Renegades

by Marissa Meyer

  The other teams began dispersing across the field, too, some looking up questioningly at the Council, unsure if they were supposed to wait or not, but the Council was busy talking to one another and not paying the field much attention. The circle of tables started to fill up. The onlookers in the stands squealed, excited fans trying to catch the attention of their favorite heroes.

  “Here we go!” called Oscar, appearing from the crowd in the corridor. His free hand was carrying a tray loaded with food and drinks waiter-style over his head. “Two-tone cotton candy for the lady, popcorn for my man, please help yourselves to some garlic fries or choco-crunchies, but do not touch my smoothie or I won’t hesitate to kill you and everyone you’ve ever loved.”

  Ruby snagged the bag of cotton candy from the top of the pile. “Oscar, can I have a sip of your smoothie?”

  Oscar fixed a cold look on her for three, four seconds, then wilted. “Yeah, all right.”

  Jigging in place, Ruby took the smoothie from the tray. Oscar’s eyes followed the straw into her mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  Adrian rolled his eyes, sneaking a handful of popcorn.

  On the Council’s platform, Blacklight approached the microphone and held his arms open to the crowd. “Welcome to the fourth annual Renegade trials!”

  The crowd cheered. The stands were full of fluttering signs, screaming fans, stomping feet.

  Adrian suspected this had not been the intention when the Renegades had first risen up all those years ago. Back then, anyone who was willing to stand up and fight against the villain gangs was a hero. You didn’t need a special pin or a title to do it. You didn’t need anyone’s approval.

  Now, they weren’t so much vigilantes as celebrities. Celebrities who had an important job to do, but celebrities nonetheless. And they were becoming so political, influenced not by the needs of the people, but by what would garner the most public support. What would make them more interesting.

  He knew the Council was only trying to hold the city together, still trying to solidify their tenuous control. He knew it hadn’t been easy for them. They had all been in their twenties when they defeated Ace Anarchy—except Blacklight, who had been barely nineteen at the time. They had been heroes and crime fighters for years, but none of them had planned on becoming leaders and lawmakers.

  They had done their best. They had built a new city on the bones of an old one, working tirelessly to heal the wounds the villain gangs had left on their society. Order and justice had come first—some sort of legal system, with the Renegades themselves both the creators and defenders of the new order. But that had been only the beginning.

  The people told them they needed food, so the Renegades cleared away entire city blocks of rubble and debris to make room for community gardens and agriculture.

  The people needed shelter, so they repaired countless abandoned buildings to make them habitable and safe.

  The people needed education for their children, so they allocated funding for teachers and supplies and selected community centers where regular classes could take place.

  The people needed security and representation, so they set up the Renegade call center and weekly appointments with the Council for citizens who wished to share their grievances.

  The people needed livelihoods, so the Council fought to bring manufacturing and construction work into the city, establishing new trade deals with countries that had been cut off for decades.

  When there was no funding to keep society moving forward, the Council exchanged the one resource they did have—superheroes and superpowers. In some ways, Renegades had become a commodity, one of the most valuable commodities the world over. Though prodigies came from all over the world to be trained and indoctrinated in Gatlon City, once they were a part of the ever-growing syndicate, they might be sent overseas to assist with hurricanes and floods, fight wars, vanquish crime rings, or help with extracting natural resources from the earth. Foreign governments, many of which had suffered themselves from the rise of villains and Anarchist copycat gangs, were willing to pay handsomely for the Renegades’ services, and that wealth had trickled back into the city, just enough to keep them moving forward.

  The relationships had come with a side benefit too. In a short time, the Renegades had become a multinational corporation, with embassies scattered across the globe. The result was that more and more young prodigies aspired to become one of the world’s greatest heroes and would make the pilgrimage to the annual trials in hopes of being accepted into their fold.

  So the Renegades grew stronger, and so did the city, and so did the Council. They had accomplished much in a decade. They had much to be proud of.

  And yet, with all this fanfare, all the hoopla and ceremony, Adrian couldn’t help feeling like they’d lost sight of the entire point. They were forgetting what they were.

  Not celebrities. Not politicians.

  Heroes.

  “Would all patrol units please come onto the field,” said Blacklight.

  The teams who had opted to stay in the corridor filed forward. Adrian found their table almost directly across from the gate where prodigy contestants would enter the field. He sat in the middle, with Ruby and Oscar on either side of him. Oscar scattered his array of snacks before them, and if he or Ruby cared that they were the only team snacking on fries and candy, they didn’t show it.

  Ruby grabbed the small tablet that sat on the table and began reading through the instructions on how to accept or reject a contestant, and the important responsibility each team carried to make choices that would strengthen the Renegades as a whole.

  After the initial burst of enthusiasm from the crowd had quieted, Blacklight explained the rules. Each contestant would be called out, one at a time, to answer questions from the team captains and perform a demonstration of their powers. Team captains could accept or reject the candidate, and the Council would have an opportunity to accept anyone who was not claimed by a team. If two or more teams wanted the same prodigy hopeful, that prodigy could choose which team to join.

  “And at any time,” Blacklight went on, “should a team disagree with the selection from one of their contemporaries, they may challenge an acceptance. In this event, the prodigy hopeful must go head-to-head against a member of the challenging team, and must win their duel in order to join the Renegades.”

  The crowd hollered. This was what they were hoping for. Not an easy selection process, but one full of twists and challenges and duels.

  It wasn’t about finding new heroes to protect the people, Adrian thought. It was about the spectacle.

  But the rules weren’t up to him.

  “And now,” said Blacklight, lifting a fist into the air, “let the trials begin!”

  Jets of light exploded from his hand—beams of red and gray bursting into fireworks over the arena.

  The crowd roared.

  Adrian took out his marker and doodled a miniature cannon onto the tablecloth, its fuse already lit. It was no bigger than his hand, but let off a startling bang as it released a torrent of confetti and smoke. The recoil pushed the cannon back on its wheel carriage and Adrian barely caught it as it rolled off the table’s edge. Ruby and Oscar clapped, but some of the Renegades at the next table cast them annoyed looks.

  “A kazoo,” whispered Oscar. “Make me a kazoo.”

  “Oh—I want cymbals,” said Ruby. “The cute little finger ones?”

  Adrian set the cannon down and kept doodling as Blacklight went on, “Please welcome our first contestant of the evening, trying out for his third year in a row … Dan Reynolds, aka … The Crane!”

  “I think I remember this guy,” said Ruby. “The origami one, right?”

  It was indeed the origami one. A college-aged guy who could fold paper into intricately shaped creatures, and then make them move or flutter under his command. Unfortunately, the creatures weren’t sentient, which severely limited their usefulness.

  The crowd booed and held up almost exclusively the Z
ERO sides of their cards. Soon, Dan Reynolds was rejected for the third time.

  “Poor guy,” said Ruby. “That’s rough.”

  “He should go into street performance,” said Oscar. “Tourists would pay mad money for those little turtles.” He gestured at a handful of colorful paper turtles that Dan had made, currently making their way slowly, slowly across the field. He blew his kazoo in sympathy.

  The next contestant, who called herself Babble, could speak any language instantaneously.

  “Cool,” whispered Ruby. “I wish I could do that.”

  Oscar leaned forward. “You bleed weaponized crystals.”

  “Yeah, but speaking all languages, without having to study them? Think how useful that would be.”

  None of the teams took Babble, but after a short discussion, the Council decided to bring her into the Renegade family anyway.

  The crowd seemed neither excited nor disappointed. Perhaps they understood the practicality of the decision.

  “Okay,” said Oscar, rubbing his hands together, “a good one’s coming up. I can feel it.” He paused, before adding, “By the way, are we hoping to find someone today?”

  “No,” Ruby said quickly. “We’re a great team just as we are. Right, Sketch?”

  Adrian blinked, his fingers stalling on the illustration of a small gong. “Absolutely,” he said. “We’re a great team just as we are. But … who knows? Maybe someone will surprise us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “NAME?”

  “Nova McLain.”

  The man seated at the registration table entered something on his tablet. Without looking up again, he held out his hand.

  Nova stared down at it. Was he asking for money? Did you have to pay to become a Renegade? She didn’t recall seeing anything about that. She didn’t have any money. Would they really exclude a prodigy just because—

  The man glanced up. “Application?” he said slowly.

  Nova flushed and cleared her throat. “Right,” she stammered, pulling the application from her bag and slapping it onto his open palm.

  The corner of the man’s mouth drooped as he laid the papers down on the desk and smoothed out the wrinkles.

  “Your alias will be announced when you’re called onto the field,” he said. “Are you sure you’re happy with…” He scanned the document. “‘Insomnia’? It can be hard to change after the fact.”

  Nova tipped forward, scanning the application upside down, though she knew it all by heart. Was he trying to tell her she should change it? Was Insomnia a poor choice? She liked it, actually, but now she was having doubts. It wasn’t Nightmare, but it wasn’t bad, either. Was it?

  “Um … yes?”

  The man, expression indifferent, entered the alias into the register.

  “Right hand,” he said, setting down the pen and picking a cotton ball from a canister. He dipped it into a shallow bowl half filled with clear liquid, then looked again at Nova, who had not moved. “Right hand,” he said again.

  She swallowed and gave him her hand. He rubbed the tip of each finger with the cotton ball and the distinct scent of rubbing alcohol wafted toward her. The cotton ball was cold and his hands were thick and clammy and Nova’s skin crawled the whole time. Though it only took a moment, she couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath when he finished.

  The man tapped the top of a small machine. A screen showed a diagram of a hand, the precise spaces where she should place her fingertips indicated with blue ovals.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “You’ll have to press and hold for a few seconds.”

  Bracing herself, Nova pressed her fingers against the screen. Her hand was trembling, but she did her best to hold steady as a ticker at the top of the screen indicated its progress through scanning her prints.

  By the time it finished and Nova eagerly folded her arms again, the man was frowning. He met her gaze again, newly suspicious.

  The prints on the screen were obviously mutilated—entire patches of the whorls in her skin cut through with flat, empty planes.

  “I burned them when I was a kid,” she said, the rehearsed lie tumbling out of her before he could ask. “You’ll see on my application that I’m really into science—chemistry and engineering, and … um. Anyway, I was doing an experiment. With acid. And … that happened.” She gestured to the screen.

  The man’s lips pursed. “Well,” he said, glancing at a second monitor, “they’re not pulling up any matches in our system. So.” He jerked his thumb over a shoulder. “Head on back through those doors and wait to be called.”

  Her body stilled. “Really?”

  “Really, what?”

  “Really, I can just … I can try out?”

  “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” He peered around her. “Next?”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

  Nova ducked away from the table and scurried through the swinging double doors.

  The room he sent her to must have been a locker room at one point—dank, cold, full of concrete and poor lighting, with the faint aroma of old sweat permeating the walls. The actual lockers had been removed, leaving faded impressions on the walls where they had been, and an alcove in the corner still had drains in the tile floor, though only holes where plumbing and shower heads had once been installed.

  Now the room was full of uncomfortable benches and a lot of nervous prodigies giving themselves quiet pep talks. A tinted picture window on one side looked out onto the field, where they could watch the ongoing trials. A current Renegade hopeful was making his way out into the center ring. Tables hosting the teams were set all around the field, and a giant paper banner had been strung between two pillars over the middle: DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES?

  To her right, a platform jutted out over the field, where all five Council members sat watching the proceedings. Even from down here she could see bandages wrapped around Thunderbird’s wing and she felt a spark of pride at the sight.

  Last year, Detonator had suggested they stage an attack at the trials, but Cyanide talked her out of it, believing there would be too strong a concentration of prodigies and Renegade supporters for them to be effective.

  Seeing it for herself, Nova knew he was right. There were prodigies everywhere. Renegades everywhere. It felt a bit like being surrounded by Queen Bee’s hives, if one happened to be allergic to bee stings.

  She focused on the field, where the contestant had just revealed that he had four extra arms emerging from his rib cage. The crowd came alive with red signs, the vast majority proclaiming—HERO!

  Nova scoffed. Did they really think that extra limbs made you a hero? Or being able to shoot fireworks from your hands? Or even having a layer of chromium beneath your skin?

  Heroism wasn’t about what you could do, it was about what you did.

  It was about who you saved when they needed saving.

  She crossed her arms, tapping her fingers against her elbows while the trials went on. Prodigies had come from all corners of the city, some from the far reaches of the world, even, in hopes of being accepted among the elite.

  Many were accepted, but those who weren’t … the looks of devastation on their faces almost, almost made Nova feel bad for them. That’s what they got, though, for putting so much faith into the Renegades.

  She shut her eyes and exhaled. The bitterness was pooling on her tongue, filling her mouth with a sour taste. The smell of sweat and nerves clogged her throat.

  She did not belong here. She didn’t even want to be here. If Cyanide hadn’t put the idea in her head, she doubted it ever would have crossed her mind.

  But if she made it—if she became a Renegade—she could make a difference. What could she learn from the inside, about their headquarters, the Council, their plans for the city?

  Not to mention her new enemy.

  The Sentinel.

  Even thinking the name made her stomach tighten, and she thought again of the smug righteousness he’d had on the rooftop when he’d said it
. I am the Sentinel.

  Gag. Ew. Bleh.

  He was nothing but a fancy science experiment, but the nature of the experiment eluded her the more she thought of it. He had too many powers, too many abilities for one prodigy. She’d never seen anything like it. And if the Renegades had somehow contrived a way to bestow multiple superpowers on one individual, what would stop them from making an entire army of them?

  It was already hard enough to fight against them. For ten years the Anarchists had clung to the last shreds of livelihood and freedom. Nova feared the Sentinel could be the end of life as they knew it.

  But not if she could learn more, and find out some way to fight against him, or to destroy him entirely, and anyone else they made in his image.

  Knowledge is power.

  One of Ace’s favorite phrases, drilled deep into her head over the years. To overthrow the Renegades, they needed knowledge. They needed to know their enemy’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities.

  And if they succeeded … if she succeeded …

  To no longer be seen as a parasite in society. To be feared would be so much better than this—the sneering, the mocking, the small-minded insults from people who would rather be kept under the thumbs of their idols than be allowed to live free, by their own will and choices.

  She opened her eyes again. Could she really pull it off? She would have to spend days or weeks or even months pretending to be one of them. How long would she be able to maintain such an act? How long before they, too, realized she did not belong?

  Out in the arena, the crowd went into fits of laughter as a prodigy demonstrated her power—expanding her head like a helium balloon, then floating a few feet above the ground until it deflated again.

  The laughter that filled the stands was amused at first, but soon turned toward cruel. It disgusted Nova. Sure, the girl might have looked silly, but could any of them do what she was doing? Did they really believe they were better than her?

  The Renegade teams input their responses and the word REJECTED flashed across the scoreboard. The girl was sent off the field to a chorus of boos.

  Nova felt sick with abhorrence when she heard her name blaring over the loud speakers.