10.

The Calm

Jasper gawked at the training facility in amazement. "This place is huge!"

Myself, the Headmaster and Angela stood behind him in the Syracuse Hero Academy,

colloquially known as the Den, parking lot. We’d come along to see his transition to the dormitory, but

the boy’s infectious enthusiasm was draining. His twitchiness rivalled Blacklight’s, and that wasn’t a

comparison made lightly. I was craving a nap, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

"I agree," I replied, glancing over his shoulder to see faculty push through the front doors. "And

now it's your school."

"Whoa..." Jasper looked up at me. "Where are the basketball nets?"

I blinked. "Come again?"

"The basketball nets." He frowned, looking almost confused. "It doesn't have one here?"

"There are basketball nets," Angela interjected, nodding to the west side of the complex. "But the

gyms here are mostly for training."

"Oh. How many people go here?"

"A hundred and fifty," I said.

Jasper frowned. "How many are in grade four?"

"Eleven," I replied. "Now twelve."

He wrinkled his nose. "Will there be homework?"

"All your questions," Angela sighed tiredly, herding him toward the school staff attending to his

bags, "will be handled by the teachers. We promise. But first, you have to promise something to us."
 Jasper nodded. "Okay."

"Like we said earlier, your parents and brother depend on you. Without Sarah, you're the big boy

of the house. That means you have to work hard, listen to the teachers and not make trouble. That's the

most important thing. Some kids here might be rude. Don’t let it get to your head. Learn everything you

have to, so you're strong and ready to help protect your family when the time comes. Okay?"

"Yes." Jasper straightened dutifully. "I understand."

I offered him what I hoped looked like a commanding nod of approval. "Now get in there and

knock them dead."

Jasper froze. "What?!? But she just said--"

"It's an expression.” Angela rubbed her forehead wearily. “It means do a good job."

"Oh." Jasper gave us a look. "Why does 'knock them dead' mean do a good job?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," she replied as the Headmaster finally had an instructor take hold

of Jasper and lead him toward the building.

She faced me. "He's gonna get torn up in there."

"Practice or theory?"

"That better be rhetorical. We have similar powers and were in a similar situation. He's not ready."

"Yeah, but this time being unprepared will lead to a difficult semester instead of a gruesome

assassination."

She bristled. "There have to be alternatives."

I glared back. "All ears."

 "I don't know--"

"Exactly." I glanced down at my watch, then frowned. "That's Lucas. Let's take it in the car."

I dismissed the call and faced the Headmaster, five feet to my left. "Keep me updated."

He glanced between us, as if to judge our spat. "Mhm. You sure you two don't want a room? Our

counsellors are notoriously good conflict resolutionists."

"Good day, Headmaster," snorted Angela, striding back for the Mercedes.

Headmaster Gordon watched her leave. "Quite the graduate."

Initially, my eyes were downcast, occupied by my phone. I turned them up to regard him.

"Angela? Agreed."

"I work hard and hate pointless… waste. Do not waste her, Skies.” He made to leave. “Good luck,

Director."

I frowned at his tone. "Something you need to get off your chest?"

"Some may sugarcoat the truth, Director," he explained haughtily. A ripple of energy rolled up his

jugular. "I will not. Your accomplishments are notable. For a blank, you've shown ability and grit I

cannot say I've witnessed before. But you are still blank. Which makes you a target."

I didn't flinch. "Believe it or not, Headmaster, you’re not actually the first to bring this to my

attention.”

"Of course not. But I'm the one who's seen lives lost." He narrowed his eyes. "You think you're the

first young talent blinded by ambition? I don't mean to undermine your efforts, Skies. Really. You are an

impressive specimen. But that means nothing when a Knight-Class barrels through your office and pulls
you apart. Or worse, pulls her apart protecting you."

"I can take care of myself."

He smiled tiredly. "If that were true, she’d be on assignment somewhere far from here." Gordon

turned back to face the school. "Do not misconstrue this as ill will. I wish you the best. Naturally, of

course, as we depend on your funding. But neither of us suffers from stupidity, nor can we entertain

ignorance. Your position isn't sustainable. One way or another, you'll die. I just hope for minimal

collateral."

I watched Gordon saunter back to the complex with a tight jaw. While I hated to admit it, he was

right. What if I’d been sent quality at the Underwoods? My gun and gadgets could make for useful

distractions, but you can’t escape the inevitable.

I stood there, consumed by doubts, before my watch chimed.

Schedule, boss, was the warning from Angela.

I purged emotion from my spirit before breaking into a power walk. Our new driver, Paul,

glanced up through the rearview and greeted me with a curt nod.

I returned it and settled beside Angela. She didn't look pleased. "What did he say?"

"The usual. Youth are the future of society, and budgeting the future is smothering potential."

"Bull." Her eyebrows furrowed. "I know him better than you. If he wanted to beg for money, he'd

send a lackey."

I strapped on my seatbelt. "One man’s begging is another’s negotiation."

"What did he say, Bernard?"

 I raised my phone. "I'm calling Lucas."

She rolled her eyes. "Tell him he can shove it. He's an elitist like the rest of them."

"He's also not stupid." I shrugged, redialing the missed call.

Angela crossed her arms as Paul took us out of the parking lot. I ignored her and waited for Lucas

to pick up.

"Two big things, boss," were Lucas' first words. "We finally pulled the full autopsy on Andre's

body. Four whole departments and over a week, but we have answers."

I nodded. "Such as?"

"We were right and wrong."

I sighed. "We locked Opake in the Chasm to avoid obscurity, Lucas. Cough."

"The wounds were a mix of burns and drainage. But a weird cyclic version. The burning is from

thermal energy, but the absorption of nutrients made it look weird. Though the drain specifically

targeted powers, the heat weakened cells. Unable to stay bonded to the greater body, they’d get sucked

up in the vortex. In Andre’s case, his entire body counterweighed his projections as a pivot, which is how

he was cooked everywhere. Sarah’s skin was the primary conduit of her shapeshifting powers, so there was

almost none left."

Angela failed to suppress her furious hiss. I spoke in her stead.

"I know what they looked like, Lucas. I await the actual point."

"Theoretically, a person can be saved. If we could find someone whose powers weren't infallibly

tied to their vital processes, the burn damage could be nonfatal."

 Angela looked angry, though I knew it wasn’t at him. "Right, because superpowers are well

documented for being anatomically cosmetic."

Lucas hesitated. "Well, there's a second way."

"Go on," I encouraged.

"Imagine, for a moment, a CPU. Why does it exist?"

I rolled my eyes. I didn't like roundabout explanations, but Lucas’ scientific jargon as an

alternative left me with little choice. "To process information."

"Right, exactly. But what's an unintended side effect?"

I cocked my head. "It heats up."

"To a complete meltdown. If you stress a processing unit enough, it can turn to jello in under a

minute. Given this roadblock, how the hell do they work?"

Angela's eyes lit up as we passed a moving van. "A fan."

"And just like that," Lucas said, "your motherboard isn’t bacon."

I glanced at Angela. "Are you saying we could... fan away the heat?"

"Never something so simple," Lucas sighed. "Cold air isn't going to cut it. No, if we had an

absorber, we could potentially save a victim mid-drain, but no one so far has the dexterity to pull it off.

The closest is..."

Lucas seemed to realize where his thoughts were going and quieted down.

I sighed. "Crimson Nova, I know. She's already stateside. We can run the idea by her."

Lucas’ excitement picked back up. "Maybe even run some tests for parallel tech?"
 I could feel his eagerness. "Baby steps, Lucas. She's not the most forthcoming with her abilities,

especially when sharing. We'll have to wait and see."

"I understand. I'll stay on standby."

"And the second thing?" I asked.

"Oh. Pink says his completed portal is ready."

I almost jumped out of my seat. "Why didn't he call me directly?"

The cadence of Lucas' pause suggested he'd shrugged, then realized we couldn't see him through a

call. "Dunno. Something about scientists understanding each other and corpos' heads being stuck too

far up their ass to see answers."

I snorted. "I believe you. When can it be in New York?"

"Weekend. They're getting trucks situated as we speak."

"Good. Great." I tapped my knee thoughtfully. "Have The Nordic escort. I won’t chance

anything."

Lucas made a confused sound. "Uh, I don't know--"

"I was talking to Angela."

"Oh." Lucas laughed nervously. "Right, of course."

"Anything else?" I queried.

"Nah." I heard the squeak of his chair spring as he rose. "See y'all later."

After Lucas hung up, Angela and I sat silently as I pondered the new information. So long, in fact,

that we made the half-hour drive to a private airfield and were walking to our SC-33 Dragonfly aircraft
when she finally piped up.

"Do you want me to talk to her?"

I shook my head. "Regardless of sentiment, we have jobs to do."

"Bernard..."

"I'm serious. She can feel however she likes, but we have responsibilities irrespective of personal

feeling. If Jason can see that, she will too."

Angela eyed me warily as we accepted noise-cancelling headsets and climbed into the chopper. I

shut off my phone so as not to interfere with console electronics, then strapped on my belt.

We rode for an hour, most of which was spent mulling over how I'd broach a conversation with

my mother. I could count on one hand the number of people I knew could hold grudges longer, and

that hand was a fist.

Rampant internal debate distracted me to such an extent I missed our arrival at the Sheath. In

fact, I was too preoccupied to react when Angela tapped my arm. She didn’t get the chance to try again

before a Hero rocketed past our craft fast enough to send a shudder through the seats.

That snapped me from my reverie. I was upright in a flash, peering down to see what the hell

could've triggered such a grave breach of highly enforced protocol.

Even without super-sight, I could make out the ant-like figures of SWORD personnel scrambling

across the island. And they moved fast. Fast enough for me to see, even hundreds of feet up.

Angela met my eyes. I imagined we shared a single thought.

Something is very wrong.

 The Dragonfly only just managed to set down after a full two minutes of stop-and-go as

panicking employees kept sprinting across our landing zone.

"What the hell?" I hissed, jumping out and booting back up my cell.

Immediately, a flurry of messages, notifications and alerts poured across my screen with such

intensity the whole thing froze for a good ten seconds.

My jaw dropped.

Military-grade hardware. One of the most powerful processing units for any device ever made.

And it froze.

With a hissing whine, the phone fizzed back to function and resumed the hail of information. It

moved too quickly for me to make anything other than attack out. My messenger app alone had just

passed nine-thousand individual texts and was still climbing.

What the fuck? I spun around to the nearest employee. His dress gave me the impression of a

technician, but I was too panicked to care.

"Hey! What's going on?"

He didn't even hear me. He kept running across to one of the server farms located near the far side

of our island.

What the hell could've happened in the relatively short time I was gone? Lucas sounded relaxed

and... normal when he'd hung up. This looked like an apocalypse.

The telltale gust of strong wind preceding a dull, tremor-inducing thud announced the arrival of

Jason Nova. I swatted dust from around me as he performed a tight, scanning spin.
 "What happened?" he demanded. "There are too many conversations to hear what--"

"We need to get up to my office!" I barked. "Keep trying to cut through the noise!"

Angela, Jason and I ran as fast as we could. At this point, I was almost unsurprised to see the

reception booth empty. Security was in shambles. Guards and soldiers stomped back and forth. Guns I'd

never thought would leave the armoury were tossed between squads. Every soldier I passed wore a look

of clear unease.

But it wasn't about the rocket launchers.

Something else was scaring them.

Naturally, I was the only one out of breath when we burst into my office. Jason didn't even run

the final few feet. He just glided across the room and shoved open my doors.

I made it two steps before my desk's shadow unfurled to spit Blacklight into the room.

No, not Blacklight.

Micah Rush. Without costume. Without mask. In the casual business suit he'd wear on TV when

out as a well-to-do actor and celebrity. His black hair and fair skin were out in the open. Rush's eyes were

dark and bottomless with the influence of his umbrakinetic attributes, but he was in civilian clothes.

And he looked scared.

"Rush?" exclaimed Jason. "The hell is--"

"Can't find my suit!" he gasped, dropping to a knee. "Where's the spares?!?"

Jason strode forward and seized his shoulder with a steadying hand. "Easy, Rush. You're alright.

The fuck is going on?"

 "We need to move," he spat to both Angela and Jason. "NOW!"

"Me?" Angela flinched back at the intensity of his order. "Why?"

"It's LA!" he coughed, shoving upright. "I heard while interviewing for Hardwood Love."

"Hardwood Love?" repeated Jason with a hint of disgust.

I, on the other hand, was preoccupied with another troubling thought. Blacklight had never once

shown signs of fatigue after leaving his spectre form, but just now, he'd appeared out of breath.

Hardwood Love, coincidentally, had been touring Europe for their promotional tour.

"How long did it take you to get here?" I asked, mouth dry.

Rush was at my desk, working the keyboard to bring up costuming records. He glanced down at

the corner of the screen to check the time. "Forty-four minutes."

"You spectred from England to here in forty minutes?"

Jason paled. "How?"

"The ocean has shadows too," was Rush's only explanation. Then, in an act so brazen even I

startled with shock, he seized the collar of Jason's costume and brought him in close. "Get to LA. Now.

Bring her. People are already dying. I'll meet you there as soon as I can."

He dropped into my bookshelf's shadow, leaving us with more questions than anything else.

We got our answer a second later from the monitor he’d spun to face us.

"Oh." Angela shuddered. "I see."

And see we did.

On the screen was a headline hanging beneath a live feed of Long Beach. I only knew that because
of the location tag in the top right, since the actual image was just a carpet of water. If what I

remembered of that area was accurate, Signal Hill, in its entirety, was gone. Lakewood and Stanton

weren't that far behind.

All completely submerged.

And out of the wall of aquatic death walked three figures. Two I immediately recognized.

And that sight enraged me.

Floodgates, for someone who’d entertained such a close brush with dismemberment, looked

absolutely peachy. Sporting a new, glowing, kiss-shaped tattoo on his forehead, he dramatically

flourished his arms to swallow a subdivision with a building-sized pillar of water.

At his side was Plague. The same Plague I’d assigned my mother and younger brother weeks ago to

apprehend. Outfitted in new armour and a matching mark, he raised his hand and down fell a cloud of

locusts. I couldn't see how many died. I didn't want to know. A single of his bugs could kill a grown

man.

And there were thousands on screen alone.

The third dragged a choked gasp from Angela. I didn't blame her. He stood over a full foot taller

than Floodgates, who was easily over six feet himself. His bald head, sheeny, metal-textured skin and

glowing platinum eyes made for an imposing figure.

"That's Ergo," spluttered Angela.

I almost agreed. Almost. But something was wrong. The figure was too bulky. Too wide. He also

walked differently. More assured. His back was straighter.

 He turned to glance up at the news chopper, grinned at the camera and clapped.

I found my answer right as the ensuing wind wall connected and cut the feed to black.

His eyes. Ergo's eyes weren't platinum. They were a darker, richer bronze. And he couldn't clap

helicopters out of the sky that casually. Even Jason would struggle to create a blast of such astounding

precision and range.

Jason spun on me. "I thought they locked him down in Canada!"

I shook my head as I rewinded the recording. Right up to the point where the silvery energy rolled

down his forearm and erupted in a cataclysmic detonation.

I turned back to Angela and Jason. "Look at his arms. The energy. It's wrong."

"What?" exclaimed Jason. “The fuck does—"

"That was a kinetic discharge, not a projected one. He needed impact for propulsion. They're

different powers."

Jason flung his arms over his head. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh God." That was Angela. She'd gone whiter and had to stagger to one of the chairs.

Jason whirled to face her. "What?"

"Different powers, different attack style, different walking pattern, different body shape and

different eye colour." I zoomed in to the cruel, evil smile. "Different person."

And the platinum eyes promising death.

"That," I finished, "is not Ergo."