by Hayes, Drew
To his surprise—the first of the night, but certainly not the last—it wasn’t Vince who opened the door. Instead, Alice appeared before him, dressed in a sparkling green blouse and black pants. She smirked mischievously as she caught him taking her in, both analyzing the outfit she’d donned and pausing to appreciate it. Something was amiss, that much was evident. By now, she and all the others should be dressed down in sweatpants, or at least still wearing their normal clothes from the day’s activities.
“Oh, my, what a surprise. Nick has dropped by. And by the bulging bag over his shoulder, I bet he’s come with a bunch of terrible horror movies that none of us will want to watch.” Alice opened the door wider to allow him in, all the while spitting out words drenched in sarcasm.
While he’d been momentarily taken aback, Nick quickly pieced things together as he stepped through the door. So, they’d finally mounted a counterattack. It had only taken them three years; although to be fair, he had gone out of his way to try and keep his methodology unpredictable.
Alice slid the door closed, turning to face him with her smile now widened into a full-blown grin. “Unfortunately, we’ve already got plans for this evening,” she said, crooking a finger and leading him into the living room. “By sheer chance, we discovered that there’s going to be a mixer and movie event at the local multiplex: reasonably priced booze and classic films of all genres for people to enjoy on the big screen. Funny, though, pretty sure none of the movies you’ve ever shown us made the cut.”
“My, what are the odds you’d uncover something like that,” Nick said, playing along as he set his backpack down on the couch. The others weren’t around, which was understandable. Only Alice knew how to clean up quickly, and from the way she was dressed, she’d likely ordered everyone else to step up their usual sneaker-and-jean ensembles. “It’s so niche and out of the way. Why, you’d practically have needed to be scouring the internet for any event happening this evening. Probably at the last minute.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alice replied.
Nick put up his hands, signaling defeat. “Okay, you win. No bad movies tonight. As long as everyone is relaxing and enjoying themselves, I’m happy. Not as happy as if I was tormenting them with choppy video cuts of cheaply-made fake blood, but still happy. What were they going to do before you convinced them to go to the movies, anyway?”
“Probably spend the whole night worrying about what our Hero names will be.” Alice set herself down on the couch’s armrest, barely altering her height as she rested. “We were told the deadline is the end of the year today, so naturally, everyone started panicking. Well, mostly Vince, but we all jumped on board pretty quick.”
“Vince is good with anything that involves morality or punching,” Nick said. “The heavy thinking stuff, not as much. I’ve got a couple of ideas for what he could call himself, but I think I’ll wait a few months before making any suggestions. If he finds something on his own, it will be a lot more powerful.”
“Oh yeah? What about me? Got any good suggestions?”
“Was ‘Princess’ already taken?” Nick’s quip earned him a quick jab to the ribs, which he laughed off despite the power it packed. Alice was getting stronger, both with her ability and attacks. While there hadn’t been enough direct combat during their summer training to know for sure, he imagined she could probably take out a good chunk of their class. He’d have paid good money to sneak down and watch whatever trial the HCP was throwing them through next.
“Not funny. I would listen to any serious input you’ve got, though. I looked through a bunch of terms relating to gravity, but none of them felt right,” Alice admitted. “Unless my goal was to confuse and frustrate everyone who tried to say my name, which might be a good technique for pissing off criminals.”
“Trust me, don’t go down that road.” Nick took a seat as well, thinking back to all the times they’d talked about Heroes in Vegas. “If your real name is remotely tough, the bad guys just give you a nickname. Not usually a good-spirited one, either. Granted, they do that no matter what, but the mean ones tend to stick to the Heroes whose real names are hard to say.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Alice replied. “Which leaves me at square one, in the same place as Vince.”
“Let’s be fair, I think you’ve got a leg up on him with figuring this stuff out,” Nick told her. “And clearly at speed-dressing as well. Where the hell is everybody, anyway?”
“Don’t remind me.” Alice rubbed the sides of her temples slowly, battling back the beginnings of a headache trying to settle in. “Between those three boys and Mary, it took longer to help them choose outfits than to find where we were going. Speaking of which, this thing is supposed to be a bit nice. I can’t very well be seen out with someone wearing that, now can I?”
Nick glanced down at the flip-flops, shorts, and t-shirt he’d walked over in. For a night of horror movies, it was a good fit, but it fell short of anything he’d ever wear when trying to impress. Especially if Alice expected him to be on her arm throughout the evening.
With a quick motion, Nick dug his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the third number on the speed dial. “Eliza, I need you to bring me a change of clothes. My evening has taken an interesting turn, and I’d like to dress for the occasion.”
21.
Alex was the last to arrive, meeting his friends at the multiplex only after squeezing in an extra hour of practice. While everyone had been changed in some sense or another by the attack on Lander, Alex had been impacted in a very measureable way. In all the previous training he’d done, all the tests he’d taken, Alex had always imagined himself as a member of a Hero team. His powers might not be enough to take on every Super directly, but as a support member, he could knock out the easy ones and help his teammates win victories of their own. It wasn’t an easy path—he’d known reaching graduation with his level of strength would be a long shot—but it was what he believed he could do.
That all changed the night Sasha was killed in front of him. For the first time, Alex saw what it was like to be too weak on the battlefield, to come up lacking when the stakes were high. He wasn’t strong enough, and it had cost his friend her life. Alex still wasn’t certain he’d reach graduation; there were too many powerful people in his class to be sure of making the cut. All he knew was that, no matter what, he never wanted to feel that way—to fail someone he cared about—again.
Now, with his extra training done, Alex tried to push the more serious thoughts out of his mind for the evening. There were classic movies, friends, and reasonably-priced cocktails he could buy using his actual driver’s license, as he’d finally cleared the legal drinking age. Determination was important, but Star Wars had long ago shown Alex the dangers of losing sight of what mattered. Even if some of the story did take place in the Movies Which Shall Not Be Named.
He breezed through the door, pausing to make sure the collar on his polo was laying down flat, then did a quick scan of the room. Most of the people were young—no surprise in a college town—and Alex would wager the vast majority attended Lander. The digital display on the ticket kiosk was only displaying the posters for five films, all of which were due to begin in the next half hour. The concession stand was still selling popcorn, though a portable cooler and keg betrayed the fact that tonight there were more adult options than just soda.
Tempted as he was to grab a drink, Alex prioritized finding his friends first. A quick scan of the attendees’ minds led him to their location, clustered together near one of the makeshift tables scattered about the room.
Everyone from Melbrook was present, along with Nick, Shane, and Camille. Mary was the first to notice him, of course, giving a brief wave as he approached the table. She slid to the side, jostling Roy slightly out of the way to make room for Alex. After the customary round of welcomes was exchanged, Alex turned to the older Daniels brother, a touch confused.
“Didn’t Hershel want to come t
onight? It’s nice to see you and all, but old movies are usually his scene.”
“Yeah, I thought the same thing,” Roy agreed. He gave his wide shoulders a heavy shrug, rustling the button-down draped across his toned torso. “But he said he’s got a lot to do this weekend, so I should come out and have fun.”
That was about as settled as the matter could get in such a public place, so Alex allowed it to drop, turning the discussion to the more pressing task at hand. “Okay, then. I know I’m way late, so did you already pick what movie we’re going to see?”
“It’s a hotly contested issue,” Alice replied. “They’ve got the original Star Puncher, but we’ve all seen that thanks to last year’s release, so we’d like to do something new. Not sure if you recognize all the movies up there, but there’s a black-and-white romance, an old college comedy, some Oscar-bait piece-of-shit no one wants to see, an old-school horror flick, and, obviously, Star Puncher.”
“They do put out a good selection,” Nick noted. “Something for people of any taste.”
“But not one that appeals to everyone,” Shane added. “Alice and Chad are angling for the romance, while Nick, Roy, and I all want to see the original zombie movie, which Alice so callously referred to as an ‘old-school horror flick.’ And Vince, Camille, and Mary all prefer comedy.”
Alex turned a surprised gaze to Chad. “Really? You want to watch the romance?”
Chad sipped lightly from his soda, a drink Alex knew without asking didn’t contain any extra additions. “It is an artful and well-crafted genre. My mother used to rent them frequently when I was a child, so I acquired a bit of a taste.”
“To each his own,” Alex replied. “Well, why not just split up and let everyone go see what they want? It’s a movie; you’re not going to be talking during it, anyway.”
“We considered that,” Vince said. “But it seemed sort of anti-social. We did come here together, after all.”
“Fine. Then, let’s do it this way. Everyone, raise your hand if you’ve already seen the romance movie,” Alex demanded.
Chad, Camille, Alice, and, after a long moment of hesitation, Nick, raised their hands.
“Something you’d like to tell us?” Alice asked, the wicked glint in her eye making it clear she was not letting this die anytime soon.
“I was a child, too; I didn’t always get to pick what was watched on movie night.” Nick didn’t bother mentioning that Gerry, softy that he was, tended to pick those movies both to entertain and educate young Nicholas on the basics of charm and courtship.
“That’s four. What about the comedy?” Alex said, skipping right over Alice and Nick’s discussion. With those two, one had to barrel forward or the conversation could be knocked permanently off course. Mary, Nick, Camille, and Shane all raised their hands this time. “And lastly, the zombie movie?”
This time, it was only Shane, Nick, and Roy with their hands in the air. “Secondhand,” Roy said, offering up a half-hearted explanation.
“Okay then, so it looks like the zombie-movie wins,” Alex declared. “The fewest people have seen it, so if we all have to go into the same film, it will be a new experience for the most people. That work, or do you want to revisit splitting up?”
“Just tell me it isn’t a low-budget gore-fest,” Alice said.
“The effects haven’t aged super well, but the story is a classic that launched a genre,” Shane told her.
“Ipso facto, it’s nothing like the schlock I subject you all to,” Nick added.
“Guess that’ll have to be good enough.” Alice tipped her red cocktail back, draining the rest of her glass in a single gulp. She set the empty container carefully down on the table. “Just let me get another drink first. If I’m doing old horror, I at least deserve a buzz.”
22.
There were a lot of things Dean Blaine didn’t care for with regard to the renovation of his school—dozens of DVA agents scampering about being highest on the list. Still, that didn’t mean he hated every aspect of it, and as he rode a lift down past the dozens of floors set aside for training, he found himself grateful that they’d given him a bit of say on what other improvements could stand to be made. As he arrived at his destination, the doors opened, dozens of biometric scanners making sure he was actually the dean and not just some Super with an illusion or mimicry in place. The purpose of his visit was banal, but the wrong person with this equipment could spread the sort of misinformation that would cause a lot of damage.
Before him, a soft light flickered and filled the large room. Four figures materialized at the conference table, waiting for him. They were projections, nothing more, but full-body ones that made teleconferencing almost indistinguishable from meeting with people in person. Across the nation, in four rooms just like this, the other HCP deans were seated, seeing a projection of him walking into the room. Dean Blaine quietly made his way over and sat in his chair, turning on the tablet built into the table.
While some might have seen a super-secret teleconference room as overkill (and they weren’t entirely off base), the assault of Lander had illustrated the importance of staff being on hand at their respective campuses as much as possible, especially the deans. In previous years, these discussions would have taken place with everyone flying to meet in one dean’s HCP, but this allowed them to replicate the experience without leaving their schools weakened. It seemed a touch paranoid; however, paranoia was the name of the game after what had happened in May. Being caught unaware once was a mistake. Twice would be unforgivable.
“Blaine, so nice of you to finally join us. Kathleen and Margaret were both on the verge of slipping out to grab cocktails.” The man who spoke was lean and wiry, with a perfectly groomed mustache stealing the focus of his entire face.
Across the table, a woman with copper hair and matching eyes flipped up the finger. “Blow it out your ass, Wesley. You were the one wanting to sneak a nip. Maggie doesn’t touch the stuff, and I was smart enough to bring my own with me.” She held up a clear bottle with golden liquid sloshing about inside.
Dean Blaine resisted the urge to put his head in his hands and start massaging his forehead. Instead, he calmly cleared his throat and turned to the woman removing a cork from a bottle. “Dean Bishop, I’m quite certain the rules for these rooms dictate that no food or drink is to be brought inside.” Though, truth be told, Dean Blaine was dearly wishing he’d thought to bring something for himself. Maybe next time. “And, Dean Fox, please stop teasing Dean Bishop. She might not be here to throttle you in person, but we both know she’s not above booking a plane ticket.”
Dean Fox—the man with the immaculate mustache—looked over at Dean Bishop, who was drawing her thumb across her neck in an exaggerated gesture. “Just trying to keep things interesting,” he muttered, a small concession the group had long ago learned to take as an apology.
“Blaine, if you get the chance to talk with the tech people, I’d love to have someone install a mute function on these things.” This time the speaker was a towering man, hair more gray than black, with the sort of imposing aura that made people unconsciously avoid touching him even in the most crowded of public settings.
“Request noted, Dean Jackson. In all honesty, though, I doubt it will be approved. Too prone to abuse, especially with certain parties.” All eyes in the room didn’t exactly swivel toward Dean Fox, though many side-eyed glances were certainly sent his way.
“Blaine, how long are you going to keep up the formality? We all know we’re deans. You can drop the prefix.” This speaker was a woman who seemed wholly unremarkable, save for the streak of green running through her hair. There were no flowers growing out of it today, but given her relaxed dress and abundance of beads, it fit well with the image of the aging hippie she projected. It was a real stance, not a mere affectation, although she’d had to jettison ideas of peace more times than she could count in her Hero days.
“Formality is important,” Dean Blaine replied. “Especially in these circumsta
nces. I know you prefer a more relaxed atmosphere, Dean Silva, but given what we have gathered here to discuss, I intend to stick with our proper titles.”
“Blaine, did no one tell you?” Dean Bishop leaned forward, smiling with the sort of grin that set a criminal’s fear response into overdrive. “We got them to get rid of the auto-recording feature. These meetings aren’t being logged.”
“They aren’t? Well, thanks be to the god of educators, whoever they might be.” Dean Blaine leaned back in his chair, loosening the tie around his neck and getting in a good stretch. “You lot could have told me that earlier, you know.”
“We figured you were in the loop,” Dean Jackson replied. “You are the one who got the DVA to agree to make these things.”
“Yes, well, things got a bit hectic after that. I haven’t had the chance to keep abreast of every change.” Dean Blaine punched a few buttons on the tablet, bringing up the schedule for this month’s HCP dean meeting. While most educators didn’t need to share information so frequently, the ever-shifting nature of their world meant that regularly comparing notes was an invaluable practice. Learning about new powers, unknown facets of existing ones, and how to properly train said powers made it well worth the three hours set aside every month for this task. Plus, Dean Blaine found it was nice to talk to the only other people in the world who understood what his job was like.
“Now then, looks like we’ve got the normal stuff for the first of the year, with the new freshman ability discussion taking up the bulk of our time. We’ve also got a new defense protocol comparison to see who has the best practices in place, and for the rest of us to replicate them. But it looks like the top of the list…” Dean Blaine trailed off as he read the listed bullet, and then glanced up to the faces of his colleagues.
