by Hayes, Drew
“You couldn’t have told me Violet was coming?” Vince asked.
“She must have been flying over my drones. If I’d know she was so close I’d have sent her after the targets instead of you,” Will replied.
That still might have been a good idea, except that now all the Sims were focused on her. Violet didn’t look particularly worried, if anything there was a touch of glee on her face at the fight she’d picked, but it would take too long to explain things and get her airborne.
With a deep breath, Vince took aim and steeled his nerves. He could do this. He’d proven the concept with the long fall that night in May; it was all a matter of execution. Of course, if he failed his legs would be utterly shattered and the Sims would definitely escape. But they were so far ahead by now, that would happen anyway. Better to roll the dice, a slim chance at victory beat none at all.
Vince dropped into a squat, gathered up as much kinetic energy as he dared, then sent all of it through the bottoms of his feet. He blasted off from the ground, mimicking the high-altitude leap-technique that so many strongmen favored. As he whipped through the air, torn between feeling exhilarated and terrified, he noticed his toes were cold. One look told him why: he’d blown the boots clean off his feet. Well, hopefully that wouldn’t hurt the landing. After all, launch had been the easy part.
Vince’s momentum began to slow, and his rise gave way to the inevitable fall as he readied himself for the next part. As he came hurtling down to the ground, Vince pointed his feet forward and concentrated for all he was worth. He struck the pavement, absorbing the kinetic energy of the landing that should have turned him into squashed student. With as little pause as he could manage, Vince took that energy and put it right back into his feet, blasting off again to cover more ground. Risking his limbs, possibly his life, on every jump wasn’t an ideal situation, but he was covering a lot more ground than he could by running.
Within four leaps, he’d caught sight of the targets. By the time he landed from the fifth jump, he was close enough to make out their faces. Sure enough, the one being carried was the guy from the museum, clutched in the arms of a strongman-type Sim that was running without pause even as Vince gave chase.
Rather than go high again, Vince opted to take a page from Roy’s playbook. He launched himself forward in a nearly horizontal leap, whipping across the street and slamming into the pair of Sims. Vince absorbed the energy of the impact for safety, but now that he was in striking distance running was no longer an option. A huge blast of fire scorched over both Sims, forcing the woman to set down her ally and face Vince as a threat. Understandable though the tactic was, it didn’t change the fact that Vince had more than enough kinetic energy left to take her out of the fight. One firm punch to the torso sent her careening through the wall of a nearby building, stunning her at the least. With the guard gone, that just left Vince facing off with the Armageddon-Sim.
This time, there was no pretense of false surrender. The Sim stood in place; hands still clasped together, the energy between them glowing brighter and brighter. Vince realized with a shock that the Sim wasn’t trying to fight him; it was trying to finish the chain reaction. How close was the ten-minute mark? There was no way to know, and Vince couldn’t take any chances.
Just as the light started growing brighter, Vince closed the gap between them. There was no time for being gentle; he simply punched the Sim’s head with enough force to knock out anyone short of Roy. As it turned out, that was more than plenty. The mechanical skull burst into pieces from the blow, flying all over the road. The Sim’s body fell backward, hands still together, energy pulsing between them.
Was he fast enough? Was it done? He didn’t like that the light hadn’t faded. Maybe he’d missed the deadline, and the reaction would happen no matter what. Unless… he stopped it. Vince put his hand forward, trying to feel this new energy, to find a way to steal it. Before he had a chance, it began to flicker and wane, until fading out completely.
“With ten seconds to spare, you all have successfully stopped the threat of Armageddon.” Dean Blaine’s voice echoed through Vince’s earpiece, a welcome intrusion as he announced their victory. “Congratulations to everyone. When you’re finished changing and showering, there are a lot of impressed Heroes out here anxious to congratulate each one of you.”
219.
“I have to say, I did not expect to be paying up. Nobody beats the Armageddon trial; this should have been the easiest ten bucks I ever made.” Jeremiah’s hands dove into one of the many pockets on his unassuming costume and produced a folded bill, which he handed over to Titan.
“Not nobody,” Titan objected. “There are a few classes who’ve pulled it off.”
“Maybe a few, but it’s few and far between,” Granite said. “Classes that beat this test are rare.”
“So tell us, oh legendary Titan, was yours one of them?” From the smirk on Jeremiah’s face, Titan had a sneaking hunch he already knew the answer, even though that shouldn’t be possible.
Accepting his prize, Titan tucked it away carefully before answering. “We came close. Put on a show worth being proud of. What about you?”
“My year? Heavens no. Most of that class was all muscle and no thought; they stumbled around like useless cinderblocks until the timer ran out. Actually, that fight was where I first got the idea for a team comprised entirely of Subtlety Heroes. It got me thinking about how much we could have done with only a few more competent minds on hand.”
“Seems to me this class did pretty well with just one Subtlety student doing recon,” Gale pointed out. “Maybe Will’s better than you were at that age.”
To their surprise, Jeremiah didn’t immediately swat the idea away. “You may be right. Obviously we have different talents, but it took me a while in the field before I settled into the role of leadership. Will took charge the moment he realized that he was the one best suited for it; that takes guts. Guts and a lot of faith in the people around you to pull off what you tell them to do. I’m a little surprised about that part, too. I’d heard the rumors about this class, but they really didn’t hesitate for a moment when it came time to deal some heavy hits. Most classes see those numbers and get momentarily bowled over.”
“My class sure did. I had to fly around, blasting half the Sims away from the battlefield until people got their act together. Nearly cost us the trial.” Gale took a sip of her martini, putting a nice flourish on the sentence and letting her words sink in.
“Hang on, you beat your Armageddon trial?” Titan asked.
“I’m going to pretend I’m not hurt by the amount of surprise in your voice, and yes, yes we did.” Gale set her glass down, her cheerful expression a clear indication of how deeply she was savoring her moment of triumph. “We were quite an adept little unit, and our Subtlety people had some solid talent. And on that note: Jeremiah, did you see any that caught your eye? Alice might be spoken for, but I don’t think anyone has won over the invisible girl yet, and I suppose Will is technically up for grabs as well.”
Jeremiah nodded, eyes lingering on the screen as the students made their way out of the combat chamber. “Tempting as Will is, there’s a conflict of interest there, one I don’t have the spare time to overcome. I did see a few who interested me, though. Figured I might take a page from Gale’s book and try a cross-specialty internship, see what happens if I give a meat shield some critical-thinking skills.”
“Any particular meat shields catch your eye?” Although Granite asked the question, they all noticed that Titan leaned in a bit closer to hear the answer.
“A few potential candidates.” Jeremiah hopped out of his seat and motioned to the door where other Heroes were already starting to exit. “Nothing I’d want to discuss until I had the chance to speak with them and shake their hands in person. Which means it’s time for us to head down to the mixer. If we hurry, we may even beat the usual lineup at the bar.”
* * *
Dean Blaine was sweating as he fell back
into his chair, announcement made and trial officially finished. He felt drained, far worse than he did after a fight or workout. Coordinating this trial was always a bear, and the longer it went on, the harder things got. With so many Sims on the field, there was potential for anything to go wrong, and he had to position the professors strategically as the fight locations changed in case a student needed saving. By the end, he’d had to leave the observation room and join Dr. Moran to handle things more directly. Still, it was all worth it to make that announcement at the end. Nobody could say the kids hadn’t earned this win, either. They’d gotten the same parameters as every other HCP class, and they’d pulled it off. Even if it had put more fuel on the Class of Nightmares fire, at least now there was tangible evidence that they were the kind of nightmares who could be relied on to get things done – even if they did cut it a little closer than he might have liked.
“Do you need healing?” Dr. Moran was staring at him, and with a start Dean Blaine realized he hadn’t moved since collapsing against his seat.
“I’m fine, thank you. Just feeling a bit ragged. Things got rather dicey toward the end there.”
“Yet the students handled themselves just fine. I have to admit, even I thought the day was lost when Chad and Vince let that ‘healing’ Sim retrieve our Armageddon unit. Nick or no Nick, luck seemed to be on their side today,” Dr. Moran said.
“Perhaps. Personally, I’m more inclined to give this victory to skill over luck; however, they did have a few things break their way. Regardless, they won, and that should make things easier for a lot of them. Few classes beat this trial.” In the years Dean Blaine had been working at Lander, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen a class stop Armageddon, and in each of those instances he would say without question that luck played a pivotal role.
Reaching across the keyboard, Dr. Moran hit a few buttons and the screens started to grow dark. “Very few, if I remember the numbers accurately. The Heroes will be excited to congratulate the kids and see who doesn’t already have a mentor. You should get down to the mixer before the students do. I’m sure they’ll feel better seeing a familiar face when they walk in.”
After what he’d just seen them do, Dean Blaine couldn’t imagine the sort of situation that would manage to faze that group, at least when they were working together. But Dr. Moran was right. His job wasn’t over just because the testing was done. Taking a moment to mop his brow with a handkerchief, Dean Blaine rose from his seat and smoothed out his suit.
“How did the famous Class of Legends do on this trial?” Dr. Moran asked. “Just out of curiosity.”
“We passed it, of course. Had three minutes left to spare. But you know, I’ll say this much.” Dean Blaine finished with his suit and gave his tie the smallest of adjustments to make sure it was perfect. He had an image to maintain, and a tiring ordeal was no excuse for a slovenly appearance. “I don’t think we were nearly as creative as these kids. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they just had fun with that life-or-death trial.”
220.
The great and terrible thing about the Midwest was that it had space: long, near-empty stretches of highway with little more than a sign telling drivers that there would be another town in a hundred miles or so. And if that “town” turned out to be nothing but a gas station, a stoplight, and a burger joint, then a traveler should just be grateful there was any food to buy at all. Should one turn off the highway and venture down the farm roads, they might quickly discover how spoiled they were with luxuries like road signs and gas stations. For some, this place was an oasis, an unspoiled area of nature and quiet away from the hustle and bustle of modern life. For others, it was a prison, and the moment they could they fled to a bigger city, talking about their small town as though they’d escaped purgatory itself.
For a few, however, the vast amount of empty space was camouflage, providing enough distance from prying eyes and ears to permit for covert meetings between wanted criminals, even ones so hunted that there were Heroes actively searching for them at any given moment. Such was the case on this day when Crispin and Sherman suddenly appeared outside an abandoned farmhouse. Neither had gone so far as to wear a mask, nor coats since spring had finally begun to claim victory against the chill of winter, but they had donned hats and sunglasses. There should be no way anyone would spot them so deep in the nothingness of the Midwest, but Crispin was not a man to take needless chances, especially when he was already taking so many necessary ones.
“You’re sure they won’t be able to find me?”
“Scarf assured me they’ve got someone on staff who can thwart Supers with tracking abilities. And given that historically Globe has been mobile enough to storm a prison while still eluding capture, it seems likely she was telling the truth.” Sherman felt nervous, more than Crispin seemed by a long measure, although that wasn’t surprising. Crispin was adept, smart, and had a power that would always make him useful. If this went bad, Crispin would probably find a way to survive like he always did. Sherman, on the other hand, would have failed at his job, and would no doubt be dismissed. All that was assuming he even survived.
“I still don’t like the fact that you never got a name.” Crispin was already trudging through the grass, sun high overhead as he made his way to the barn.
“I never pushed for one,” Sherman reiterated. “They were willing to give in other areas, so it seemed best to pick my battles. We were allowed to choose the meeting place, and that’s a big one.”
“So big that I worry why they would turn that right over to us without more protest.” Craning his neck, Crispin scanned the area, searching for potential ambushes. “How are you feeling, by the way? Topped off adequately, or do you need more charge? There’s a chance we may need to leave in a hurry and I can’t have you falling short.”
Even though Sherman’s body was practically humming with power, he was almost tempted to request more. Crispin’s ability was a thing some would call intoxicating – those who didn’t fully understand it, anyway. Alcohol could never match the feeling of what he offered: to be at one’s absolute best; to feel the full breadth of potential realized… it was more than drug-like. It felt like Sherman was the pinnacle of what he could ever be, the true best version of himself. The sensation was nearly impossible to turn away from once it had been tasted. However, he had to think practically. Letting Crispin juice him up in the open like this was too risky. They didn’t need the other group knowing about Crispin’s contingency escape plans.
“I’m feeling fine, sir. As though I could teleport a whole mountain. No one short of Zero himself could stop me from getting us out of there.”
“Let’s hope so. I strongly dislike that we don’t know Globe’s power, or the abilities of who he’s got with him. Too many variables.”
“Scarf assured me that the only ones at this meeting would be Globe and anyone required for transport or safety. If we see more than three people inside, I’ll take us out of here immediately,” Sherman promised. “This is supposed to be a simple meeting between the bosses. Once you two are comfortable doing business with each other, we can go back to using proxies.”
Crispin kept on trudging through the grass, drawing closer to the barn. His neck swiveled, scanning his surroundings constantly, but nothing appeared. Either Globe had hidden his treachery too well to be spotted or he was playing things on the up-and-up. Finally, they arrived at the large sliding door on the barn’s front.
“I must say, as inconvenient as this all is, part of me is glad they were so firm about a meeting,” Crispin remarked. “There aren’t many people in the world who understand what it is to be in my position, and even fewer who’ve earned the spot while giving Heroes a black eye. I managed the first successful attack on an HCP campus, and Globe pulled off the first successful jailbreak from the Super-max facility. In a way, he and I have much in common. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to discuss such matters with him. The trouble is, I have worries about t
rusting anyone who is similar to me.”
“We can still leave.”
“And go where? Back to the box I’m forced to live in for my own safety, where I can read reports of more and more of our few remaining assets being brought down?” Crispin shook his head. “No, I’ve had enough of that. Growth requires risk; that was true when I created the Sons of Progress and it’s true now that I’m burying them. We must take chances, Sherman, if we hope to succeed. At the very least, I don’t have to worry about Globe being in league with the Heroes. I daresay his is the only head they’d like to see mounted more than my own.”
With that not-so-reassuring declaration, Crispin took hold of the barn door and slid it to the side, revealing a decrepit interior blanketed with hay. Interestingly, someone had brought in a pair of couches, a coffee table, and a small array of refreshments. Standing at the far end of the barn, away from the door so as not to seem like she was lying in wait, was Scarf, who still wore her trademark face-covering in spite of the heat. She and Sherman exchanged brief glances, but soon his eyes were drawn to the man sitting on the couch.
Red coat, bandaged left arm, and surprisingly charming smile… there was no doubt this was either Globe or a shape-shifter who’d done an excellent job at assuming his image. He waved to them, rising from his seat as they entered.
“Sherman, I’ve heard great things about you, nice to finally meet you in person. And Crispin… words can’t express how glad I am that you accepted my friend’s invitation.” Globe nodded his head, and the door behind Sherman and Crispin slid shut. A lot of rumors pegged Globe as a telepath, so this wasn’t especially alarming, though did feel a bit theatrical.
