Super Powereds: Year 3 (63 page)

                “I was getting to that,” Dean Blaine said with a sigh. “Sims wouldn’t be very useful tools if they couldn’t register situations where non-physical abilities are utilized. We have calibrated these to record the triggers that would constitute power use, eye-contact in your case, Mr. Weaver, and they are programmed to respond appropriately if those conditions are met.”

                “Sorry,” Rich said, looking suitably ashamed for his outburst.

                “It’s all right, I understand the concern. Without those capabilities, these would not be useful for a true test of your skills,” Dean Blaine said. “There is still one more thing I need to tell you about the Sims before we move on. Many of you must have noticed the light in their chest. This is not merely an aesthetic choice. When you get onto the exam’s field, some of these lights will be glowing yellow, while others will be glowing red. A yellow light indicates that the Sim you’re facing has not been identified as a high-level threat, and that lethal force should only be used if absolutely necessary.”

                As a whole, the group didn’t react to that, though some of the smarter ones did show changed expressions as they realized what red lights would likely indicate.

                “If the Sim is showing a red light,” Dean Blaine continued. “Then it means that Sim is a high-level threat, a serious danger not only to the Hero fighting it, but to the entire area around it. Those can, and often should, be killed on sight.”

                This time, there was a reaction; there always was when they got to this exam. Eyes widened, feet shuffled, and a few loud gasps were heard. Dean Blaine waited for the first wave of noise to cease before he went on.

                “This is a training exercise used by Heroes. Real Heroes, with real lives on the line and real civilians to worry about. If you wear that title, this is a situation you will encounter more frequently than any of us would like. Some Supers are just too powerful to let run wild. If they turn criminal, people will die. Sometimes a few, sometimes hundreds of thousands, but any amount is too much. That is why we have damage-level assessments in the first place, so Heroes can prioritize threats and know how to react to them. I’m not saying you have to kill the red-light Sims on sight, but for some of you, it may be the only way to neutralize them, and they 
must
 be neutralized. If anyone cannot make peace with what this implies about their future careers, I understand completely. You can leave this program right now with no ill-feelings and all my blessings. If you stay, then make no mistake, you will be learning to kill. How fast or often you do so in the field will be your calls to make, but it is a skill you will either graduate with or fail out because you lack.”

                Dean Blaine waited, giving the students time to let his words sink in. This was a breaking point for some Supers, when they were confronted by the reality of what they were training to do. Others would fall further down the line. After a full minute with no one volunteering to leave, Dean Blaine decided they were all committed to going forward, at least for now.

                “How you fight these Sims is going to be up to you. Use weapons, strength, abilities, whatever you like. You will be judged on how effectively you neutralize your enemies, what strategies you employ to do so, and if any are allowed to cause collateral damage. Any questions?”

                His question was greeted only by hard, determined stares.

                “Then everyone to the lifts. We’re going down to the exam level.”

117.

                “What’s the bet?”

                Alice, Mary, Chad, and Vince all looked at Roy rather than responding to his question. The Melbrook residents were clustered together as the HCP juniors rode down to the exam waiting for them.

                “The bet?” Vince asked at last.

                “Yeah, you know, the bet about what the winner gets. Don’t you try to bullshit me and tell me you all weren’t planning on treating this like a competition.”

                “It is a serious assessment of our abilities,” Chad said.

                “And we all want to be the one with the highest assessment,” Roy replied. “You guys realize this is our first chance to go all-out since last year? Hell, it’s even more free-range than that. No foam tips on your weapons, no specified conditions, no holding back. Today, we get the chance to prove what we can really do in the field.”

                “I think most of us are just worried about passing,” Mary said.

                “To hell with that. I say we worry about excelling. I’d rather go in thinking about having to beat you all, than trying to just scrape by. Besides, I’m genuinely curious about how strong we’ve all gotten. I want to see your new cards.”

                At that reference, Vince and Alice smiled in spite of themselves. Roy was right; they were too grim and tense. Nick would have told them to loosen up; he would have distracted them so they couldn’t get too caught up in their thoughts and fears.

                “Lowest score in the house cleans the lounge for a month,” Alice suggested.

                “I think whoever scores lowest will already be feeling down,” Chad said. “How about we offer a boon to the winner instead?”

                “I’m all ears,” Alice told him.

                “Winner chooses where we eat lunch after the trial?”

                “I’m pretty sure we’ll eat at the dining hall,” Vince said. “Mary and I have class after this, and there’s not enough time to go off campus.”

                “Lunch doesn’t work,” Roy agreed. “But Chad was right about doing something for the winner instead of against the loser. How about king for a day? Winner picks a day where they get to choose what we all do and where we all go. FYI, if I win, we’re going on a whiskey distillery tour, and that’s just breakfast.”

                “I could get behind that,” Mary said. “It would be nice to drag you all to a museum, or something with a little culture.”

                “Screw culture, I’m going for couture,” Alice added. “A day at the boutiques for custom ensembles, and dinner at a proper restaurant. I can already picture how I’m going to dress you all.”

                “Sounds like we’ve got a bet,” Vince said. He didn’t have any idea of what he’d do if he won, but since he was going to be competing against Chad, it seemed silly to plan on victory anyway.

                “Can I get in on this?”

                The Melbrook residents turned to find Camille standing next to Alice. She looked at each of them, refusing to allow her eyes to linger on Vince. “I think I’ve got a decent shot, and I could think a few places to drag you all to.”

                “Of course you can get in,” Alice replied. “I would have tried to weasel you into my shopping day, anyway.”

                “Alice, much as I commend your enjoyment of fashion, I’m afraid I will have to do my best to ensure that you are not victorious,” Chad warned.

                “Bring it on, bone boy. I was already planning on using this as my big unveiling. This just adds a cherry to the top of the ass-kicking sundae.”

                As Alice finished speaking, the lift shuddered to a halt, and the large doors opened. All twenty students began filing out, but six of them were far less stressed than when they’d entered. They weren’t just focused on passing or getting by.

                They wanted to win.

*             *             *

                Eliza slid the front door open and closed it behind her. Nicholas had never actually provided her or Jerome with a key, since that would express the sentiment that they were welcome in his home, as well as take away their opportunity to practice lock-picking when they wanted to come over. Normally, she let him have his precious privacy, but it was already nine in the morning, and he’d yet to make contact or pick up his cell phone. Security protocol demanded she make sure he was okay. If he’d been killed or kidnapped, then retribution and maybe rescue efforts would need to be kicked into gear. If, as she suspected, he was just taking advantage of the opportunity to sleep in, she’d get the rare joy of kicking the lazy sack awake.

                “You up?” If she’d been at all concerned about an intruder, Eliza never would have actually given away her position by speaking, but every security measure they had told her Nicholas was alone. That being the case, it was actually far more dangerous to sneak around his apartment without announcing her presence. If he took her for an intruder, she might not have time to correct his mistake before he “handled” her, and Nicholas was not renowned for handling his problems gently.

                Moving through the apartment room by room, Eliza kept her eyes peeled for any sign of disturbance. Everything seemed to be in place and normal, which meant that either nothing was wrong, or she was dealing with an expert. Thoughts like that made her really hate the line of work she’d ended up in.

                Eventually, Eliza pushed on the bedroom door and felt a rush of relief. Nicholas was still there, asleep in his bed. On the nightstand next to him sat a gun and a cell phone, the latter blinking with notifications about missed calls from Eliza.

                “Lazy asshole,” Eliza muttered. She went back to the sink and grabbed a glass of water, filling it to the brim. Returning to the room, she removed the gun from easy reach, then dumped the water on Nicholas’s face, eagerly awaiting his angry and shocked rising from the bed.

                Instead, he just lay there, chest rising and falling as he slumbered on.

                Eliza reached over and shook him, all sense of glee gone. No response. She tried pinching, punching, and very light jabbing, all of which garnered the same reaction: nothing. She stood back up, staring down at the unconscious young man. It was an unnatural sleep, which left her with dozens of things to rule out as the cause before she even considered that it might have been caused by a Super.

                “Damn it, Nicholas, what the hell is going on with you?”

118.

               The room the students stepped into was different from what they’d been expecting. Instead of a small area with a clear strip out of one wall—the usual area for watching trials and matches—the vast room was lined with television monitors. They were all dark for the moment, but it seemed obvious that that would be changing soon. At the far end of the room was a single steel door, and near the lift area sat a weapons rack that ran half the length of the wall.

                “Today, you are going to observe your fellow students' matches the same way we professors do: from every angle and vantage point,” Dean Blaine announced. “This means that those of you who are tested later have the advantage of seeing the tactics utilized by others first. You might see something that never occurred to you and incorporate it into your own strategy. Of course, going later also means that your professors and I will be harder to wow, since duplicating another’s tactics is less impressive than being the first to utilize them. The terrain of the building will shift between trials, so you won’t get any advanced field knowledge before it’s your turn to fight the Sims.”

                Dean Blaine stepped around the crowd so he was in front of them, lined up with the six professors. “Who goes in what order will be decided randomly, unless you volunteer to go early. There are valid reasons to take either path, so I encourage you to think hard on what you feel is the best course for you. Once you’ve been selected, you may equip yourself with any of the available weaponry.” Dean Blaine motioned to the large rack on the far wall hosting a variety of sharp, deadly implements. “Those of you using custom equipment should already have it on you. Beyond that, the rules are simple: neutralize the targets using appropriate force. Being rendered unable to continue, either by incapacitation or injury, will be a serious point penalty, but it does not disqualify you outright. We will be gauging the techniques you use to accomplish your goal as much as how effective they are. If you are set on continuing in a specific discipline next year, now is the time to prove it to us.”

                Dean Blaine glanced around the room, ready for questions but not expecting any. By the third year, most of the students had gotten accustomed to being provided only basic information, understanding that the things left out were omitted for a reason. It was important practice for them; working with little information and adapting to changing situations was a key aspect of any Hero’s job.

                “Very well then, we will now move on to the selection process. Anyone who would like to volunteer to go early, please line up, single file, starting right here.” Dean Blaine stuck his hand out on the word “here,” and a flurry of movement occurred as various students jostled to get into position. Chad and Roy were darting forward, held back by the fact they’d been surrounded by a crowd of people, as were Thomas and Amber. Adam was near the front of the crowd, and he neatly stepped away as Violet careened toward him. However, it was none of these who arrived at Dean Blaine’s starting point first. Instead, it was the young man who’d begun carefully moving through the crowd the moment the dean had put forth the idea of volunteering.