by Hayes, Drew
“Oh my, Randolph, we have so very much more than that. I’m sure you thought that changing your name and face as often as you did would keep you concealed, but we have very motivated researchers, and ample resources to supply them with.” Mr. Numbers’ voice didn’t so much as lilt upward in triumph; it was just more of the same dead tone and icy stare. “We’ve got you on counts of fraud, embezzlement, and assault across half the United States. You’ve swindled a lot of people with that charm of yours. Pity, I think you’ll find we’re largely immune to it.”
That threw a wrench into things. If they really had proof—and those charges had been pretty accurate for guesses—then Randolph was going to spend a lot of years in prison by the time all his crimes came to light. If he were dealing with the Crispin of last year, it might be more prudent to stay silent, but the Sons of Progress had lost a lot of their sway after the attack on Lander. Randolph was just a contractor, and while he prided himself on his confidentiality with clients, it wasn’t a reputation he was willing to throw his freedom away for.
“What’s the offer? I tell you who hired me and you let me skip out of here?”
“Certainly not. If you’re very lucky and forthcoming, we’ll send you and all evidence of your crimes to a local police station where you can answer to the justice system,” Mr. Numbers said. “However, if you don’t want to talk to us, then we’ll simply let you face a more direct form of justice.”
“Talk or die? Pretty extreme for Heroes or the DVA,” Randolph said. He had to call the bluff, had to assume it was one, because if not he was fucked all the way around.
“But we’re neither Heroes nor the DVA.” The tall one took a long step forward, leaning down until he was only inches from Randolph’s face. “We’re the wetwork people. The cleanup. The people that get called when a task needs doing that the good ones can’t dirty their hands with. No one wears our faces on t-shirts or puts our names on lunch boxes. We don’t get to be beloved and famous. All we do is get results. And you do not want to underestimate what we’ll do to achieve that goal. Usually, it involves a lot of knowledge about human anatomy and what it can endure that we’d rather not have, but this time it’s quite an easy fix. Mr. Numbers—alphabetically, who’s the first person we’d be stopping by to see?”
“Well, Mr. Transport, that would be Alvin Acebedo. Randolph stole ten thousand dollars from his mother shortly after his father passed. Admittedly, as an active biker and small-time drug runner he’s not an ideal son; however, he did love her enough to buy out her condo so she’d have a place to live. One has to imagine he would be more than happy to have a crack at the man who broke her heart and emptied her checking account.”
“And that’s one of how many?”
“Two hundred and forty-two,” Mr. Numbers replied. “Some of the victims had more family than others.”
“Two hundred and forty-two people, all with great, justifiable reason to do you harm,” Mr. Transport repeated, making sure that Randolph was looking him in the eye. “And we’ve got access to enough healers to ensure you get face time with each and every one of them. We won’t let them kill you, don’t worry about that. But if you do manage to make it through the gauntlet without talking, then I’ll have to allow Mr. Numbers to take a turn at you. As I recall, the record is three hours; that’s the longest anyone has lasted under his questioning.”
“Three hours and twelve minutes,” Mr. Numbers corrected. “Though that was when I was much younger and more squeamish.”
“There you go. So, you pick, Randolph.” Mr. Transport reached down and grabbed his jaw, twisting it up roughly so that Randolph couldn’t look away. “Tell us everything about who the fuck sent you after Sally Daniels, or remember this moment fondly as the last time your body was whole and functional.”
Randolph had made a career out of reading people, in seeing what was buried below the surface. He could often use it, or at least twist it, to serve his own means. The trouble with that sort of skill was that he couldn’t turn it off. And as he stared into Mr. Transport’s eyes, Randolph knew with absolute certainty that if anything, he was underselling just how much hell Randolph was in for.
“The man who approached me is named Sherman. He’s the right hand of Crispin, head of the Sons of Progress,” Randolph said, enunciating as best he could through the iron grip on his face.
Mr. Transport turned his head slightly. “Mr. Numbers?”
“All true, so far.”
“Good.” The grip on Randolph’s face released, and Mr. Transport took a small step back. “Keep talking. Tell us everything.”
105.
The hardest part had been choosing what to bring. In the Blonk’s simulations his options were always defined, limited by what he could select from the inventory or buy with his meager budget. With over a day to prepare in the real world, Will was nearly bowled over by the possibilities. However, his pragmatic side was with him every step of the way, reminding him that each piece of custom tech he brought along raised his chances of discovery. It was blessing enough that he had no physical abilities or characteristics to mark him as a Super—to make a blunder like revealing himself through his own tech would be such a disgrace that Will would have to withdraw from the HCP out of principle.
Ultimately, he decided on a watch that transmitted audio and rudimentary video to a secure server and could be used to call for help in a pinch, and a Taser. Since the watch was already a digital model, he felt confident no one would realize the alterations he’d made even if it was cracked open, and the Taser could easily be explained away as self-protection, hardly a strange accessory for someone who’d lived through the attack on Lander. Of course, his had a few more functions than the off-the-shelf models, but again, no one would know that at a glance.
Will was grateful he’d gotten this opportunity before graduation. It made him realize that, when designing tech, he’d need to focus as much on camouflage as functionality. The spy movies always made it look so easy. He was still mulling the idea over as he pulled his car into the driveway of a house several miles from campus. This was a ways off from the party-filled streets of the cheap rentals surrounding Lander; here resided people with real families and well-kept homes. The one in front of Will’s car as he killed the engine was especially nice, not that he was terribly surprised. Digging up information about Kennedy Dawson had been one of the first things Will did when this investigation began; he’d known from the beginning that she came from money.
There were several other cars already present, some nicer than his, some more beat-up. Will took note of each and every one, memorizing their license plates for further research. This was a meeting for which he wanted to make sure he had a complete record of attendance.
As he walked up the driveway, Will texted Camille nonsense about meeting up for a movie later. It was a code to let her know he’d arrived at the meeting, one that wouldn’t arouse any suspicion if someone went through his phone. It also had the added benefit of making sure anyone snooping became aware that other people knew where he was and would be expecting his departure. The whole thing was a touch paranoid, Will could admit that readily, but he considered paranoia to be an asset as much as a danger.
The door flew open to reveal Kennedy Dawson by the third knock. She looked much the same as she did during the meetings: perfectly styled hair and expertly applied makeup. The only visible changes were that she’d exchanged her heels for sneakers, and the dress she’d donned was slightly more casual than usual. It was an appearance designed to make her still seem powerful, yet slightly humanize her at the same time. The woman knew what she was doing.
She flashed that wide smile and gave Will a side-armed hug. Familiar enough to show friendship, but detached enough not to kindle ideas of romance—a perfectly executed gesture.
“Will, I’m so glad you could make it,” Kennedy told him. “The others are already in the living room. Can I get you anything?”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.” Will watch
ed carefully as she shut the door behind him, eyes alert for any movement that might activate extra security. So far as he could tell, she did nothing more than turn the deadbolt. Hopefully, that was all there was. He felt confident he could get through any defenses her home might have, but probably not without blowing his cover. “If you don’t mind my asking, Kennedy, why exactly did you slip me that note? Wouldn’t an email or announcement at the end of the meeting have been easier?”
“Easier, yes, but less personal,” Kennedy replied. “And, to be frank with you, not many of the meeting attendees still seem to have the fire for change burning in them. I wanted this to be a strategy session with only the most passionate of our group.”
“I’m flattered to make the cut, but I’m a little confused. We both know I’ve had to miss a fair share of meetings lately.” It was the elephant in the room, and there was little to be gained by avoiding it. Hearing Kennedy’s explanation, on the other hand, might offer some insight into her thought process, with the bonus of painting Will as a man keenly aware of his own failings.
Kennedy nodded and led him down the hall. “You have, and I noticed, but almost no one has been to all of them in the past few months. I get it. There’s other stuff in everyone’s lives; they can’t devote all of themselves to just this movement, especially when we keep hitting brick walls at every turn. I really thought people would be more receptive after what happened in May, but the Heroes have PR on their side that we can’t match, and every day that event becomes more like a nightmare and less like a memory.”
An accurate summary not unlike the one Will himself had reached days earlier. Truthfully, he’d have preferred if her assessment were a touch more off the mark. Dealing with someone so aware came with greater danger than doing so with the blindly determined.
“But to answer your question, I asked you to join us tonight for one simple reason, Will: when you do show up, you’re always present. Other people’s eyes glaze over, or they start sneaking their phones out to play games during the boring parts of meetings, but you, you’re always right there in the moment, listening to every word. I can tell from your face. That’s why I wanted you to join us tonight.”
Kennedy paused outside a large door, her hand resting on the silver knob that would open the way ahead. “I don’t want to lie to you, I think you deserve to know what you’re about to step into. No one is going to propose anything illegal in this room, and I certainly wouldn’t let the idea progress if they did. However, what we’re going to discuss does cross certain ethical lines, and I’ll understand if you don’t want to be a part of it. Heck, you wouldn’t even be the first one to leave tonight. I gave everyone else the same spiel before we walked in.”
“I don’t suppose you could give me some idea of what’s being talked about?” Will asked. “Ethics vary from person to person, and while I won’t say I don’t have them, my line might not be at the same place where others drew theirs.”
“Of course; that’s what I was leading up to, anyway.” Kennedy’s hand never slipped from the doorknob even as she turned her head to get a better view of Will. “Normally, the HCP people exist behind a total veil of anonymity. Their pasts are covered up and they all take great pains not to draw attention. They could be anyone, anywhere, in any place on campus. But that night in May, they poked their heads out from the shadows. We don’t have much to go on—they were smart enough to wear masks—thankfully, there are a few details. Heights, voices, genders, some idea of their powers. A patchwork quilt of seemingly inconsequential details, one that we might just be able to stitch together and find out some of their identities.”
“And if you do find out who they are, what then? Try and get them kicked out?” Will’s mind was already darting back to that night in May. How much had everyone spoken, had any of the ones he was around let important details slip? Surely, some of them had; it had been a hellish evening of chaos and destruction. No one could stay perfectly on their game. It was a question of how much had slipped, and how grateful those who might have caught such indiscretions were to their saviors.
“No,” Kennedy said. “Turn in one, and that’s all we’d get. I want to put their identity out there publicly. So that everyone on campus knows who they are, what they are, and has the chance to decide for themselves if they want to get tangled up with the sort of people who cause gun-toting criminals to invade our school. Plus, there’s a good chance that if we can find one, they’ll have friends who are also in the HCP. I’ve come to realize that getting them kicked off campus might be a pipe dream; however, I can still achieve some level of transparency. We’ve seen what happens around these people. We deserve to know if we’re letting them into our lives.”
Will forced down the desire to reach for his Taser and instead put on his best uncertain-but-accommodating smile. “Well, how can I say no to that? By all means, let’s get the meeting started.”
106.
“I’ve got it: InVINCEable!”
Alice reached over and thumped Nick on the temple with a flick of her finger, then nodded to the game board. “Roll the damn dice and quit with the horrible puns.”
“Not to mention that name would more or less piss off every Hero in existence, since no one being invincible is one of the most important lessons we’re supposed to learn,” Hershel added.
“And there’s the fact that it puts his real name in the middle, which pretty well defeats the purpose of a code name in the first place.” Mary didn’t really have to pile on; Nick had been soundly scorned for his suggestion already. She elected to join the mocking mostly for camaraderie, and perhaps to see if she could get a rise out of him.
Nick affected what they all assumed was a steely glare from behind the lenses of his sunglasses, then tossed the dice and moved his token forward a few steps. “I notice the only one with a right to an opinion on the matter has yet to chime in.”
Vince squirmed in his chair and his forehead furrowed slightly as the attention was tossed back on him. “I’m trying to think of a way to put this nicely… look, we all know I’m starting to get desperate as far as code names go. And if I were in the same situation months from now, when I was getting called in for the absolute deadline to submit my Hero name, I still wouldn’t use that. I’d go with Energy Taker Lad first, and that’s hands-down one of the dumbest things I’ve ever answered to.”
“That was you being nice?” Nick asked.
Vince reached down and grabbed the dice for his turn. “I said I was trying to think of a nice way to put it, not that I succeeded.”
Though the outside was crisp and cold thanks to the mid-December weather, the interior of Nick’s apartment was toasty as they gathered together for their Wednesday game night. While there were many looming topics that could have come up, most were too worrisome to delve into on an evening like this, especially when they all knew there were no answers that could be reached. Instead, the conversation had veered into increasingly familiar territory: what code names they would pick. So far, precisely no one (aside from Chad) in Melbrook had chosen a name to submit, and with every passing week it became a bit less trivial of an annoyance.
“You should hear the dumb ones he pitches to me sometimes,” Alice said. “Gravity Gal, High-Flier, Queen G—”
“I still stand by that last one,” Nick interrupted. “You come from economic royalty; you manipulate gravity, which starts with a ‘G;’ you can be a bit haughty at times—”
It was Alice’s turn to interrupt, which she did by punching her perfectly manicured fingers into Nick’s side, hitting him right in the ribs. “You were saying?”
“Some people just cannot take feedback.” Nick grinned at her, refusing to be deterred.
“At least you’ve all got something unique about your powers to start from,” Hershel said. “Do you know how many strongman-style Heroes have existed through the years? I’ve been digging through archives, trying to get an idea of what’s still on the table. By the looks of things, Roy is going to end
up as something ridiculous, like Lord Punchington or The Lifter.”
“Can you claim to be a lord without owning land?” Mary asked. “I thought they cracked down on titles a while back.”
Hershel glanced from her to the game board then slowly lowered his head into his hands. “Damn it… that one was my front-runner. I was secretly floating it out there to see what you all thought.”
The dice clattered onto the board as Vince finished his roll and moved the metal token three spaces ahead, drawing a red card as consequence. “If it takes the sting out, we would have told you it was pretty silly.”
“Strangely, no, it does not,” Hershel replied.
“Personally, I’m trying to find one that doesn’t directly mention what my powers are,” Alice told them. “For a Subtlety Hero, that seems like a risky move. But when you take away that foundation, it’s hard to figure out a starting point. Without the power in the equation, I’m kind of just picking something out of thin air.”
“Thin Air isn’t a bad one. You do cut a nice figure, and you can fly, so it works without being overt.” Nick braced for the next of her jabs, keeping his eyes peeled for where the attack would aim.
Instead, Alice flashed him a quick smile before adopting a sterner expression. “That’s a really dumb name, but you did manage to work a compliment in there, so I guess we can let it slide this once.”
Vince scooped up the dice and handed them over to Mary, who was next up to roll. “What about you, Mary? Any idea of what you’ll go by yet?”
She accepted the plastic cubes from Vince, telekinetically holding them several inches above her actual palm. The dice spun slowly around, like there was a hidden planet between them that they were gently orbiting.
