Super Powereds: Year 4

by Hayes, Drew

  “Yeah, but that’s more of the same: human-looking Sims and civilians to save. The December one is where it’s at.” Professor Pendleton glanced over to Professor Stone, trying to coax support. “Don’t sit there and try to tell me you all don’t look forward to it.”

  The older woman offered a slow, polite smile and took a sip from her mug filled with tea. “It is always interesting. I’ll admit only that much.”

  “There you go, proof positive that we’re missing out,” Professor Pendleton declared. “So, any word?”

  Dean Blaine took his time answering, clearing his throat loudly and shutting his planner before finally turning to Professor Pendleton. “By all accounts, the resources will be available; meaning you and Professor Fletcher will be able to participate.”

  The whoop of joy from Professor Pendleton was out of place in the secret bunker, echoing down the dim halls and filling them with a brief flash of excitement.

  102.

  There was little difference between November’s trial and October’s, save that this time the students had a better idea of what they were facing when they walked in. The strikes were cleaner, the civilian lives lost were fewer, and no one voluntarily withdrew from the program. Overall, a solid showing, even if the staff knew that this demonstration meant little. The students were getting used to this format; throwing small variations wasn’t enough to catch them off guard anymore. That was a good sign, it was an important aspect of their training, but it was also dangerous. A complacent Hero was a short-lived Hero. That was why December’s test would break the mold, throw them a curve that no one could anticipate.

  The Heroes who’d been watching November’s trial milled about, even as the meet and greet ended, discussing the show that had been put on. More were here than usual—at least, for this particular trial—as word had evidently been spreading that Lander’s senior crop was proving to be a strong one. Several times, the words “Class of Nightmares” were softly whispered, never quite loud enough to be overheard. It was, in truth, a somewhat silly name, but those who wore costumes and code names either had been born with a theatrical streak or had it worn into them by their career choice, so such things were permissible.

  Titan stood off to the side, largely unbothered by the other Heroes. While he’d done his best to keep his distance for as long as possible, the time had finally come for him to join the socializing. If he was really serious about taking on an apprentice, then he needed to put himself out there. Reputation or not, no freshly graduated Super would sign on with a Hero they hadn’t met in person, not outside of extenuating circumstances anyway.

  From a nearby crowd, Gale emerged, a polite laugh fading from her lips as she made her way over to the massive Hero. “Not trying to chat anyone up?”

  “I just came to meet the kids,” Titan told her. “Soon as my beer is done, I’m heading back to Brewster. Team goes on standby tonight, so I need to be there.”

  “Good thing those don’t affect you. Some of us had to request a whole night off if we wanted to drink.” Gale punctuated her point with a gentle sip from the red liquid in her highball glass. “Mind if I ask a question?”

  “I’ve known you long enough to be sure you’ll ask no matter what, so go right ahead,” Titan told her.

  “That strongman kid, Roy? Seemed like he’d be a good fit for you. And I assume every strongman more or less worships Titan. Yet he didn’t come near you during the meet-and-greet. Not one word, barely was willing to look at you. That’s not so shocking—a lot of these kids get star struck and don’t know how to approach us—but you didn’t go near him either. The two of you were like magnets with the same polarity: one steps closer and the other moves away.”

  “The name ‘Titan’ isn’t exactly a universally loved one,” he replied. “Some people still haven’t forgiven me for what happened all those years ago.”

  “That’s the way you want to play it, fine by me.” Gale set her drink down on the table and moved a touch closer, allowing for easier—and quieter—conversation. “So, want to fess up about who you’ve got your eye on? Chad Taylor seems like he could learn a lot from Titan, but you’re going to have to work hard to snap that one up. He’s made it public that he’s a legacy by applying for his father’s code name, and Intra still has some friends out there looking to take care of his boy.”

  Titan had indeed noticed Chad Taylor; it was damned near impossible not to. Strong, smart, tactically-minded but still prioritizing the safety of others, the kid had potential coming out of his pores. “While I have no doubt the second Intra is going to be a fine Hero, I don’t think I’d be a good fit as his teacher. His power requires too much thought and creativity; I couldn’t lead him down any paths he wouldn’t find on his own. Better he goes with someone craftier, and I stick with an intern who leans mostly on punching the shit out of whatever is in their way. I was actually thinking the Sullivan girl might be a good match.”

  “The one with purple hair and density powers? Yeah, I can see that. You did train under Dean Jackson, so you’ve got some familiarity there. She’s got guts, too. I considered her for a bit myself,” Gale admitted.

  “Really? Seemed to me like you were courting Alice Adair pretty openly,” Titan replied.

  “Never hurts to have eggs in multiple baskets. But yes, she’s far and away my top choice. Between the flight-based tactics and using gravity to shove objects around, I think a lot of my experience would translate well when teaching her. Plus, if I’m being wholly honest, that woman is going to be a powerhouse when she gets older, and I wouldn’t mind adding her to the Elemental Fury roster.”

  “Always thinking about recruiting,” Titan chuckled.

  Gale nodded, no trace of shame on her masked face. “Damn right. That’s how teams last from generation to generation. Have to keep an eye on the future.”

  “Guess I can’t fault you for that.” Titan tipped back his beer, finishing the dregs. “You given any thought to Vince Reynolds or Thomas Castillo? I know they won’t be a good fit for you, but Elemental Fury could use a few more up-close brawlers. Granite does good work; he just needs some relief at times. Both those boys seem to be able to take or stop a lot of punishment.”

  “Reynolds is out. Same problem as with you and Chad: no one on the team has the right experience to help him grow. Castillo is a maybe. If he uses that orange energy to function like a strongman, then Granite might be able to help him, but it’s kind of a stretch.” Gale paused, gently tapping the side of her drink. “Actually… the reason I asked you about Roy is because I was thinking he might make a good intern for Granite. Tough, strong, and heavy-hitting, they both play in the same wheelhouse. But when I saw the weird distance… well, I didn’t want to step on any toes. I owe you that much.”

  “I appreciate it,” Titan said. “But bring Granite next time, if you think they might be a good fit. It’s not my place to stand in the way of Roy’s future. He deserves all the offers he’s earned. At the end of the day, only he can decide what the right course for his future is.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, before Gale leaned in and whispered, “You’re really not going to tell me what’s up with you two?”

  “Good night, Gale. I’ll see you back in Brewster.”

  103.

  Romance was out. They’d seen Sally Daniels on several dates with the tall man that no one could seem to find an identity for, which was worrisome enough on its own, but it meant that Randolph couldn’t use his normal methods of information gathering. Shame, too. Divorced women with empty nests were something he considered to be a specialty. But coming in from that route was too risky; it depended entirely on her being of low moral fiber and cut off a half dozen other potential avenues of approach.

  Friendship, then, was his best way in; however, it needed to be carefully crafted. Sally was an observant woman, one who took few chances with her safety. That meant she would be on guard for any sort of approach that rang out as suspicious. Randolph, considering the sit
uation, had decided not to be the one to approach her. When people did things themselves, they imagined it had been their own idea all along. The only question then became how to put himself in a position where she would approach, and that was a surprisingly easy one to solve.

  Sally Daniels, caring soul that she was, volunteered on Saturdays at Shelby’s House, the charity for Powereds. While this did indeed seem like a strike in the favor of her boys being in the experimental group, it was also possible she was simply bored and trying to connect with her community. Sherman didn’t pay for half-answers; he wanted confirmation or nothing at all.

  That was why, early Saturday morning, Randolph was lined up with the other new volunteers—half earnest do-gooders and half people working through some sort of probation or punishment— as their tasks were explained. He smiled as the organizer talked, a perfectly-honed grin meant to be sincere and approachable. It certainly helped that he was attractive, though not so handsome as to be intimidating, and fit without being an obvious gym rat. Randolph considered it his duty to fill any role that was needed, and by shifting a few ounces of attitude in any direction, he could accomplish that task. Seducer, confidant, best friend, harmless peon, or today’s special: hapless volunteer.

  Before noon, Randolph had made it a point to trip over three different objects, dropping boxes twice. Never anything breakable, of course; he wanted to seem clumsy and inept, not like a genuine annoyance. Every time, he was quick to apologize, always with that same grin in place, staying just on the right side of loveable. On the third time Randolph went tumbling, he saw Sally take notice. Now it was just a matter of time. She was motherly, through and through. Soon, she’d make time to show him the ropes, won over by his sincerity even as he lacked effectiveness. Maybe it wouldn’t be this Saturday, but if he kept at it, the meeting was inevitable.

  By the time his shift ended, Randolph had successfully befriended most of his fellow new workers and a few of the more experienced ones. Tempting as it was to stick around and keep trying to catch his target’s eye, playing it aloof was the smart choice. Haste only led to wasted opportunities. Better to be safe, smart, and certain as things moved forward.

  He left the building feeling quite pleased with himself and his first day’s work. Randolph made it precisely six steps before the thick black bag slammed down atop his head, plunging him into darkness.

  * * *

  “I want to thank you all for coming. I know our numbers aren’t quite what they were at the year’s beginning, but I’m certain that once this semester’s finals are over we’ll see a resurgence, so we need to be ready with events and protests to welcome everyone back with.”

  Kennedy Dawson was either optimistic or lying. Will didn’t detect any signs of insincerity in her words, but that might simply mean the person she was lying to was herself. Take Back Lander was fading, and while the approaching finals certainly weren’t helping, it was the peace on campus that was really chopping away at their ranks. After May, Will had no doubt people were scared, and angry, and looking for people to blame. Their complaints even had some grains of truth in them; he was objective enough to admit that. But with every passing week of normalcy, that horrible night grew further and further away from their thoughts. Meanwhile, Heroes were all over the news, even more so than usual, busting criminals and hunting down the Sons of Progress. This sort of movement thrived on events; it needed reasons to keep going as kindling for the fire of their passion, otherwise it would simply burn away to nothing.

  That was why Will had chanced coming to a meeting in person, something he and Camille had both eased back on in recent months. As the numbers dipped, being a regular was somewhat too conspicuous. While he always kept a digital eye on the events, Will felt like being seen too often was an unnecessary risk. Still, he did need to keep coming for at least a bit longer. As things seemed so close to ending, he knew the diehard believers might get desperate. When victory was close at hand was when one needed to be most prepared for defeat.

  Although he didn’t regret the caution, it seemed to be for naught. Kennedy was up there, assuring everyone that the movement would regain its lost steam soon, but she seemed to be the only one buying what she was selling. Around the room, eyes were darting down to phones or glazing over entirely. They’d lost momentum, and that was hard to regain without a call to action. Judging from the rest of the room, Will guessed that there were perhaps a few more meetings left for Take Back Lander before it just became Kennedy and a few friends sitting around a dorm room. If it survived Winter Break, he’d be shocked.

  The meeting came to an end, and Will slowly gathered himself to make for the door. He never dallied, and at the same time, never rushed. The image he wanted to present was a man who felt comfortable in this environment, yet still had other things to do. By the time he made it to the door, Kennedy had circled around, shaking hands and saying goodbye to everyone who’d shown up. It was a nice, personal touch, probably meant to keep the faces of her remaining supporters fresh in her mind while building a personal connection to them. Harder to bail on something when one felt emotionally invested in the ringleader, after all.

  His turn at the door came, and Kennedy gave his hand a brief, firm shake paired with her artificially white smile. As soon as their hands touched, Will felt it, though he gave no indication. He simply returned her warm farewell, finished the handshake, and left the building.

  It wasn’t until he was off campus that Will pulled out the small piece of paper she’d slipped in his hands. There wasn’t much written, only an address, time, and a date, which was two nights away. Will committed it to memory instantly, and then briefly wondered if he should reach out to Camille. Obviously, she couldn’t come; this event couldn’t have been more clearly identified as invite only. But it felt wrong to cut her out of the investigation after all the work she’d put in with him. Besides, it was probably prudent to have someone know where he was, and with whom, just in case. It might be overly cautious to arrange backup, but he’d just been thinking that he might have assumed too much about Take Back Lander when Kennedy slipped him the note.

  For a Subtlety Hero, overly cautious was the bare minimum.

  104.

  The sound of something snapping brought Randolph around, a primal part of his mind certain he’d heard his own bones breaking before the pain reached him. After a long moment, he realized that nothing on his body hurt that badly, although there was no shortage of bruises and sore spots. The sound hadn’t been bodily harm then. Not to him, at least. His eyes darted around the inside of the black sack, searching for any sign of light even as he strained to keep his breathing steady. So long as his kidnapper thought he was still out, there was a chance he might overhear something useful.

  “You can skip the theatrics. We know you’re awake.” The voice was cold, distant, and oddly professional. Randolph disliked it immediately. If the voice had been angry, that would have spoken to someone protecting a person they cared about. Those were folks who could be misguided; point them at a new target for their fury and they’d call Randolph an ally. The professionals, on the other hand, only ever wanted information. And they were rarely shy about how they got it.

  Suddenly, the bag was ripped off Randolph’s head, revealing four people in almost perfectly matching suits. The shortest of them was looking at him from a folding chair, icy blue eyes staring like they could see the foundations of Randolph’s soul. To his left was a tall man with dark skin and a perfectly shaved head, and on the right was a brunette woman wearing an off-putting grin. The sound of shoes on concrete (where in the hell was he?) echoed as the fourth person, holding the dark bag, stepped into view. Randolph felt his stomach sink as he recognized the tall man; this was the gentleman Sally had been seen on dates with. That he was willing to show his face meant Randolph wasn’t going to be walking away from this one. Jail had just become his best case scenario.

  “You’re not as good as you think you are,” said the tall man, walking over to join
his friends. “Sally noticed you three days ago, when you were at the same supermarket. She called a telepath from two doors over to do some snooping, and they had you made as a spy before dinner. You really should have picked an easier target.”

  “Guess we should have gone after the ex-husband.” Randolph was trying a risky play, making them aware of another potential target. If they didn’t know everyone his people were looking at, they couldn’t protect them all. That might lead to bargaining chips later in the discussion. Unfortunately, his words were not met with the expected reactions of worry or outright fear.

  Instead, all four people just stared at him, eyes wide, until the bald man started laughing, burying the mirth in his hands as he tried to pretend it was a coughing fit.

  “Mr. Stop, if you would please keep a professional demeanor,” scolded the short one.

  “Sorry, Mr. Numbers. It’s just… come on, tell me that wouldn’t have been hilarious,” Mr. Stop said, barely getting the words out between faux coughs.

  “I don’t know, something tells me the cleanup on that would have been a biiiiiiitch,” the woman replied. She met Randolph’s eye for a moment, offering him a quick wink. Despite the fact that it was normally a friendly gesture, Randolph felt something in his stomach turn.

  “You were pretty much fucked the minute you decided to mess with this family,” the tall man said. “But let’s not dwell on the awful, idiotic decisions that brought you here. Let’s focus on the new, smarter choices you’re about to start making. The sort that will allow us to hand you over to the proper authorities.”

  “For what? Shopping at the same store as someone? Volunteering for charity? I hope you have something more substantial than that.” Being aggressive was a dangerous strategy at this point, but Randolph was short on options. Assuming these were good people, he could, ideally, convince them that the crimes were a misunderstanding. Telepaths weren’t infallible; if he conceived a good excuse for whatever was supposedly picked up then he might be able to plant the seed of doubt.