by H. L. Burke
“That sounds a little bit like a villain’s manifesto. Rewriting and re-educating people for our own purposes.” Prism wrinkled her nose.
“Perhaps, but in this case, he agreed to the procedure as part of the plea deal. Otherwise, it would’ve gone to trial, and even with the difficulty of executing a sable, the prosecution would’ve pushed for the death penalty.” Pain rippled Talon’s face. “Thirty lives lost meant there were a lot of heartbroken survivors out for blood.”
The room fell silent other than the sputtering from the now mostly empty coffee pot.
Prism regretted the tiny sip of coffee she had taken. It felt like it would eat its way through her roiling stomach—or maybe that was her own nerves. She had worked so hard to convince herself that working with Fade, bringing him back into the fold, was the right thing to do, the way to honor her father. Now, not only was she possibly wrong about the sort of man Fade was, but that man might not even exist any more. Rewritten. Re-educated. Remade.
Father believed in him, and Father was the wisest man I ever knew.
“Did it work?” she finally asked.
“It’s hard to say.” Talon sighed. “For one thing, DOSA has been unwilling to risk releasing him, and it’s hard to judge a man’s character when he spends his day sitting in a cell reading. Our professional evaluation? His caretakers describe him as independently-minded, stubborn, pragmatic, sarcastic, and hard to read to the point of being evasive. Won’t give straight answers to inquiries as to his mental health even when it could mean potentially qualifying for parole at some point. All of which, from my experience working with him before the procedure, means that the bones of the man are still the same, whatever other aspects might’ve been altered.” Talon grunted in frustration. “Even during his time as a hero, Fade tended to be a wildcard. Didn’t like to play by anybody’s rules but his own.”
“I can understand that.” DOSA had a reputation of being less bureaucratic than other government agencies, but they could still micromanage their charges.
“Yes, well, I think those in charge of the experiment—which it was. No one had ever done anything like this, and willing guinea pig or not, Fade was still a guinea pig—hoped that a noticeably different man would emerge, one they could point to and brag about how they’d made a brand new human being who might have the desirable super abilities that Fade possesses but completely lacks his less, shall we say, societally compatible aspects.”
“Like free-thinking and the need to question authority.” Prism sniffed.
A wry smile crossed Talon’s face. “Always dangerous.”
Prism flailed for a way to convince Talon of what she wanted. She really had set her heart on starting this program with Fade. He represented everything her father had started the SVR Project for. A capable, powerful sable who had fallen into the wrong crowd young and just needed the right guidance to become a force for justice instead of crime.
Feeling her chance slipping away from her, she tried one last half-hearted argument. “If we bring him into the program it will provide an opportunity both to prove the SVR is viable again and to test if the memory erasure was actually effective.”
Talon placed his hand on her shoulder. “Luce, I know this means a lot to you, but—”
“Let her have him.”
Their heads snapped to the break room door. Cosmic stood in the doorway, her form-fitting white leather jumpsuit gleaming like a beacon in the fluorescent lights.
Talon gaped at her. “Are you sure?”
Prism frowned at her. “I thought you were against reforming the SVR Project?”
“I am, but if we’re going to do it, we should do it right.” Cosmic sighed and walked into the room, her stride commanding but somehow still seductive. Between her and the other committee members, Prism felt like an awkward eighth grader. She’d give anything to be that poised. No wonder Cosmic was the face of all the DOSA recruitment posters. “Fade has gone through intense re-education. Any other villain would need months of psychological counseling before I’d be willing to set him loose upon the streets, even well guarded.” Hardening her expression, she set her hands on her hips. “If you fail, though, if he gets out of hand again and even one civilian is harmed because of it, I will bury this program—and you—so deep even the Molemaster won’t be able to dig you out.”
Prism’s knees wobbled. “Yes, ma’am!”
With a curt nod, Cosmic spun on her heels and marched out of the break room.
Talon grunted. “Well, I guess she decided all on her own then. I hope you don’t regret this, Luce. This is a huge risk, and it could cost you your career.”
“I won’t let you down.” Prism rose onto her tiptoes, putting all her self-restraint into not doing a little dance. She should be terrified, but all she could think was how this was going to work. She was going to rehabilitate Fade and put her father’s work back together again.
Chapter Two
“Are you sure about this?” Talon murmured as they approached the sliding metal door. “I can go in with you if you want.”
“He doesn’t know my power set. If he tries anything, he’ll miss, and we can lock it down.” Prism flashed the older man her most confident smile. “I have faith in your people’s reaction time.”
He hesitated. “If you’re sure. I suppose we haven’t seen any sign of aggression since he came out of the procedure. Agitation yes, but that’s to be expected.”
“I’m familiar with his file.” And Father’s opinions. “Fade was never known for violence, even when he was active on the villain scene.”
“Until he was.” Talon reached for the panel next to the door, touched a quick series of buttons, and waited as a red beam scanned his face. The door opened with a “whoosh.” “If you need help, hit the panic button.” He nodded towards the phone sticking out of her front jacket pocket. “Don’t try to be a hero, Lucia.”
“That’s kind of my job description.” She winked at him before stepping through the doorway into the small antechamber before yet another door, this one without a control panel. An eerie purple light lit the small space. Her skin tingled under it, though she remembered the brief saying it should have no effect on anyone but Fade. DOSA had had to scramble to create a cell that could hold him. While there was technology that could disable most superpowers, it tended to be short range, needing direct contact with the body. Besides, DOSA wanted a field that would disable Fade but let the “good guys” keep their powers so they could deal with him. Prism hated to imagine how many taxpayer dollars had gone into developing it.
“Remember,” Talon’s voice echoed through a speaker overhead, making her jump. “First sign of danger, even a slight feeling that something is wrong, hit the button. We’ll pull you out.”
“Got it,” she groaned. She squared her shoulders and stared forward as icily as she could manage as the door slid open. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. She had to make this work. For Father.
Accessing her powers, she projected herself a foot before her actual position and stepped into the cell.
Fade looked up, dark eyes glinting. The harsh purple lighting reflected oddly on the brown skin of his shaven scalp. He appeared younger to her than the thirty-four years she’d read in his file—but whether that was super genes or her own inability to judge age she wasn’t sure. Though the orange jumpsuit wasn’t doing him any favors, he had a handsome face, just like the pictures in his file, but not an extraordinary one. Of course, she knew from experience that most super-abled people looked completely normal.
His eyebrows melted towards each other, and he leaned forward on the cot he sat upon. “You lost, kid?”
Prism hardened her mouth. “My name is Prism.” Professionally, anyway. She’d keep her real name in her pocket for a while longer.
“Prism, huh?” He tilted his head. “Excuse me if that doesn’t ring a bell. In my defense, the mind-zappers here made certain nothing would.”
“Talon told me.” The room was spars
ely furnished with only the cot, a pressboard desk with some writing instruments and a few books, and a single chair. She crossed to this and sat upon the desk, projecting her image into the chair so as to maintain her advantage.
“So, Prism ... some sort of light-related powers? Blinding flashes? Laser vision?” His dark eyes pierced her projection, and she managed not to smirk. She’d first realized her own ability when she instinctively used it to avoid eye contact during a dressing down from her father. Steely gazes lacked power when aimed vaguely rather than directly at her.
“That’s not important.” She crossed her legs. “I’m here to talk to you about getting outside of this cell again.”
His eyes widened, then he scowled. “You’re wasting your time. I’m not redeemable. It’s been tried.”
“That’s not my understanding. Besides, you voluntarily agreed to go through the re-writing process. You’re not the same man who ... who made the choices you did.” Her throat tightened. Did he even know what those choices were?
“No, but I read my file, and having my memory erased doesn’t resurrect those thirty lab employees—or bring any comfort to their families.”
“If you read your file, then you know you claimed the deaths were an accident,” she allowed her voice to soften. “It was a robbery gone wrong, not an attempt at mass murder.”
He snorted. “The judge didn’t believe me, and honestly, based on the file, I don’t either. The containment field had too many fail-safes to overload like that for anything other than intentional sabotage.” He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t remember that version of myself, but I imagine he would’ve said a lot to try and reduce the sentence. This version of me has nothing to lose.”
She stared at her own hands. He was right. From what Talon had told her about Fade’s case, the evidence was damning. Multiple experts had examined the scene, and it appeared the containment field had been purposefully overridden, allowing the release of the gas that, while fatal to normally-abled people, had done nothing to Fade due to his powers.
They sat in silence. This wasn’t going how she’d hoped. She’d expected Fade to jump at an opportunity to regain his freedom. That he might want to stay locked up ... it didn’t make sense. Well, maybe she simply needed to use her prepared speech.
“DOSA is bringing back the Supervillain Rehabilitation project,” she began.
A horn-like laugh made her jump so hard the desk shook under her. She braced herself, hoping Fade wouldn’t notice.
Fade smiled wryly. “You idiots never learn, do you? That program failed miserably. Supervillains don’t change. We’re sick on power, and we don’t like limits. We’re not some wayward teens you can whip into shape. Putting a bunch of us together—”
“We’re not,” she interrupted. “We did learn from the last experience. Attempting to rehabilitate in groups, massive mistake. There’s just too many variables to control and one failure can swamp the whole program. This time we’re taking a one-on-one approach: one former villain inserted into a team of super-abled good guys. If the process shows signs of failure, that villain is immediately re-incarcerated.”
“How many teams are currently running?” He narrowed his gaze at her.
She swallowed. “None. You’ll be the first. Our trial run, as it were.”
His eyes widened. “You want to start with me?”
“You were one of the few success stories out of the original program. You went from a master thief and spy for hire to one of the best agents under DOSA’s watch—”
“And then I went rogue, used my security clearance to case a vulnerable target, and killed off over two dozen human beings who were just trying to do their jobs so they could get home to their families.” He shook his head. “I was given a choice between execution and a total rewrite of my memory pathways to essentially erase everything I ever was. Excuse me if I don’t really see that as a success.”
Her heart sank.
He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand as if it hurt. “Look, kid—”
“Stop calling me that.” I’m twenty-six, for Heaven’s sake. Though she wasn’t sure that number would act in her favor so she kept quiet.
“Prism, then, if we’re going to be theatrical about this.” He rolled his eyes. “I know that’s not your real name.”
“All right, Greg,” she snapped back at him.
He grimaced. “Mine is my real name. Legally. I had it changed. It’s in my file.”
She continued to glare.
“Look, Prism.” He stood and approached her projection. She tensed. If he touched her the game would be up. Still, his stance wasn’t threatening. “I get that you want to make a splash. I’m guessing this is your first time leading a DOSA project? You want a big win, not just converting some petty shifter pulling off small time identity theft or a pathic running a crooked poker scheme. I’m not your guy, though. I’m beyond saving. Well beyond. Perhaps I was from the get-go, using the SVR Project to get out from under my record while biding my time until I could pull a big score. You seem like a nice k ... person.”
At least he was trying.
“But pick an easier target for your first time out.” He turned and took a step towards his cot again.
She couldn’t let him walk away from this. She had one last card to play. “My father told me you had a good heart and a strong spine and anyone with those two traits could be brought back on the right path.”
He tensed. His shoulders hunched towards his ears then slouched. “You’re Allay’s daughter, aren’t you?”
She drew back. “How— You were memory wiped. How did you know?”
He turned to face her again. “I told you I read my file. I don’t remember him, but the notes painted a pretty good picture. Original mastermind behind SVR. Hand picked his targets and worked with them non-stop. He died right before my incident, didn’t he? It was mentioned in my file as a possible determining factor in my relapse.”
She nodded, grief squeezing at her heart.
“File didn’t mention he had a family, let alone family in the business. I guess it wouldn’t, though.” He sat down heavily. The corners of his mouth quavered, his gaze focused on his feet. “Your dad gave me a chance I didn’t deserve, and I blew it. What makes you think I won’t do the same with you?”
“My father took great pride in what he did with you, more than he did with all his other superwork combined.” She bit her bottom lip then let her projection fade. He leaped to his feet, staring at her new location. Crossing the room, she put her hand on his shoulder. Her head only came up to his chest. Even without his superpowers, if he wanted to hurt her, it wouldn’t be hard for him. “He believed in you, and if I’m going to carry on his work, I want you to be a part of it. I have special permission from DOSA. All the paperwork is done. I just need your approval, your agreement to enter the program.”
He avoided her gaze. “You know what I did. Just because I can’t remember that I made those choices doesn’t mean I’m a different person than the man who made them.”
“You aren’t trying to justify your actions, though.” She could feel a hum of energy beneath her fingers. Perhaps his abilities, fighting against the buffering in an attempt to assert themselves. “When you think about what you did, what do you feel?”
“Shame.” He closed his eyes. “So much ...”
Her heart went out to him, but she immediately pulled back. If only she had her father’s mind-related powers instead of her mother’s light-based abilities. It would be so much easier if she could read his sincerity—or lack thereof.
Still, Father had known Fade. He’d staked his reputation on the then young man’s reformation.
“For my father, please. Let me help you.”
He opened his eyes and looked directly into hers. A shiver cut through her. He had nice eyes, dark and deep, not cold the way she’d have expected a killer’s eyes to be. She had to believe he wasn’t what Talon said he was. What the evidence
says he is ...
Ashamed of her own naivete, she broke eye contact.
“You sure you want me?” he murmured. “I want to try, but there’s a pile of evidence that says this is a bad idea.”
“Do you want to be a hero again?” she asked. “It’s not like you can fall into villainy by accident. It’s a conscious choice, what path you take. If you’re willing to commit to walking that path, I’ll walk it with you.” She considered him. Mentioning her father had surprisingly gotten a reaction out of him. Maybe that was the key to this negotiation. “For my father.” She returned her gaze to his, and he nodded.
“All right,” he said, his voice calm. “Let’s give this a go.”
Chapter Three
Prism’s phone buzzed in her pocket as she waited for the holding facility to finish processing Fade. She drew it out.
Aiden: I took the liberty of removing all the pointy objects from the house in preparation for receiving our new “guest.”
She typed back: What exactly do you think that’s going to accomplish? Besides making lunch time a bother when I can’t find anything to slice my avocados?
Aiden: Can’t be too careful. Villains like to get all stabby stabby. Plus it will amuse me to see you struggling with your avocados.
She sent him an eye roll emoji and shoved her phone back in her jacket pocket.
The door opened, and Talon emerged into the lobby, accompanied by another man in a business suit carrying a briefcase.
“We’re just about done,” the man spoke. “We took the liberty of fitting the subject with an ankle monitor equipped with a disruptor field.” The man opened the briefcase and took out a small remote control, about the size of a car-key fob. He offered this to Prism. “The field isn’t strong enough to disrupt all his powers. Basically anything more than a few inches from the field projector, he’ll have full access to his abilities.”
