of the room where the sandwich tray sat and looking over the few remains.
“Blaine,” she called, motioning to the nearby dean. “Why in God’s name do you insist on getting tuna salad? Honestly, does anyone ever pick these things, or do you just use them to make the pile look bigger?”
“It’s a premade variety tray, Coral,” Dean Blaine told her. “We just pick from a list of various combinations, and this was the one with the fewest bad options. Unless you wanted chicken and pineapple?”
Coral shuddered and slowly lifted one of the remaining tuna salad sandwiches onto her plate. “Point made. I guess you did the best you could.”
“I’m so glad you approve of my catering choices. Do you have any questions about the actual reason you’ve come out today?” Dean Blaine asked.
“No, you already told me about the free food.” Coral nibbled at the edge of the bread and walked away from the table, leaning against the wall next to Blaine. “And honestly, what I’m seeing so far is pretty clear cut, so there’s not much left to ask. You’ve got a few with strong leadership potential, though they definitely need more tactical training, and a couple that could serve as excellent second-in-commands. But that stuff is long down the road, anyway. As interns, they need to know how to follow more than lead, and on that account, they’re doing well. Actually, if anything, I’m a little blown away at how easily they all fell into formation and took orders. Most classes lose twenty minutes with bickering and pissing contests.”
“Horrific as it was, last May’s attack gave them all a true taste of what awaits them outside this school.” Dean Blaine looked away from Coral to the monitors where his class was currently slicing through the Sims at a rapid pace. “They understand the importance of teamwork, planning, and timeliness in a way that few other students possibly could.”
“Obviously. But you see these things every year; I don’t have to tell you that they’re putting on a good showing.” She jabbed him lightly in the ribs and met his glare with a wide smile. “Why are you so uptight? You doubled the normal amount of Sims, and the kids are still tearing them up while minimizing civilian losses. No one is talking because they’re impressed. They want to see how everything plays out.
”
“In a way, I think I was afraid of exactly this outcome,” Dean Blaine slowly admitted. “There has already been so much attention and interest toward these students, so much scrutiny placed atop them, I fear that if they get much more, it will follow them for the rest of their lives. Another Class of Legends, another group of fresh Heroes saddled with impossible expectations and hundreds of bitter eyes just waiting for them to fail. That is the last thing I’d want for any of my students, especially ones who have already endured so much.”
“I think I can say with complete certainty that no one is going to call these kids a Class of Legends,” Coral assured him. “For one thing, you lot were all really powerful, but most of you had abilities better suited to neutralizing criminal threats than flat-out offing them. That made it easy to promote you all as heroic saviors, showing you standing atop a group of handcuffed criminals about to face the justice system.”
“From what I can see, they’ve managed to avoid killing the vast majority of the Sims they’ve encountered so far.” Dean Blaine pointed to a small screen, nestled in the center of the larger ones, which displayed the stats for Sims killed, Sims safely neutralized, and civilians lost. Currently, only four of the Sims had died in the brawl, and no civilian was yet lost.
“They might not be killing them, but if those were humans, the aftermath of all this would be far from media-friendly,” Coral said. “Cut spines, shattered limbs, not to mention the fact that the ground would be slick with blood by this point. Not that they’re really doing anything wrong—the job is the job, after all. Just saying, this is not a group that’s easy to hold up to make people feel safe. If anything, they’ll be a group that gets whispered about in the criminal world. A new generation of bogeymen to terrify all but the bravest or dumbest Super who decides to test them.”