by Brian Cody
“Yeah, you don’t have to do that I… I know about that…stop”, Lamback called as he lifted his hands and glanced down the hall.
“So then…I’m really confused”, Erik remarked.
“I guess I should fill y’all in”, Lamback sighed as he adjusted his hat and turned to the door. “Come in, come in”, he called as he waved his arms. Turrisi entered, and the remainder of the group followed, stepping in, one by one, and entering a one-story apartment with white walls and tan carpeting. At the far end of the apartment, within the living room, was a flat-screen television, sterling silver and sixty inches in width that hung from the top-center of that wall and partly obscured the large, blind-covered window below it. Facing that television were two couches and one love seat arranged in a rectangular formation that surrounded a burgundy coffee table topped with dozens of used magazines. “You guys can take a seat on any of the couches”, Lamback continued as he closed and locked the door, turned to the left of the entrance, and stepped into a kitchen lined with pale-white counters, lacquered oak cabinets, and an empty sink. “Would any of y’all like coffee?”
“As much as I’d want to stay up, I’d also like to have little trouble in falling asleep after this”, Bryen remarked as the rest of the group surrounded the couches, looked to the television, and found it on ESPN.
“I’m a little curious”, David called as he stood by the dark-brown couch along the left wall, “who, exactly, do you work for?”
“Technically”, Lamback began as he walked to the farthest corner of the kitchen and fiddled with a white coffeemaker large enough to hold about five cups of brew, “the CIA—they’re the ones who trained me, and the ones who introduced me to this assignment, but, of late, I’ve been working undercover by direct orders of the DOJ (or the Department of Justice, for you civilians). But…technically, I have no real affiliation with the United States government, or that’s my cover if I’m captured.”
“What do you do with the CIA? Like, James Bond stuff?” Shawn asked as he stood behind the white love seat which sat parallel to the television.
“No, nothing that fancy; I’m mostly logistics, undercover intelligence, and, every once in a while, I shoot people from a hundred yards off.”
“Okay…why exactly did you get into the CIA (if you’re allowed to talk about it)?” Bryen asked as he sat on the dark-blue couch along the right wall and in front of a pantry.
“It’s in my blood”, Lamback replied. “My great grandfather was an anti-imperial spy in Austria. He was ‘burned’ (figuratively), and, by using his American contact, was able to seek refuge in the States.” He pressed a button on his coffeemaker before turning, and, with a grin, leaning on the counter, “my grandfather, his son, was sent back to Austria right before World War II as a spy for the Allies, and my father did previous work in the CIA while being stationed in Brasil, but he retired and became a missionary.”
“Oh, ‘missionary’”, Nate remarked with a smirk, “is that the government’s code for ‘deep-cover’?”
“No, it’s code for ’missionary’”, Lamback replied as the brewing coffee churned behind him.
“Okay…this might be kind of sudden…but why us?” David inquired as he took a seat on the edge of the brown couch and leaned.
“Give me a second”, Lamback called as he opened the cabinet next to his head, reached in, and pulled out a black mug. “Almost there”, he continued as he watched the dark liquid drip into its pot, “almost…” he paused as the coffeemaker coughed a hoarse and bellowing roar, while a blast of steam leaked from the top lid, “yeah, buddy!” he muttered as the coffeemaker stopped filling at the two-cup line. “All right”, he continued as he filled his cup, took a ten-second sip, lowered his mug, and filled it again. “Where should I begin?” he inquired as he sauntered to the group, his grin widened, due, as most of the onlookers assumed, to the caffeine. “Dave, can you pass me the remote?”
“Which Dave, Dave?” David asked.
“You should go by our last names; it’s what we’ve been doing for the last two-and-a-half years”, Turrisi explained as he thrust his hand into the magazines and yanked out a television remote.
“If Turrisi is even your real last name”, David remarked.
“No, it is”, Lamback replied as Turrisi lobbed the remote to him. He caught it, aimed for the television, and switched it to a white screen with a loading icon. “Dave…Turrisi…knew you all had powers when he met you your freshman year (or Piekarsky’s second sophomore year).”
“Yeah, but how did he know? The government didn’t even know about my family; none of us were registered”, Nate remarked as he sat on the brown couch.
“Yeah, we did”, Lamback replied. “Although we lost track of your family, we were able to figure out your identity, and…all of your identities at that, right before the majority of you had started college. You’re all registered, with social security numbers, dates of birth, blood types, powers, etc. It’s all on CORGI now.”
“CORGI?” Nate humphed.
“Collected Online Registry [of] Gifted Individuals—of the estimated two hundred thousand American gifteds within the twenty– to thirty–year-old age group, ninety-eight percent of them have been registered as of this day. If you can direct your attention to the screen.” Lamback pointed towards the television and entered a six-digit alphanumeric code. The group turned and then watched as that loading icon was replaced by a single-lined textbox, and, behind it, the image of a Welsh Corgi, its small but stout, rectangular, ash-grey form enlarged to appear just larger than life-sized as it sat in the center of the screen. “It’s the government’s search engine as far as gifteds are concerned.”
“It’s a tiny dog”, Bryen remarked.
“Yeah…well…the original programmer had this weird obsession with Corgis. It’s really efficient though; turned a football–field-sized room with paper documents into this neat video animation.” Lamback clicked the remote, causing the textbox to extend downward and to list a series of six previous searches.
“Are those our names?” Shawn asked as he looked around the room.
“In order of date of birth from youngest to oldest”, Lamback replied as he highlighted each name, first Bryen’s, then Erik’s, Shawn’s, Nate’s, Turrisi’s, and then David’s at the bottom. “Watch this”, he said as he selected all of the names.
The digitized Corgi jumped, snatched the list of names within its jaws, and jogged off, its small tail swaying from side to side, and its short legs scurrying in rhythmic turns as it ran far enough to diminish into a single dot. After a second-length pause, that dot grew in size, expanding as if it were speeding towards the screen, and then stopping to change the display into a search page, with a miniaturized Corgi sitting in the top-right corner and across another textbox on the left, and, below those two items and taking up the remainder of the screen, six documents bearing minimized text.
“I see all six of our names”, Bryen blurted as he glared at the screen with his glasses on his forehead.
“How can you read that without your glasses? Or even with your glasses?” Shawn asked. Bryen turned to Shawn, his yellow eyes, although not as bright due to the light from the screen, still appearing visible enough to illuminate his pupils.
“Confirmed”, Lamback remarked.
“What?” Brian grunted as he turned to him.
“Extremely acute eyesight—I can confirm that”, Lamback replied. “I can add that to your file now, slowly building to the point where the government knows everything about you.”
“That’s not cool”, Bryen mumbled before dropping his glasses over his eyes.
“Okay, you’ve known about all of us”, David began as he turned from the screen. “Turrisi’s known about all of us. But why us? What do you want with us? Are we that dangerous?”
“No…well, technically, some of you are”, Lamback replied as he scratched the back of his head. “But that’s not why you’re here…” He deactivated the screen before lobb
ing the remote over Shawn’s head and onto the coffee table. “After 9/11, the DOJ noticed a spike in gifted-related crimes. Since late 2001, there have been eight confirmed supervillains who required extraordinary measures for apprehension and-or termination.”
“Eight supervillains for a timespan of…what?” Bryen asked. “Nine, going on ten, years?”
“The preceding two decades before 9/11”, Lamback replied as he lifted his left, “there were two supervillains throughout the entirety of those twenty years who were dangerous enough for the government to admit that they needed to be labeled as supervillains (and then apprehended and-or terminated). After September 11th, the United States’ enemies, both within and beyond our borders, realized that we weren’t invulnerable. We realized that said enemies could slaughter thousands of Americans in one day, and, for a moment, watch us scurry like headless chickens. With that realization, some of the higher-ups, both the previous and our current president included, began asking questions. The members of the highest branches of our government began to wonder: if they were to bring together another team, when would it be the right time, and, even more importantly, how would that team work? They had law enforcement specialists, gifted specialists, and even psychologists scan through the hundreds of thousands of gifteds your age…and then they found you guys.”
“Us?” David asked.
“Yeah”, Lamback replied. “Piekarsky, you’ve been watched since your childhood due to the genes you carry. You might not know it, but you’ve got some pretty renowned and-or infamous ancestors, and your family line bears some of the more potent and some of the most ancient abilities. You went to Igneous because your brother went here, right? He can fly, he was registered without any problems, and, even more so, he came here and had no problems with us while he studied. We didn’t have to worry about coaxing you here, but since we hadn’t seen your powers in action, we still needed to make sure you were the right person. We finally caught a glimpse of your powers just this past Friday, on the George Wade Bridge.”
“Wait”, David grunted as he reared back, “how_?”
“We tracked your license plate through each hidden camera you passed on the interstate (all of the interstates have them) and were first able to prove that you were just beyond the bridge when the meteors struck. Then there were the eyewitnesses you saved. They thought they were hallucinating when they watched you deflect that debris and then throw them onto land, or, as the two kids suggested, they thought they were viewing an angel. You could’ve been stopped when you passed that line of emergency vehicles, but we let you through.”
“Well, what about the rest of these guys?” David asked.
“Well”, Lamback began, “Bryen was…the hardest. He was the last to be figured out, out of the six of you.”
“I thought I came here on my own”, Bryen grunted.
“You applied to other places? Besides Igneous?” Lamback inquired.
“…Yeah”, Bryen replied with a tilt of his head.
“But Igneous was the first place to accept you; or more, it was the only college that received your application. We intercepted the other three and made sure they were never received.”
“Huh”, Bryen hocked.
“Shawn”, Lamback began, “you were talked out of going to Tennessee by extra promises of not having to worry about government harassment, but, even more so, your tour guide at Tennessee was an Igneous grad; am I right?”
“Yeah”, Shawn replied, “but how did you_?”
“She wasn’t scheduled to give your group’s tour until her coworker’s tire ‘blew out’ on his way to work. Rest assured, if someone were to have been scheduled in her place, his-or-her tires would’ve ‘blown out’ as well.”
“You kiddin’ me!?” Shawn moaned.
“No; the government never kids”, Lamback replied. “And then there was Nathanael_”
“Nate—just call me Nate.”
“Oh, sure; I’ll add that to your file”, Lamback noted. “Your older brother also went here?”
“And he wasn’t registered either”, Nate interjected.
“That doesn’t mean we hadn’t kept track of him”, Lamback retorted. “The situation with you was similar to David’s, but with the exception that you were ‘offered’ scholarship money for the marching band.”
“…And your point is? I played the trumpet freshman year, and I know three other instruments.”
“You never listed any interest in being in the marching band, or any of your musical abilities on your application; did you?”
“Yeah, of course I_”—Nate lifted his right but then let it fall, his mouth agape as he recalled his application, filling it out, and, with his mind set on pursuing mathematics, forsaking anything music-related. “Huh.”
“But then Turrisi and Erik knew about this, then?” David asked.
“Turrisi’s been working with the government since ‘06. Do any of you recall the headlines of a dangerous vigilante in the Boston area before that?”
“I remember that from 2004!” Shawn exclaimed as he pointed at Turrisi. “The Boston-something; I had only heard the name once, so I don’t remember it right now. They thought he was part of one of the local mobs beating the crap out of rival mobsters, but whenever the papers accused him of being part of one mob, the police would find the beaten members of the same mob. My parents decided not to take me to a Red Sox home game because they were terrified of the violence.”
“My bad”, Turrisi replied with a smirk. “If it helps, that was the year they won the World Series.”
“Yeah, heh-heh-heh; I’m crackin’ up over here!” Shawn growled.
“Turrisi was active for a good four years before the FBI finally figured out his _”
“Fricken’ FBI matched my search query of Google Maps to the locations I would patrol!” Turrisi snarled. “When they ambushed me, I’m like, ‘You traced my Google searches? That’s against the freakin’ law!’ And then they had the nerve to say ‘kid, we are the law’.”
“Hey, I said no complaining!” Lamback yelled. “They went easy on you. In return for no jail time, Turrisi became an ‘official, unofficial government employee’—something between the lines of a black-ops agent and a hired mercenary (with no pay).”
“Ya darn right I get no fricken’ pay”, Turrisi grumbled.
“Wait, Turrisi, what can you do?” Nate asked.
“Oh, I don’t have powers, but I’m a pretty good shot”, Turrisi replied.
“No, Turrisi, seriously”, Nate responded, his tone flattening.
“I really don’t have any powers; just a good eye for shooting.”
Nate looked back for a few moments, expecting Turrisi to laugh and to provide exposition on how sharpshooting was perfect for whatever power he bore, but, as he and Turrisi locked eyes, neither of them blinking nor breathing, Nate discovered an absolute solemnity. “Ha!” Nate gasped, his stare shifting with cackles, “sorry.”
“Shut up, Nate!” Turrisi barked.
“Turrisi was given to Erik as a contact—something of a teammate and also the one who delivered him his orders. Erik, at that time, had expressed interest in working as an ‘official, unofficial government employee in relation to gifted affairs’.”
“It was either that or I would have kept going vigilante, and, having come from Texas, everyone there had guns, so it probably wouldn’t have boded well for me”, Erik remarked as he crossed his arms behind his head.
“So what I’ve gotten thus far is that the government is horrible at naming things”, Bryen noted.
“Yes, aside from the other important, classified stuff I just mentioned, you can take that one bit of information with you”, Lamback replied. “If it’s any consolation, our predictions were surprisingly accurate. You all get along enough to not want to compromise the secrecy of your powers and pummel each other in broad daylight, and you stayed together for both your sophomore and coming into your junior years—that was without any of our intervention. It’ll
take some training, and it’ll take some time, but if you stick with this, it could work. You guys could be the first official team of heroes since the late Forties. If you’re ever given clearance, this entire thing—years of work and a decent amount of application-tampering—will be able to move forward.”
“Clearance? So this hasn’t be approved yet?” Shawn asked.
“Well, no; not this; you weren’t supposed to have figured out one another’s identities until the beginning-or-middle of your senior years, during which time we would have set up some sort of mock near-death experience requiring you to use your abilities. (My idea was a fake alien invasion.) I have to report that a good dozen steps were skipped, but, if all that is still approved, you’ll be working in secret.”
“But, hypothetically speaking, we’ll be working”, Shawn noted, “Like going out into communities and beating up robbers and thugs and stuff like that?”
“I already do that”, Nate yawned.
“Yeah, about that”, Lamback uttered. “Since you all now know that the government knows your identities, you can be charged as having prior knowledge of the illegality and severity of any vigilante crimes levelled against you. No more vigilantism of any kind. From this point on, you guys don’t move or consider masking yourselves unless we give you the go-ahead.”
“What about Erik?” Bryen inquired. “You said he’s done previous work; he has the clearance then, right?”
“Wrong”, Erik moaned as he leaned. “For all intents and purposes, my clearance has been revoked. I’ve been benched for the foreseeable future, barring this team is cleared for action or the president requests me.”
“What did you do?” Shawn asked.
“He pissed off someone high up in the FBI”, Turrisi explained.
“I’m still surprised he didn’t send you to Alaska”, Lamback noted.
“This is all fine and dandy”, David interrupted, “but something’s missing”, he began as he looked around. “For as much good as the government intends with this program, it seems like, to me at least, that our own liberties are being cut short.” David looked to Lamback, while the remaining five glanced to one another. “Do we have a choice?”
