The Prospects (4 page)

Alex took the elevator to the basement of Griffin Tower. According to the map on the tablet, there were only four areas: the gym, the recreation room, the cafeteria, and the living quarters.

In front of him was the open door to the gym.

Dumbbells were strewn around the stained padded floor. A heavy bag wrapped in duct tape hung from a chain. Two of the three treadmills had signs that said “BROKEN” hanging on them. The stale air stank of sweat. The far wall had warning signs showing it was a target range and almost-obliterated bullseyes painted on chipped cinderblocks. A cracked mirror made the room look large and dingy.

The sounds of a TV and laughter echoed down the hallway towards the recreation room. Alex wanted to drop off his suitcase before meeting with the students. He headed towards the living quarters.

On the way he unlocked his smartphone and looked at the wallpaper picture of him and Emily. He had one hand around her shoulders and the other on her pregnant belly. Behind them was a horizon green trees.

He looked at this picture often. It was the last time he remembered being happy. It was the last time he felt like a man in full, like someone who deserved to have good things and dreams. It was before Mind Dame stained his soul with his failures and left him with a lingering doubt that she would be better off without him.

Deep down, he couldn’t convince himself what she said wasn’t true. Maybe that was the reason he and Emily argued so much afterwards.

He put the phone back in his pocket and opened his room. It was the size of a walk-in closet with nothing but a thin mattress on a wire frame and a dresser. The white walls and tiled floor were immaculate beneath the cheap UV light.

Alex tossed his gym bag on the bed and closed the door. The students’ rooms lined both sides of the corridor. Each door had a number on it, and his map’s legend showed who was assigned to which one. Each door also had a padlocked latch on the outside except for room five.

Alex stopped at the door for room five. The map indicated this room belonged to Trista Gianni. Mind Dame.

His leg shook as if he was about to fight. Ever since that day, in his most frustrated moments, he thought about the fury of verbal abuse he wanted to unleash on Mind Dame, the villainess who kept him from his son, who turned his fellow agents into traitors, who degraded him and made him want to die on what should have been one of the happiest days of his life.

A scared, soft voice, barely recognizable as the one that commanded him to shoot himself, said, “Is someone out there?”

Alex didn’t expect her to be in the room. He wasn’t ready for this. But is anyone ever ready for a fight?

He knocked. He noticed the misspelled word “VILLAN” scratched into her door’s paint.

“It’s unlocked.”

A small desk lamp made the only light in the room, which was even smaller than Alex’s room. Trista sat on her bed. She still wore the black leggings and faded red windbreaker she had earlier that day as well as the psychic nullifier. A rosary made of black glass beads with a silver cross dangled from her fingers.

She looked sad, vulnerable, and tiny. Her red-rimmed watery eyes blinked. “Do I know you?”

“About two years ago, the twenty-seventh of this month to be exact. I remember because it was the day my son was born. I should’ve been there. Instead, I was kissing your butt and trying not to kill myself.”

“You’re Agent Exo?”

“I’m your new trainer.”

Trista gasped.

“Sarge told me about your relationship.”

She pushed herself back against the wall.

Alex dangled the electronic key to Trista’s psychic nullifier helmet. “But you’re not his anymore, you’re mine.”

She swallowed and crossed her arms.

“Remember the time you made me want to die?”

She shivered. “If you want to do the same to me … I can’t stop you.”

Alex’s rage faded. This wasn’t Mind Dame, the villainess willing to kill civilians to conquer the world. This was a scared and hurt young woman. Shouting her out wouldn’t be righteous vengeance, it’d be cruelty.

Heroes aren’t cruel. He learned that from the Sergeant Hammer comics he read as a boy until the pages fell apart. He learned everything he knew about heroism from those comics.

He lost the nerve to give her the speech that he promised himself he’d say if he ever had her at his mercy. Instead of the torrent of verbal abuse he silently rehearsed a hundred times, he said, “You’ve been through enough today. We’ll talk later.”

As Alex walked to the door Trista said, “I’m sorry.”

He stopped and turned.

“For what I did to you,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

“We’re lucky Stormhead came up the elevator shaft and knocked us both unconscious with that ball of lightning. He saved us and everyone you planned to use as living bombs.”

“I’m glad no one died. Not because of me, at least.”

“But a lot of people suffered. Everyone you controlled ended up in the loony bin, including me. I spent a month in isolated suicide watch, away from my wife alone with my newborn son. That’s time we’ll never get back.”

She pulled the beads on her rosary. “I’ll pray for them. And for you. Maybe someday I’ll earn your forgiveness.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Knock it off.”

“What?”

“Sarge said you were a liar, and you are a good one.”

“Why do you think I’m ...”

“I almost fell for your weepy Catholic girl routine. What, you heard the ‘O’ in my name and figured I was a mick, so you got out the rosary?”

“I didn’t even know you were coming.”

“You’re psychic.”

“I’m not precognitive, and I can’t use my telepathy with this helmet on.”

“Whatever. Cut the religious crap. I haven’t been to church since I was baptized, and I’m not going back before my funeral. Don’t think swinging a string of beads will make me forget what happened.”

Trista looked at her rosary. “I believe God will forgive me.”

“No, he knows you and so do I. You made me your goddamn puppet. You sold out your old teammates to get here. Are you praying for them too?”

“They were ... I didn’t know … I thought I was ….” Trista sobbed. “What do you want from me?”

“This time you’re the puppet. Do everything I say until my exoskeleton is fixed. I’ll make your life the hell you deserve until then. First time you screw up, you’re going back to prison. I’ll see to it you’re locked up with the people you ratted out.”

As Alex closed the door he said, “I really hope you screw up soon.”

When Alex’s outline disappeared from the bar of light under it, Trista’s soft hands tensed.

She set aside her rosary and smirked. “Kiss my ass. Again.”

Alex followed the sound of a television to a grubby room. Candilyn, Vijay, and Deon sat on a couch watching a rerun of the Simpsons. Jenny read a book in the corner.

“Who the hell are you?” Deon asked.

“Agent O’Farrell, special field agent with the Metahuman Affairs Bureau.”

“So you’re a cop?” said Deon.

“Yes, and I’m also Agent Exo.”

“Seriously?” said Vijay. “You pilot the blue-and-silver battlesuit?”

“It’s not a suit, it’s an exoskeleton,” said Alex.

“Exo-what?” said Candilyn.

“It’s a suit,” said Deon.

“In the comics, you have a square jaw and no receding hair line,” said Vijay. “Your skin isn’t as pasty either.”

“They had to conceal my identity. I ended up looking like a tan Dick Tracy.”

Candilyn said, “Hey, can I try on your suit?”

“The exoskeleton’s out of commission,” said Alex. “Until it’s fixed, I’m your trainer.”

“You’re not a superhero, you’re a guy who wears a suit,” said Deon. “What are you going to teach us how to do? Get dressed?”

Vijay grinned. “Trista could use help with that. She never wears her costume anymore.”

Jenny lowered her book. “Go easy on her. She’s been crying since Sarge brought her back from the escape attempt last night. And this morning, he chewed her out in front of everyone.”

“She deserves it,” said Candilyn. “She’s a stuck-up criminal. We may be losers, but at least we’re law-abiding.”

“If you don’t like Trista, why were you screaming at Sarge?” asked Alex.

“Because he snapped at Jenny, and then at me when I told him to lay off Jenny. I mean, Trista can suck it, but Jenny’s my panda bear.” Candilyn put an arm around Jenny and stretched out one of the blue streaks in her hair as Jenny grimaced in discomfort. “We dye for each other.”

“Jenny’s the mom of the group,” said Vijay, “because she’s too fat to be the babe.”

Deon high-fived Vijay. “Apply ice directly to burn!”

Jenny glared at Vijay. “I’m right here.”

“So this is what I have to look forward to,” said Alex. “A team that rejects a member, insults its teacher, and has so little pride its members pick on each other?”

“Some pick more than others,” said Jenny.

“Come on,” said Vijay, “I’m kidding.”

“I didn’t think it was funny,” said Jenny.

“We know who we are,” said Candilyn. “We’re misfits and mistakes, the least-wanted of the wannabes, our own greatest weaknesses. Sarge told us that many times every day.”

“If anyone cared about us, they’d bring Lady Amazing back,” said Deon. “Instead, we get a substitute hero who’s nothing without his suit.”

“If Lady Amazing let you act like this,” said Alex, “she did a horrible job.”

“We liked Lady Amazing,” said Candilyn, “and we were scared of Sarge. You’re just some guy without a suit.”

“All the same, I’m your trainer,” said Alex. “Be at the gym tomorrow at eight a.m.”

Jenny’s eyes widened. “Sarge made us get there at six.”

“Hmmm,” said Candilyn, “Is it possible you’re not going to be the asshole he was?”

“I trained under Sergeant Hammer,” said Alex. “I couldn’t be half the asshole if I tried.”

“Then we might get along,” said Candilyn.

Deon fake-coughed. “Suckup.”

“Please, Deon” said Jenny. “You licked Sarge’s boots.”

“Hey, Sarge is an American legend,” said Deon. “This guy’s only here because he’s useless anywhere else.”

“I’ll be in the empty room,” said Alex. “Any questions, stop by.”

Vijay followed Alex down the corridor. “Hey, don’t mind Deon. He and Sarge used to go at it a lot until they had a private talk, then he became a total suck-up.”

“Good for him.”

“Also, stay on Candilyn’s good side. She’s so dumb she misspells her own name, but it doesn’t take much to set her off. And she doesn’t let anything go.”

“What about Jenny?”

“Boring.”

“You don’t like your teammates much, do you?”

“Is it that obvious? I don’t belong here, I’m a freakin’ genius. If I wasn’t a poor immigrant, James Griffin would be living in my basement.”

“I believe you believe that.”

“I’m serious. I can write algorithms and program bots in minutes.”

“Then why don’t you have your own tech company.”

“I mean, I could be rich, but I really want to be a superhero, you know?”

“Not like I did when I was your age.”

“I’m a big Golden Gryphon fan, but I also followed your career. Someday I’m going to have my own suit. Can I ask you about yours?”

Alex opened the door to his room. “It’s an exoskeleton, not a suit. All I know is that it works except when it doesn’t.”

Vijay sat on the bed as Alex unpacked his gym bag. “So how did you get a suit, excuse me, an exoskeleton in the first place?”

Alex unpacked a stack of white Metahuman Affairs Bureau Training Academy T-shirts. “A hundred applicants out of thousands passed the physical and psychological screening requirements and background checks. After that, we went through Sergeant Hammer’s superhero training regimen.”

“Sarge was brutal to us. Outright abusive.”

“He was mean to me too. The training was the hardest three months of my life. But I wanted that exoskeleton. I dreamed so hard of becoming a superhero that, back when I was twelve, I cried all night when my DNA tests showed no significant abnormalities.”

“I thought people who liked superheroes didn’t become MAB agents. I mean, you guys seem like you’re itching to put anyone in spandex behind bars.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong. Every MAB agent I know is a fanboy. We want to work with superheroes. It’s only when we learn how different they are in real life from what they’re like in the comics that we become jaded. But when the New York Guardians said they wanted their agent to be a hero in his own right … I don’t know anyone who didn’t apply.”

“How did you make it?”

“Because I didn’t care how badly Sarge beat me, I was determined to win or die trying, and I’m not joking when I say I almost died. Six trainees didn’t make it, the rest wiped out before finals. Only ten of us earned his handshake and congratulations.”