The Ables

by Jeremy Scott

  “Confused and frightened, Elben’s fearsome army panicked and scattered, and the Ables concentrated their abilities on the main villain himself, winning the day.” She paused, perhaps considering whether to finish this particular story. “Convinced Elben’s abilities posed a permanent threat to the entire planet’s population, they executed him right then and there in a place we now refer to as the Bleeding Grounds.”

  Mrs. Crouch took a very large deep breath before continuing.

  “So, children, ‘believers’ is a word used to describe modern-day custodians who are part of a kind of order—an almost religious group that not only believes the old-world stories are true but also believes he’s coming back.”

  I couldn’t help but interject at that point. “What do you mean, ‘coming back?’”

  “In some of our texts, some of the oldest ones, there are prophesies. And one such prophecy suggests—according to some interpretations, not all—that ‘the one who can do all’ will return. That one day, the world will see another custodian with all the powers at once. The Believers treat this prophecy the way Christians treat the Bible or Muslims treat the Qur’an. They treat it like a religion.”

  “You mean they worship this Elben guy? The guy that might come back?” Bentley joined the discussion. It never took more than a few seconds for him to become interested in whatever the topic happened to be. He was the most voracious learner I’d ever met.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Crouch declared. “They essentially worship an individual that may or may not appear one day.”

  Everyone seemed deep in thought for a moment or two before Bentley spoke up again. “Do you believe the prophecies, Mrs. Crouch?”

  She spoke so fast, she nearly cut him off. “Of course not,” she said dismissively. “They’re reading far too much into these texts—some of them are just markings on the wall of a cave! They see what they want to see. They infer what they want to infer.” For good measure, she added, “And I don’t believe in reincarnation either.”

  This was a huge relief to me. I probably sighed out loud. Mrs. Crouch had just told me about the boogeyman but then instantly squashed him like a bug. I wanted to hug her.

  “Now,” she continued, “that’s not to say the world will never see another multi-powered individual. In fact, there are people with dual powers that we know of. Some people call them Jekyll-Hydes, because it’s like two personalities. They have two powers, but most can only use one at a time, and it depends on their emotional and mental state. They’re rare, but they exist.

  “Basic logic tells you it’s possible for a person with all known powers to exist. It’s just math and statistics. It’s going to happen someday. It could well be millions of years from now, but even the rarest possibility sees its day in the sun.”

  Then she gave the boogeyman CPR, resuscitated him, and offered him a glass of water.

  As though sensing our fear—I can only assume that the other students were just as terrified of a multi-powered monster rampaging through their bedrooms as I was—Mrs. Crouch decided to try and help ease the worry. “There are things just as scary as a man with many powers, kids, and maybe some things even scarier. There are powers that would send chills down your spine.”

  On further reflection, I decided perhaps her intention wasn’t to make us feel better after all. Maybe she was trying to toughen us up or something.

  “There are records of a woman in the first century who could turn into a black hole and suck up anything and everything around her that she wanted, sending them to some nothingness on the other side of the universe. In 500 BC, there was a man named Arbor, and everyone who ever touched him died instantly. There’s a man alive today, in custody, mind you, that can melt people just by pointing at them.”

  This was getting worse by the second, at least as far as my future nightmares were concerned. Maybe Mrs. Crouch had a change of heart, and instead of easing away from the difficult topic, she’d decided to press forward? Maybe she was teaching us a lesson about being careful what we wished for with this Q&A stuff?

  “I don’t know how to tell you this gently, kids, but it’s a scary world out there. Many of you will graduate and go on to Goodspeed, and you’ll end up working in a job where people shooting guns at you is a regular occurrence. Villains … are real. They exist, and some day, you will need to face them. The less time we spend easing you into that reality, the faster we can start training and preparing you for it.

  “Yes, there are people out there who wish to destroy us, and some of them are fervent. Some of them are zealots, like the Believers. But there have always been such people, and there will always be such people.

  “Yes, we may one day find ourselves without the secrecy and privacy we’ve come to cherish, and we’ll have to decide—as a people—what risks are worth taking in the pursuit of fighting evil. And the world will change when that happens. But then, someday, not long after, the world will change again.

  “The world changed for most of you just a few short weeks ago, when you went from ignorant bliss to knowing that superheroes are real. The world will change again several times in your lifetimes. And we will adjust and we will carry on and we will defeat the darkness. Because that’s what heroes do.

  “I wish it could all be roses, kids, but I’m doing you an injustice if I skip over the thorns.”

  Chapter 6: The SuperSim

  There’s something different in the sound of an entire student body filling the halls when they know the destination isn’t a classroom. It’s a touch more jovial an atmosphere, and my classmates and I were feeling it too.

  It was a Monday during the fifth week of the school year, and we were on our way to our first convocation. During the first period of the day, normally reserved for homeroom, the entire student body was instead herded together into the gymnasium.

  Except for the topic, it was like every other school assembly I’d ever attended. The students lined the bleachers, while the teachers all mingled around the basketball court. Most of our special ed class was all in one row together—the first row—with Henry and his wheelchair on the end.

  The gym was cold—colder than the classroom, for sure—probably to help counter the rise in temperature that could be expected from cramming a thousand people into a room together. No one would be more acutely aware of the combined body odor of the room in a few minutes than me.

  Judging from the way the sounds were reverberating throughout the room, I was pretty sure it was larger than any school gymnasium I’d ever set foot inside.

  The guys and I were speculating on what the assembly topic would be, and Bentley had his money on a rules crackdown. He’d heard about some vandalism problems. Actually, he’d overheard, perhaps even eavesdropped, while his dad was dining with some of his board buddies.

  Henry, meanwhile, was convinced it was something more exciting, like a school dance or something. I cannot emphasize enough how badly I hoped it was not about a school dance. My theory, which I kept to myself, was a darker one. I was fearing the worst, as I tended to do. Some evil criminal had escaped superhero jail and was on the loose, I was fairly certain of it. Someone with a penchant for murdering middle-schoolers, no doubt.

  Before the debate could gain any traction, I heard feedback from the microphone and a gentle tap. And then I heard the voice of a scrawny old man—at least, that’s what I guessed the owner of this voice looked like. It was nasally and high-pitched. “Check.” More gentle tapping. “Check.” He said the word as though it had two syllables, drawing it out as long as possible. “It’s on?”

  This is going to be the longest convocation of my life.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?” The rowdy crowd quieted just a hair, but not all the way. “May I have your attention?” If he’d spoken louder on the second attempt, I couldn’t tell, and I have pretty good ears. The crowd quieted another degree but was still plenty loud. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with this technique.

  So he tried a
new word, one that made absolutely no sense to me. “Chelsey.” Then, without warning, a loud and deep voice boomed throughout the gym. “I said, quiet!” It could have been God, for all I knew. He sounded powerful and angry and absolutely everywhere.

  “That’s Principal Dempsey,” Bentley whispered in my ear as the voice’s echo started to wane. “He’s what’s called a ‘broadcaster.’ He can manipulate sound waves!” he sounded pretty impressed. I was still grappling with temporary deafness. The first voice and the second voice belong to the same guy?

  Just out of curiosity, I asked, “Is he a scrawny, skinny little hundred-year-old guy?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know?” Again, Bentley sounded impressed.

  “Just a hunch.” Another thought hit me. “How is he able to use his powers in the school if it’s a no power zone?”

  “Did you hear him say ‘Chelsey?’”

  I nodded.

  “That’s the call to lower the NPZ. He says it over a walkie-talkie, and the person controlling the NPZ knows to lower it.”

  “I’m guessing that person’s name is Chelsey,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “Don’t know,” Bentley admitted. “No one knows who it is. That’s why they do it that way, so that he or she can’t be compromised. For all we know, Chelsey is just a code word. In fact, that’s probably much more likely a possibility than the person actually being named Chelsey.”

  Principal Dempsey spoke again. “Chelsey.” When the room was finally completely still, he continued in his normal speaking voice, which meant that his next sentence took forever. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to bring up Coach Tripp to lead this assembly. And he’s going to tell you about the SuperSim.”

  This set off a murmur of confusion among the students.

  What on earth is a SuperSim?

  “Calm down. Quiet down.” Most of us didn’t want to hear the “angry principal voice” again, so we shut it up fast this time. “Coach Tripp?”

  I said a quick prayer that Coach Tripp was under sixty years old and able to speak at a more reasonable pace.

  “Guys and girls, get ready to be excited, because you’re going to love the Super Simulation, or as it is commonly known, the SuperSim.” My prayers were answered. He sounded like a young man—younger than my father, at least—and his voice was filled with a friendly energy. “This year, after much debating in the various local governing bodies, the board has decided to reinstate an annual tradition that hasn’t been followed in over twenty years.”

  Coach Tripp had my complete attention.

  “We want you students to learn … to get an education. And we want you to socialize and be kids and have fun. But more than you may realize, we want you to be prepared for the life ahead of you should you choose to play the role of heroes. Therefore, in five weeks’ time, we will be commencing the first of three Super Simulations, with the second two events taking place during second semester. The SuperSims are full-scale, city-wide custodian simulations, where you’ll have the chance to compete in teams to be the first to save the day.”

  The murmuring started up again, but Coach Tripp just kept going.

  “The SuperSim is a huge event, guys. It requires the efforts of nearly the entire town to plan, stage, and execute a heroes-versus-villains scenario that you will then attempt to complete. There will be no taking turns. It’s every team playing at once. There will be a list of instructions—we’ll go over them in a moment—and then you’ll get a handout and some ground rules, but we will not tell you a thing about the simulation itself. It’ll be up to you and your team to discover the crimes, track down the perpetrators, and subdue them—just as if you were fully-grown official custodians out in the real world. There will be multiple fake criminals and multiple fake crimes throughout Freepoint. The winning team gets a nice championship trophy and bragging rights they can keep forever.”

  Another burst of spontaneous discussion, mixed with some applause, swept over the student body, but once again, the coach just kept on talking. “I’m going to ask you guys to keep it down or else I’ll end this thing right now.” He sounded like he meant it but also like he didn’t want to have to make good on the threat. I think he was as excited at the prospect of this thing as we were. “You guys will have plenty of time to find your teams, and then you can talk and cheer all you want. But let me get through these instructions first.”

  “Okay, here we go.” I heard some papers rustling around on the lectern. “Participation in the SuperSim is optional. If, for some reason, you do not wish to join a team and take part, that is totally okay. If you do wish to be a part of it, you’ll need to pick up one of the registration packets on that table over there by Mrs. Franklin on your way out. Inside, there’s a permission slip. You cannot participate without your parents’ permission. Let me repeat that. You cannot participate in the SuperSim without a signed parental consent form.”

  A parental consent form would be tough, considering my mother’s tendency to be overprotective of me. But I knew my father wanted to nurture the little hero in me, so maybe he would be okay with it.

  “Teams must have at least four members and can have no more than seven. You are allowed to name your team, but please keep it clean, guys. I reserve the right to refuse any inappropriate team names. Students are encouraged to choose their teammates wisely. Consider joining up with kids who have powers that complement yours, not just your friends. Think about all the possible scenarios you might encounter. You’ll want to be ready for as much as possible. Let’s see, here, what else? The event shall be timed. If there are no criminals apprehended within the allotted time, then there are no winners. However, each fictional crime and criminal will be assigned a point value by order of their difficulty. The team with the most points accrued by the end of the simulation event shall be the champions.”

  I had a feeling this thing was going to be amazing. My mind was already racing at the chance to compete in a citywide super-villain scavenger hunt. Whom should I be on a team with?

  “Now then, there are some rules as well.”

  As a group, we were nearly ready to burst. You could feel it in the air; I could, at least. There was so much pent up excitement, it was palpable.

  “The officials in the SuperSim will be faculty members of this school and other adults from Freepoint. They will be highly visible throughout town, and their word is final … on everything. If they tell you you’re disqualified, you are disqualified. If they tell you to stop doing something, you’d better stop. They are the referees of this simulation.”

  “Rule number two. No using your powers against other students or student teams. Period. This is a zero-tolerance policy. If you use your abilities against each other, you will not only be disqualified, you’ll be suspended from school, and you’ll probably face charges in city court as well.” Offhandedly, he added, “Not to mention the officials will likely prevent you from doing it anyway if you try it anywhere near their line of sight.”

  “Similarly, there is to be no sabotage of other teams or impedance to their progress in any way. This is you against the villains, okay? Not you against each other. We can have more than one winner here.”

  Enough, already!

  “Rule number three.”

  Oh, good grief.

  “The simulation shall last exactly four hours in total.”

  Kind of like this assembly.

  “At the conclusion of the time allotted, the success scores will be tallied and the trophy awarded to the team that earns the most points.”

  They have to make a rule for that?

  “Rule four. No unnecessary damage to property in the city. Again, guys, the officials will be out and about, highly visible and always watching. Don’t think you can get away with mischief here. You’ll ruin it for everyone, and you’ll only get busted for it in the end.”

  It sounded like he was wrapping it up. I definitely wanted him to be wrapping up.

  “That’s about it, I guess.”


  Praise the Lord.

  “Everyone’s going to get one of these packets. It’s got the instructions and rules, the parental consent form, and we’ve got an FAQ here as well. It’s full of useful and important information. And the sign-up form itself. We’ll start accepting these tomorrow morning. You can bring them to the main office. You can ask any one of your teachers for more information if you have questions.”

  The students began to stir a bit, sensing their release was imminent. They were probably all itching at the chance to start talking about this thing with their friends. I know I was.

  The coach’s voice missed the microphone just enough to let me know he had his head turned to the side as he said, “Do we have anything else?” He was most likely looking at Principal Dempsey or the other teachers. Or both. “Okay,” he said, now facing the microphone directly again, “you are dismissed.”

  We rose, almost in unison, with an instantaneous thunder of conversation. Someone must have noticed what time it was, and that the entire assembly had lasted only about twenty minutes, because Coach Tripp shouted over the noise, saying, “Go back to your homeroom classrooms. Homeroom!” Other teachers echoed the instructions to the students nearest them as we all shuffled together toward the exit doors.

  My mind was racing on overdrive. I heard bits and pieces of the conversations happening around me as I inched forward with the masses. One kid to my left said something about wearing capes, and one of his buddies suggested masks. A girl that moved past me quickly said the word “compact,” but I’m pretty sure she was talking about her makeup. Though the thought struck me that she could have had the power to make herself really tiny, which could be useful in certain hero-type situations. But it was probably the makeup.

  These two guys behind me were clearly the two nerdiest kids in the universe. And you know you’re a nerd when even I think you’re one. One of them said he was a grower—he could cause plants and trees to grow with a wave of his hand. An excellent power, but maybe not great for catching villains. The poor guy swore there were stories of growers capturing criminals with strategic tree placement. His friend wasn’t in much better shape, I’m afraid, with the special ability to do impossible math in his head. Again, a useful skill, but it’s not one that’s particularly handy for crime-fighting. They were struggling to come up with names of kids they thought might consider joining their team, and I felt a bit sorry for them.