Super Powereds: Year 4

by Hayes, Drew

  “I’m not so certain that will be better for them in the long run,” Dean Blaine said.

  “Maybe it won’t be easy, but that sort of reputation can save a lot of lives, when used properly.” Coral was watching the screens so devotedly that she unconsciously took a big bite of the tuna salad sandwich. With a grimace, she chewed and forced it down, then set the plate aside. “Whether you like it or not, Blaine, these kids are going to make a splash when they hit the world, if not sooner. And while they may not be another Class of Legends, I personally think they’re something better. They’re the sort of Hero that smiles at the cameras while haunting the dreams of criminals. Speaking for myself, I’m looking forward to scooping one of these kids up. After all, it won’t be a lot of us who get to say we helped mentor the Class of Nightmares.”

  Dean Blaine groaned softly under his breath and looked quickly around. “Please don’t say that out loud again; the last thing I want is for it to catch on.”

  “Sorry, Blaine,” Coral replied with a shrug. “I didn’t even come up with it. Like you said, those kids have already gotten a lot of attention. I’m not the first person to notice just how much collective power they’re packing.”

  “Wonderful.” Dean Blaine looked back at the screens. The team of Mary, Allen, Amber, and Selena had successfully repelled a second cluster of Sims that had tried to surprise them. Across the faux-city, at the largest brawl, all the civilians had successfully been evacuated from the nearby buildings; the students were beginning to pick off Sims on the edge while Violet, Vince, Roy, and Chad continued mowing them down from the center. Alice and Shane, having laid low six Sims on their own, had joined up with Rich and Jill and were currently flying around—Jill leading them with a device on her arm—using Rich’s eyes and Shane’s shadows to neutralize any of the non-engaged Sims they spotted. Alice lay in wait in case neither of the first methods succeeded, and when she struck, the Sims fell.

  He’d doubled the usual number of Sims in the test, trying to account for the unusual concentration of offensive power in the class, and they were still making incredible time. True, this was the easiest of the monthly trials they were going to face, but that didn’t mean it was supposed to be a cakewalk. Previous classes had had a harder time of it until they’d worked out a plan, and often had several students removed for injury. Yet this group was blazing across the city, saving civilians and shattering Sims in their wake.

  Class of Nightmares might be a terrible name, but even he had to admit that it wasn’t entirely unfitting.

  36.

  Roy slammed his bat through the guarding arms of a large Sim, cracking them apart and sending it flying to the ground. Before it could recover, he was on it, delivering careful, methodically escalated blows until the light in its eyes finally died out. He hoped it was knocked out, not dead, but even with the escalation of attacks, it was impossible to be sure. Damn thing had been tough though, so he was just thankful to have it out of the fight. Leaping up from his beaten foe, Roy’s eyes swept the battlefield for another opponent. What he found, however, was that there were no more opponents.

  No, now it was just a group of his classmates standing over neutralized Sims. Chad was on top of the last moving Sim, and with a flick of the bone-blade jutting from his arm, that movement came to a halt. The Sim fell, leaving them in a sudden, somewhat eerie silence. It was cut mercifully short as Dean Blaine’s voice crackled in their ear.

  “Congratulations, everyone. Your trial has been completed. Every gang member was defeated, and all of the civilians were either moved out of harm’s way or lost. In the coming week, you will have one-on-one meetings with your professors to discuss your actions in today’s trial. Everything you did, both the wise choices and the mistakes, will be analyzed so that you can learn from them. And let me be clear, everyone here made mistakes; such is the unavoidable nature of the chaos of Hero work. However, allow me to address your overall effectiveness as a unit, just as a DVA rep would if you were a team of actual Heroes responding to this incident.”

  Roy’s stomach tightened and a wave of fear washed over him. Diving headfirst into a brawl of robots with simulated superpowers, sure, that he could handle. But the possibility of hearing that they’d screwed the pooch, that they sucked at the job they’d been training so hard to do for so long, now that genuinely terrified him.

  “For your first priority, protecting the civilians, you did an exemplary job,” Dean Blaine continued. “Only one life was lost when a Sim charged through an occupied building. That is, of course, tragic, but given the scale of potential destruction, it is far less than what could have happened. In so far as property damage, while much was done before your arrival, you only directly caused around five hundred thousand dollars’ worth, assuming these were real homes and businesses instead of props.”

  The eyes of several students went wide at that number. Had Dean Blaine just said they only did a half million in theoretical damage? How much did it take to get scolded? Roy, on the other hand, was more surprised that they’d kept the total so low. Growing up with connections to the Hero world, he had a better sense of just how much fights, especially ones in the middle of a city, could really cost. There was a reason insurance companies wanted the absolute best out of Heroes.

  “And finally, the Sims’ lives. There were forty-eight Sims spread out across the battlefield. In total, you managed to neutralize them all, but in the process of doing so, nine were killed. I will offer no personal commentary on that number; we will discuss this metric with those who took the lives during your meetings. I will only say that while some of you will need to use this as a learning opportunity, others will not classify such incidents as mistakes. We do not try and hide the ugly truth that sometimes doing this work means kill or be killed. Learning when you have reached that point is one of the most important aspects of being a Hero.

  “I will also add that nine out of forty-eight is a little under a twenty percent casualty rate, and in situations like this, the DVA considers anything under thirty percent to be acceptable. Thus, were you a group of actual Heroes, you would walk away from this incident without citations on any of the criteria. That’s as close to a passing grade as we get outside of the HCP, so congratulations.”

  A heavy weight fell from Roy’s shoulders at the word “passing,” which was weird, since that was usually Hershel’s jam. All around him, the rest of the class seemed similarly relieved. They’d done it. In their first taste of what actual Hero work would sort of be like, they’d managed to not completely screw things up. Granted, Dean Blaine didn’t sound like he was about to blast them with confetti or hand out trophies, but they’d shown basic aptitude for their future career, and that felt good.

  “Everyone should head to the north of town. That’s where a lift will be waiting. You’ll have a chance to shower and change into fresh uniforms before meeting the Heroes that were watching your fight. Before you go, let me caution you, lest today’s success fill you with false confidence,” Dean Blaine said, his voice turning somehow even more serious than before. “This is not like other years, where you see such trials two or three times in total. As you were told, trials are coming at the end of every month, and today’s was as much a calibration test as it was an introductory lesson. It is the purpose of this program to push you, to test you in ways you didn’t imagine possible, and to see how you grow. Every time you succeed, we will make the next trial harder, to see if you can overcome the bar. Or, failing that, if you can grow more powerful in the wake of failing. This was the easiest it will ever be. I urge you to prepare for much, much harder obstacles to come.”

  The speech didn’t exactly kill off the cheerful mood that had filled the students—they’d heard too many doom and gloom warnings to be powerfully affected by them—but smiles still grew a little dimmer as they made their way north. It wasn’t that Dean Blaine’s words surprised them—in fact, it was the opposite. They already knew it was going to get harder: every trial a little more dangero
us, the choices they made more split-second, the consequences thereof more sobering.

  Dean Blaine’s words reminded them of the fact that there were only ten spots awaiting a class of eighteen at graduation. Sooner or later, one of the trials was likely going to pit them against each other, and just like that, the people they’d been fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with, trusting their lives to, would become their enemies. And that would be the hardest of all.

  37.

  Clad in fresh uniforms, hair still damp from the powerful spray of the locker room showers, Lander’s senior class followed Professor Pendleton to the gym, of all places. Only now, instead of being a temple to sweat and discipline, there were small tables adorned with white table cloths and small decorative centerpieces set up at regular intervals. In the middle of the room was a large buffet stocked only with small plates—inconvenience incarnate—and at the far end of either side of the gym were bars that had ample costumed patrons lining up to be served.

  “Help yourselves to the food and drinks,” Professor Pendleton advised. He’d been waiting outside the locker rooms, catching each student as they emerged and corralling them into a herd before leading them through the halls. “Just remember not to go too hard. This isn’t far off from a job interview, and no one wants to teach a sloppy drunk. Otherwise, feel free to mingle. The Heroes will approach those of you they want to know a little more about, some as potential teachers, some out of pure curiosity. But if there’s one here you know you want to learn under, don’t be afraid to take the initiative. They tend to respect that sort of thing.”

  It didn’t escape everyone’s notice that Professor Pendleton had referred to the Heroes as “they” instead of “we.” Even more took note of the fact that he stopped at the gym’s entrance, holding the door open but not entering himself. While few knew the reasons for his separation from the Hero world, several flashed him thankful smiles as they made their way into the revelry. Alice, particularly, lingered with her estranged uncle.

  “What are you going to do while we’re in there rubbing elbows?”

  “Retire to my quarters, where I can eat on a normal-sized plate and drink as much as I like without fearing a bad impression,” Professor Pendleton replied. “I hated these things even when I was a student. Damn sure not going to attend one if I don’t have to.”

  “Lucky.” Alice knew he was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth. With so many other ears around, she couldn’t blame him. Instead, she pretended to believe the fib and kept walking, stepping into the place she knew so well yet with only a few changes had become almost entirely foreign.

  If anything, she felt a sense of déjà vu from her life before Lander: tiny plates, awkward business-like mingling, and the feeling of forced politeness suffocating the room. She may as well have been back at one of Charles Adair’s events, dressed up pretty enough to be noticed and complimented, but only there as a prop to humanize the mogul. Looking back, Alice could think of few memories she hated more, and that included the times she’d gone floating up too high and landed to a broken ankle or foot.

  Hated or not, those times had given her the skills to navigate exactly this sort of situation, and that was what she intended to do. Alice was going to find a good mentor to teach her once the HCP ended, someone who could really help her take her power to the next level.

  And she was going to do it on her own merit, as Alice, not as the daughter of Charles Adair.

  * * *

  “That was some impressive fighting out there.” The voice came from a shaggy-haired man in a green and gray costume, wide shoulders offsetting his short frame and making him look compact, like a walking ball of muscle. He’d appeared at the end of the buffet line, waiting to greet Chad as the younger Super finished carefully balancing a few morsels on his tiny dish.

  Chad looked the man up and down, peering through a lifetime of memories and easily pairing the outfit with the name attached to it. “Thank you very much, Wild Claws,” he replied. Chad stepped away from the line, allowing others to continue moving, and Wild Claws followed.

  “Have to tell you, from what I heard through the grapevine, I was expecting you to be another strongman. Damn near spit a sandwich across the room when I saw the grace and precision you fought with. No wonder you’re on top of the heap around here.”

  “I assure you, that position has been harder to retain with every passing week,” Chad told him. “If tested now, I’m not certain I’d be able to keep the honor, though I certainly wouldn’t make taking it easy.”

  “Strong and humble. That’s a rare combination so soon in the senior year,” Wild Claws chuckled. “Then let me ask, you open to a little constructive criticism?”

  “Always.” There was almost too much eagerness in Chad’s voice. He loathed personal weakness, and his desire to root it out from himself like a fierce gardener spilled over unintentionally at times.

  “Your leadership skills are solid in that people listen to your commands, but you didn’t put them to much use. In fact, all you really did was tell people to do whatever they wanted. That’s not an effective use of teamwork or strategy.” Wild Claws pointed across the room to Shane, Alice, Britney, and Mary in order. “Those four cleaned up after you, which was why things worked out. Now, not every Hero needs to be in command—that wouldn’t make any sense on a team—but if you’re going to take the reins, you need to do it well.”

  “I thought a good leader trusted his people and their decision-making.” Chad might have been the only person in the world who could raise such a point without seeming defensive. He was genuinely confused, seeking clarification, and it shone through in his tone.

  “Trust is key, you’re not wrong there, but… Look, would you ask Roy Daniels to handle aerial opponents?” Wild Claws asked.

  “Obviously not, unless it was absolutely necessary,” Chad said.

  “Exactly, because that’s not what he’s best suited to.” Wild Claws nodded enthusiastically, sending his long hair bouncing. “Same with strategy. Not everyone is good at deciding how to best allocate a team’s resources in a fight. Just like some are better at melee than ranged fighting, some aren’t great with tactics. That’s part of why teams have leaders. If you’re going to take command like that, you either need to have a real plan in mind or listen to someone who does. You’re a powerful Super, no one can doubt that, but that doesn’t necessarily make you a good leader.”

  “I see. Thank you very much for the candor. I didn’t realize my error. If such a situation arises again, I will either seek to be a better leader or let someone more suited take the role,” Chad said.

  “For what it’s worth, I hope you pick the former,” Wild Claws told him. “I’m probably not supposed to know this, technically speaking, but I’m aware of who your old man was. Fought alongside him a couple of times, and damned if he didn’t know how to get the most out of every Hero working with him.”

  “I… you fought with Intra?” For the first time in a long while, Chad’s composure slipped a bit, his eyes widening and the small plate in his hand nearly spilling to the floor. “How did you know I was his son? My impression was that they kept the specifics of our powers secret.”

  “Oh, they did. Truth be told, I doubt I would have put it together if I hadn’t seen him pull some of your same moves in the field,” Wild Claws admitted. “But it helped that I already knew he had a son.”

  “You did?”

  “Sure, everyone who worked with Intra knew about his kid. The guy wouldn’t shut up about you, and I mean that in the best way,” Wild Claws said. “What happened to your dad was a genuine tragedy, especially since he didn’t get to see how strong you turned out. That man loved the hell out of you.”

  “I see.” Chad was back in full control, but now it demanded effort. He focused on keeping his emotions reined in. “Thank you very much, Wild Claws... for the advice, and for the kind words.”

  38.

  Vince turned around from getting a club soda to fi
nd a woman in a red and blue costume standing nearby, already nursing a beer from the bar as she watched people filter past. No sooner had he seen her than she crooked a finger in his direction and motioned him over, to which Vince complied.

  Her outfit was nearly as concealing as Professor Cole’s, with a full head-mask covering her entire face, save only for her mouth and dark brown eyes. For the first time, he realized that his own costume, if the stars aligned and such a thing came to exist, would have to be in a similar style—that or he’d need to shave his head. Silver hair in a college of young people who loved Super-chic was one thing. Once there was a Hero with such a noticeable trait, to keep his hair out in the open might be tempting fate.

  “You have a very interesting power,” the woman said. “If I were taking a guess, I’d say absorber? Of course, you don’t need to confirm it or anything, if you don’t want; preservation of secrecy and all that.”

  “I don’t mind discussing the general way it works,” Vince replied. He was supposed to network a little; such things were bound to come up. “And to answer your question, yes ma’am, I’m a multi-energy absorber.”

  “Oooooh, let’s stay away from the ma’am talk, or I’m going to need something a lot stronger than beer.” She took a swig of her drink to drive the point home. “My name is Coral, and you’re Vince, right?”

  “Yes ma—er, Coral.”

  “Nice to meet you, Vince,” Coral said. “So, anyway, multi-energy absorber? Not a very common one there. Most tend to have one type they can handle. Guessing that means you work with a diminished holding capacity, then. Can’t take as much energy as a regular absorber?”