The woman’s voice cracked over the monitor as the H.E.L.P. agent sat up in his chair, startled to attention not by the fact that someone was speaking to him, but instead by who was speaking to him.

“I’d like to speak to whoever is in charge.”

The negotiations with the Pentagon had hardly gone the way that Director Yakob Kowalski anticipated they would have. Once again, H.E.L.P. and the Hyperhuman Community at large had been stonewalled due to the perceived power imbalance towards those who were still considered ‘normal’ despite population trends showing the ‘Hyper-Gene’ on track to appear in at least fifty-five percent of the world’s population by 2050. Even with the attempted genocide of early 2020, the Hyperhuman population was rapidly growing.

To Kowalski, this was all the more reason why H.E.L.P. had to get the world’s governments to start treating Hyperhumans as equals in the eyes of the law. It would only spell disaster at large if the Hyperhuman population became the majority but were still treated like a fringe minority. A fringe minority that the rest of the world feared. It was rather disheartening that after nearly seventy years, H.E.L.P. had seemingly done little to change the public perception of Hyperhumans from that of a ‘supervillain’ living next door to an actual humanized person.

Taking one last look back at the building behind him, Kowalski shook his head before climbing aboard the quad-rotor Albatross series aircraft. He passed the Harpies and Manticore in the loading bay before making his way inside to the staff lounge. While each of the six Albatrosses that H.E.L.P. had in service was far more luxurious than any other military vehicle he had been in, this particular one had been specially customized for the Director of H.E.L.P. and was a cut above.

The aircraft shifted from its takeoff mode into flight seamlessly. Pouring himself a drink, Kowalski felt the aircraft gradually adjust its course, heading back west towards Alpha Base.

The explosion was the last thing the late director of H.E.L.P. heard.

Amber lights illuminated the corridors as the Black Site raised the alarm. It had been just under four decades since Autumn Miracle had been taken into H.E.L.P. custody following her attack on the Hyperhumans of Crestwood Hollow. Wounded and left comatose, she was relocated to the Black Site on Zayas Island where she could receive proper care and remain both out of harm’s way and incapable of harming anyone else. Despite that, even after coming out of her coma, Autumn remained mute and unwilling to talk to anyone, even her former classmates, during the entirety of her incarceration.

At least until today.

Escorted by security to Autumn’s cell was Deputy Director Winter Caspian, along with her Chief of Staff, and former Special Agent in Charge, Killian O’Bran. O’Bran had been in Crestwood Hollow the day that Autumn was taken into custody, and it had been O’Bran’s intervention that not only saved the then-future Director’s life but also unfortunately had caused the injury that left Autumn comatose.

“She’s watching.” Killian broke the silence, gesturing with his head towards the hornets hovering near the low ceiling of the underground bunker.

“Of course she’s watching. There’s no love lost between her and Miracle.”

“She’s still fully isolated, right? Quarantined on her side of the island?” O’Bran asked the security escort.

“Yes sir, the Hornet is contained. Her hive, on the other hand, there’s little we can do short of extermination and that would only start a war.”

“I understand,” Killian responded with a nod, “The Director, at least prior to his death, along with Dr. Lehrer both agreed that it’s best to allow her to have her hive and it’d be cruel to deprive her of it.”

“Enough distractions,” The deputy director interjected, “We already lost Kowalski today, the school is about to kick off a new semester and one of the most horrendous Hyperhuman serial killers has decided to break a four-decade-long silence. I need everyone focused on the task at hand.”

“What did she do?”

“She murdered five other Hyperhumans, cutting each of them open and taking them apart piece by piece trying to learn what made them tick. Dr. Lehrer classified her as an Esoteric Psionic with an extremely aggressive form of intuitive aptitude. Director Kowalski theorized that given enough time, she might have even been able to replicate the abilities of the Hyperhumans she dissected.” Caspian replied.

“It’s why even after all this time, her cell continues to be subjected to electron beam irradiation.” O’Bran added, “We couldn’t take the risk that she didn’t develop those abilities.”

“But if she had learned those abilities, wouldn’t that be uncharted territory?”

“It’d be a cross-classification, previously there was only one such known case, and even then Lehrer often argues it’s something entirely different.” Winter responded, her eyes darting again towards the yellow and black striped insects following above their heads.

“With all due respect,” The guard to the right said, “This is one hell of a day, Ma’am.”

Winter simply nodded in response. Within seconds of the guard calling in not only the fact that Autumn had spoken, but that she had made a request, Albatross-1 was reported destroyed along with all crew on board, including Director Yakob Kowalski. If the Deputy Director was stressed, she was doing a good job of not showing it, but O’Bran knew she had to be feeling it. With Kowalski gone, she was teetering on the edge of a field promotion to Director of H.E.L.P.

She was a logical candidate after all, though many would rather see Dr. Lehrer allow another to take over the school and instead position him at the front of H.E.L.P. To the public opinion, Kowalski was a general, a militant, impressions that extended to Caspian as his deputy, but Lehrer was seen as a caretaker and an educator, roles which could sway public opinion not only about H.E.L.P., but also Hyperhumans.

“Miss Miracle,” The Deputy Director stopped in front of the transparent barrier that separated the inmate from the agents. Standing beside Winter, O’Bran studied the woman on the other side, like most Hyperhumans she had aged rather gracefully, he could still see traces of the teenager he had been forced to take down thirty-nine years ago.

“I understand you wished to speak to whoever is in charge and as of thirty minutes ago, that would be me.”

“I am not the Crestwood Killer,” Autumn didn't waste any time cutting to the chase despite speaking in a sing-song voice. She batted her eyelashes innocently towards the group, “I tried to tell you who was really behind it all, but he-” She paused, pointing towards Killan, “Shot me! That hurt you know?”

“Get to the point, Miss Miracle.”

“Special Agent Kowalski coerced me, he groomed me into his assassin. I tried to show you all, I tried to stop him, but again, you shot me.”

“I don’t know what sick game you’re playing, but this conversation is over.” The Deputy Director responded, spinning around on her heel. “Director Yakob Kowalski died today.” Motioning for their escort to lead the way out, Winter exited the chamber behind the two guards, followed closely by Killian as Autumn began to frantically plead for them to stay.

Behind the small group, Autumn’s pleads quickly turned to anguish-filled screams echoing through the narrow subterranean hallways of the bunker.

Bloodshot eyes stared at the ceiling above his head. Seconds felt like hours as his feet impatiently tapped against the edge of the bed, no doubt making it as difficult for his bunk mate to sleep as Cassander Charon found it be for himself. Any second now, the campus wide trumpet was going to sound, the horn signalling not only the start to another day but that each and every student, include those who currently only occupied the Intake House, such as himself, were to get up and participate in their share of the workload.

Cassander had been at the school since Monday, having spent nearly a full week being introduced to the campus, various staff members and of course his fellow new students, eleven of which he was now apparently grouped with until he either graduated or died.

Whichever came first.

Holding up the Spade emblazoned armband, Cassander looked beyond the foot of his bed towards the neatly pressed uniform hanging on the closet door across from him. Apparently, they had been sorted into Team 21, or ‘Blackjack’. Not exactly creative, but it worked he supposed.

A vaguely melodious noise echoed across campus, the inevitable trumpet sounding the start of the day. Above his head, Cass heard the groans of his bunkmate as the mattress shook and winced from them stretching and tossing about. Prior to coming to Pacific Royal, most of Team Blackjack had no real military exposure, save for Rory Tyler who as Cass understood it, was something of a H.I.T. military brat.

Quickly dressing in his standard uniform, Cassander exited the Intake House and made his way to the nearby Mess Hall. The first two hours of every day this week had been spent helping prepare meals for the day in the kitchens. Which unfortunately had meant peeling more potatoes than Cass had previously seen in his entire life. On the plus side, he had very quickly discovered that his abilities significantly expedited the process of making mashed potatoes.

Thankfully it was busy work ensuring enough prep was done not only for breakfast but also lunch and dinner. The time flew and before Cassander knew it, he was hanging his apron up and picking up his blazer again. It was proper to wear a full uniform on campus, but on such a nice day, and with the sun beaming down now, the last thing Cassander wanted to do was wear the jacket. Leaving the Mess Hall, Cassander was greeted by a warm chinook brushing over him, before the heat of the West Coast sun was soaked up by his blonde hair.

Raising a hand to shield his eyes, Cassander took a quick look around. Normally once he had finished in the kitchen, he would have the rest of the morning, and often the day, to himself. The young man had hiked the island, spent a day on the beach soaking in both sun and eye candy, and mostly just explored the campus, getting a feel for where each of his classrooms would be located over the past week. While friendly towards the other members of Blackjack, Cass hadn’t felt like he had clicked with anyone just yet, and wouldn’t go so far as to boldly proclaim he had made any friends.

Today, however, was different, after a week of adjusting to campus it was finally Friday, specifically, it was the kick-off of the Homecoming Trials, a Pacific Royal tradition that placed the students into their houses and ultimately their permanent dormitories which Cassander hoped offered more privacy than the three bunk bed arrangement he had been currently dealing with.

Making his way towards the stadium, Cassander saw some familiar faces among the throng of students heading towards the West side of the campus. It was kind of surprising to see the size of the assembled student body, and more surprising to think there were nearly a thousand Hyperhumans gathered in one spot. He tried to block the cynical thought, but his brain wasn’t having it.

Easy targets.

Taking a seat beside Lucille Calder, another member of the recently inducted Team 21, Cassander simply nodded in her direction, fully well knowing that Luce wasn’t about to initiate conversation, let alone talk his ear off. Seated high above the stadium below in what would be dubbed the nose bleeds, Cassander expected to have difficulty hearing but that expectation was quickly proven false as the ceremony began.

"ATTENTION!" A loud voice came from the podium centred on the stage in the middle of the field below them. To the right side of the stage, a small orchestra was situated, while in the center of the stage was a large bronze statue of a Chimera. All along the back of the stage were the eight house emblems, emblazoned on large banners while chairs waited for the House Faculty Representatives. No sooner did Cassander notice the empty chairs, than did the school’s faculty emerge from behind the stage. Flanked by two bagpipe players, the orchestra's conductor stood up signalling for the orchestra to join in as the opening notes swelled, filling the stadium.

"All stand for the national anthem!"

Cassander did as commanded while placing his right hand over his heart, his left arm staying perfectly straight at his side. While 'O'Canada' may not have been the prettiest or most endearing national anthem, hearing it played now, and with so many people around him at attention, sent a tingle down his spine. As the anthem finished, the band continued to play while several students emerged from behind the stage parading flags from all around the world, acknowledging that not everyone gathered here was Canadian.

As the crowd took their seats again, Winter Caspian, the Deputy Director of H.E.L.P. itself took the stage as she addressed the crowd before her. Thanking each one of the students for their efforts in changing the world's opinion on Hyperhumans and expressing her excitement in working with the most recent graduates. As she ended her piece, she had the students formally welcome Dr. Lehrer to the stage.

To Cassander’s surprise, the student body jumped to their feet, it seemed Lehrer’s very appearance was enough to energize the crowd. They exploded into a chorus of whistling and hollering approvals as Jonas took to the stage. Immensely popular with the student body, Dr. Lehrer made it a priority to meet with each and every student that came into Pacific Royal, and while Cassander had yet to have a sit down with the Chancellor, he had no doubts that it was coming. The courses taught by Dr. Lehrer were among the hardest to get into especially because he left them open for any grade average. To Cass’ understanding, Lehrer had immense sway, not only over the school but even H.E.L.P. It was no small wonder that his personal protege, Summer Carlyle, went on to become a champion for Hyperhuman equality.

Expecting to find himself counting the minutes, Cassander was pleasantly surprised when Dr. Lehrer gave a warm and exceptionally welcoming opening speech, humorous anecdotes dotted it making time fly by as the man spoke for nearly an hour.

"...And as our returning students know, today signals the start of the Homecoming Trials. For our incoming students, you will get the full Pacific Royal experience as you compete in your assigned teams for the weekend for the honour of being the Homecoming Royals. These trials will also determine your house placement, so be true to yourselves and give them your all."

The crowd burst into applause as Jonas turned to accept a torch that was handed to him. Standing up from his seat, the House Canis faculty member; who Cass recognized as none other than his guardian's brother, Aiden Roth, suddenly ignited the flame with his heat vision. With the torch lit, Dr. Lehrer turned towards the bronze Chimera, lighting a flame in each mouth of the statue.

"Let the 2023 Homecoming Trials commence!" Jonas shouted into the din of cheers. "All incoming students! You are to return to the Intake House before proceeding to the Southern Plateau. New students should proceed in their assigned teams. You will find a package on each of your beds containing everything you will need for this weekend, including your physical activity uniform. You are to report to the Southern Plateau by 1500 hrs and in this uniform. I wish each of you luck and look forward to seeing which House calls you home!"

Banjo's bored face seemed to sink into his fist, propped up by the elbow on the desk. He drummed the fingers of his other hand rhythmically at the desk.

It was boring times in the "down hours" at the Collegiate library. The occasional student returning fiction books they'd borrowed for their own recreational reading in the holiday weeks between semesters had work down to scarcely a trickle. Early-birds had already got on their texts for the coming course-load, and the average student wouldn't make a move on getting their own until next week. So here he sat. In the dead spot.

There had been a few cohorts of giggling high school girls who'd found the strange new creature - who looked around their age but spoke with the accent from a faraway land and would be attending the university this coming year - interesting. But they weren't the kind of girls he had in mind when he was told he'd be attending this school.

He began to think it may have been a mistake to have gotten himself kicked out of the university library role.

Even if their rubbish bins are ridiculously flammable.

Truth was, he hadn't even tried to do anything this time. It kind of just happened. Then all of a sudden he's stomping out the fire, and questions are being asked about how it started and... well... yeah. He'd already been enough of a source of irritation for the librarian already. So THAT'S what must have gotten him kicked. I mean, he was pretty sure the librarian hadn't actually SEEN him accidentally starting the fire in the first place. So it must have just been holding a grudge.

He sighed audibly.

The collegiate librarian sent him out to re-stack the three books which had been returned and to go check the order of non-fiction again.

He couldn't imagine it would have changed significantly from the last time since there was only one person who'd come in the library since he'd done it last time. And they'd just come in to dunny dash and leave.

Another sigh.

Banjo wrapped his wrist around his loose fitting tie, and held it aloft like a noose, dragging himself off to the task at hand.

---

Banjo slowly trudged his way to the stadium. He was yelled at numerous times by faculty members to speed up, lest he be tardy, which only had the result of making him take his time all the more.

The sun was wonderful, and almost enough to tempt a man into soaking it all up. Almost.

When he finally got there he saw nothing but full seats, and shrugged to the staffmember who was watching the aisle. Looks like he'd be standing.

He winced at the cacophony of bagpipes blasting behind him, as he turned back to face the stage.

"All stand for the national anthem!"

Banjo let rip with a heartwarming, if slightly off key, rendition of 'Advance Australia Fair' to the music of 'O Canada', crunching a few lines in spaces they wouldn't fit and even tacking on chunks from the second verse which nobody ever sings in to fit, once he'd run out of words. Very creative, if not melodic.

Who knew this school would be able to awaken his patriotic spirit..? He seldom sang the national anthem at all back home.

The surrounding faculty didn't seem to agree.

The Chancellor of this rocking establishment came out to the kind of raucous response that you would expect a cult leader or at least tv evangelist would receive. Which was enough to draw a cocked eyebrow out of Banjo.

"...And as our returning students know, today signals the start of the Homecoming Trials. For our incoming students, you will get the full Pacific Royal experience as you compete in your assigned teams for the weekend for the honour of being the Homecoming Royals. These trials will also determine your house placement, so be true to yourselves and give them your all."

The crowd burst into applause as Jonas turned to accept a torch that was handed to him. Standing up from his seat, the House Canis faculty member; who Cass recognized as none other than his guardian's brother, Aiden Roth, suddenly ignited the flame with his heat vision. With the torch lit, Dr. Lehrer turned towards the bronze Chimera, lighting a flame in each mouth of the statue.

"Let the 2023 Homecoming Trials commence!" Jonas shouted into the din of cheers. "All incoming students! You are to return to the Intake House before proceeding to the Southern Plateau. New students should proceed in their assigned teams. You will find a package on each of your beds containing everything you will need for this weekend, including your physical activity uniform. You are to report to the Southern Plateau by 1500 hrs and in this uniform. I wish each of you luck and look forward to seeing with House calls you home!"

Students had started to rise and file out of their seats. Pouring out of the stadium and casting Banjo adrift on the raging torrent.

"Long time hyperhuman; first time caller. Never been to one of these shindigs before, so just out of curiosity, how many of us WILL you be sacrifing to your gods in this thing for a good harvest this year?"

Special. That’s what they’d said. That Trace and their ilk were special. Then why the fuck were they currently knee-deep plunging a toilet that a jackass had clogged up? The school year had barely started. Unless this was a brick of cocaine, then Trace didn’t know what the hell could have destroyed the plumbing so quickly and efficiently. Unless one of the kids around here could literally shit cocaine. If that was the case, Trace needed to see them.

When the water finally gurgled and receded into the bottom of the toilet, they exhaled. “The year bloody fuckin’ started, and here I am unbothra’n a fuckin’ loo.” They tapped the handle for good measure, and everything acted as it should. They took the plunger back to the laughable janitor’s cart then dragged that back to its little hidey-hole. Despite this being a school for special kids, they could still be kids. If they knew where the secret toilet paper was hidden, then no one was safe.

Trace was used to this sort of labor. They’d stocked shelves for years and had to do sanitation work when someone’s child decided to flush the contents of their mother’s purse down the toilet. At least then they could go back to their flat, wallow on the sofa, and watch the telly. No, today they had to head to the Opening Ceremonies and pretend to give two shits about Canada. Though, at least the drinking age here was reasonable. In the US it was bloody fucking 21. They were old enough to die in and out of school, but not have a beer in peace?

They quickly exchanged a few pieces of clothing, not really wanting to be packed in with the rest of the students wreaking of hard work and urinal cakes. As much as the beret was blasphemous to everything that Trace stood for, they still sat it atop their head. Going outside was akin to—well—there was no catchy euphemism here—they would burn instantly. They even carried an umbrella with them as pretentious as that seemed. Trace didn’t know if they could get melanoma, but they didn’t want to tempt fate. They already did that once, and now they were a fleshy, marble statue.

The armband with a card symbol felt a little much. “Blackjack” was what it stood for. Trace felt like they were in a dystopian teen novel. Would they have to stand in the middle of the ceremony and give some unique salute to show that they were the Special One ^TM? Trace had read a glut of those stupid books while at their previous job. Their boss—which ironically was their brother—was a stickler for “screen time.” So, they’d grabbed a cheesy novel off of the rack, paid their couple of pounds, and immediately got sucked in. It was real sad. Trace lowered the sleeves on the jacket and pulled at the long skirt that was punctuated by the shiny loafers. They’d kill for some combat boots. Hell, they’d kill in some combat boots.

They popped the umbrella as they passed the threshold to the outside, glancing over at their fellow classmates. Trace definitely wasn’t the protagonist of this teen dystopian novel. They hadn’t had time to form any friendships with their other Blackjacks, but they knew one thing: none of the others had any physical deformities and all of them had cooler powers than them. The only one that came close to being as off-putting as they were was Trevor, and he could pass for normal if you didn’t squint.

Nah, the protagonist was probably the stoic girl that didn’t talk much because she had some sort of Tragic Backstory^TM that led to her silence. Or maybe the girl that was rich, smart, and pretty—very pretty. Or the mysterious, angry boy that seemed to hate everything, even hygiene and manners. Trace was from South London, but even they weren’t belligerent for belligerent’s sake. Or the other pretty girl, who wasn’t as rich but a lot nicer. Trace would probably still choose the frigid one over her, but wouldn’t complain if she got a chance with either. Then there was the good-looking boy with dark hair or the other five/six good-looking boys with shaggy blond hair and a disposition^TM. And let’s not forget everyone’s favorite buff Afrikaans aunt. She was probably less protagonist material and more the beloved rival. Trace didn’t know where they sat in all of that.

They did know that they had to sit somewhere in the physical world where a lone shadow from one of the metal poles crossed over a seat. Sure, it was only a minute slice of shadow, but they’d take something over nothing. They also kept the umbrella popped much to the chagrin of the people behind them—maybe. They didn’t know how much their classmates loved opening ceremonies. They were asked to stand for the Canadian anthem, something that shouldn’t go well with international students. Trace just hummed “God Save the King” under their breath as other people sang. They did catch a snippet of someone belting out entirely different lyrics. Probably the edgy, gross boy in their class. They rolled their eyes—not that anyone could tell.

The whole spiel about trials leading to their initiation into a house had less dystopian teen vibes and more “a certain magic boy book series” feeling. “Oh boy. I hope this Harry Pottah fevah dream drops the TERF, or I’m fuckin’ out of here,” they muttered to themselves. But that seemed to be the end of the entire shindig. As they stood, brushing the back of their skirt off they overheard the gross boy go off. Again, they rolled their eyes. “So cool,” they called out. “Look everyone, at the cool boy challenging the system. He’s so edgy. No one’s evah thought to do that before!” They then grumbled, “fuckin’ wanker.” They’d kept it in for as long as they could. It was hard, sometimes, to not gag at the contents of a toilet, especially when it crawled out and grew vocal cords.

Peeling potatoes.

Haleigh was told that H.E.L.P. and the P.R.C.U. had the ability to help her. Yet here she was, peeling potatoes for a food service-sized breakfast. Admittedly, she felt it was a slap in the face; to be told they had the tools to to assist her hyperhuman condition only later to be ordered around like she was a poorly-paid line cook at a fast food joint. The menial work was definitely preferable to plunging toilets or other disgusting work, but it nonetheless still felt insulting, like she had somehow got the short end of the deal they had made here.

Looking across the room, she watched a fellow student peel away at the same potatoes they had been carving away at for what seemed hours. Cassander, Haleigh believed his name was. Supposedly they were to be on the same team, Team 21 or otherwise known as "Team Blackjack", being grouped up with another nine students attending the university until graduation. The nickname certainly sounded a little corny, Haleigh thought, but it wasn't that much of a big deal.

Peeling another potato, Haleigh felt tempted to chat Cass up, to make small talk about the endless pile of potatoes they had been told to peel and mash up or some other topic before deciding against it. She wasn't ready to open up to her fellow teammates or other people in general just yet; the horrifying thought of her power accidentally maiming or even killing someone, even more so someone she could call a friend, still hanging over her head. It'd break the last bit of hope she still had if it ever happened.

Eventually finishing up with her part in the daily food prep, Haleigh went to wash up and exchange her apron for her blazer. Had it been any other day, she would've already disappeared off into the school gardens; the closest her wheelchair allowed her to the nature she loved but also the somber silence of solitude. But today was different. Today was to be the start of the Homecoming Trials, a supposedly grand event to further help the students of P.R.C.U. find their place within the school's community. She'd have rather skipped it if the option was there, finding it a bit too dramatic for her tastes from what the faculty had told the student body. Given everyone was required to attend, however, Haleigh decided to roll with the exotic fanfare and followed a large pack of students towards the western side of campus where the opening event was to be held.

Taking a more wheelchair-friendly position once inside the auditorium, Haleigh sat in silence as she waited for the event to commence. She glanced around the building in boredom, looking for anyone that was to be part of her "team", but with so many students in one area, it appeared impossible to pick out a singular face that she knew.

"ATTENTION!"

Haleigh snapped to attention, focusing on the booming voice coming from the stage as it filled with faculty representatives and other members of the school.

"All stand for the national anthem!"

A moment of panic overcame Haleigh, as her body moved to stand up in reflex. Her heart raced, droning out the Canadian anthem and the subsequent speech, while her hands gripped the handles of the wheelchair, firmly planting herself within the seat before her power hopefully had a chance of activating.

No, no no no no, She begged herself, her eyes clinched shut in fear. Please not here, not here!

"All incoming students! You are to return to the Intake House before proceeding to the Southern Plateau. New students should proceed in their assigned teams. You will find a package on each of your beds containing everything you will need for this weekend, including your physical activity uniform. You are to report to the Southern Plateau by 1500 hrs and in this uniform. I wish each of you luck and look forward to seeing which House calls you home!"

Haleigh opened her eyes, looking around the auditorium. Everything seemed to be in place, and no one seemed to be hurt. She looked down, realizing that she had still been buckled into the seatbelt, a simple safety measure to help keep accidents like this happening. Breathing a sigh of relief, Haleigh sunk back into the wheelchair.

Fucking hell. Just... fuck me.

Katja awoke with an audible gasp from her slumber. Again, as with every night, the nightmare had returned. It seemed that she would be eternally cursed with reliving the worst day of her life every time she went to sleep. She had initially hoped that going to an environment where people like her, Hyper-humans, were accepted would lessen the frequency of her dreams. But alas, after nearly a week at Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, this hope seemed to be in vain. It’s not like she hadn’t accounted for this. It’s why she picked the bottom bunk after all. Given her limited experience, and thus control, over her power, Katja might accidentally trigger her abilities and suddenly increase her mass tenfold. And if that happened, you wouldn’t want to be in a bunk bed beneath her.

Sitting half upright in her bed, Katja looked over at her phone to check the time. She cursed under her breath as she saw that it was still two hours before the bugle call which would announce the official start of the school day, again. Controlling the urge to throw her phone away in frustration, she reached below her pillow to get the one item that would always calm her down. It was a silver beret pin. It had the shape of a rook chess piece, behind which were two crossed Mauser rifles and it was overlaid by two big Cs. It used to be her father’s back when he and her uncle still worked for their private security firm back in South Africa. Gripping it tightly in her hand, she put the pin close to her chest and felt her post-nightmare adrenaline subside.

Having calmed down, Katja got up from her bed and put on some running clothes. Given how she was awake long before the dress style was enforced, she could afford to spend some time outside of the uniform.

Even though she’d only been here less than a week, an early morning jog had already become part of Katja’s daily routine. It helped to get her acquainted with the P.R.C.U. campus, plus it gave her some time for herself. There hadn’t been a lot of interaction with the other people in the dorms yet, as most people were probably trying to feel out the situation. Still, here she was on her own and she could focus on her run and studies.

While the semester hadn’t officially commenced as of yet, Katja did try to get a headstart with studying. One of her electives had been History, preferably military history, and so she was currently listening to an audiobook detailing the African conflicts during the Cold War. She knew it was a bit of a niche topic, but there was something interesting about the asymmetry of these wars that made her think about how these tactics would be applied if…

“Kak” Katja cursed to herself as she had forgotten about the time due to being completely lost in thought. Running back on the double, she returned to the dorms with just enough time to spare to take a quick shower and then getting dressed in uniform before the morning call. After opting to go for the kilt, as that seemed to fit her hard rock minded fashion sense the most, she went on her way to start her daily community contribution.

---

For her community contribution Katja was placed into the Sanitation bracket. She was relieved to hear that she’d be responsible for cleaning duties at the library instead of having one of the shitty tasks like cleaning the toilets. It was a mostly mindless job where she could just turn her brain off and go on autopilot mopping the floors and emptying trash bins.

Mostly. Because some asshat decided earlier that it’d be great fun to light one of them on fire. Dealing with that proved to be quite a pain in the ass, as not only did it require replacing, Katja also had to help with the administrative hassle that came with it, which meant working over time. Luckily classes hadn’t started yet as she definitely would have missed half of the class, if not more.

She had no real idea who the culprit was, as she wasn’t told by the library staff. Still, that wouldn’t stop her from thinking about it. If I find out who was responsible for that mess… Katja tightly wrung the handle of her mop as if emphasize the point to herself.

Luckily the amount of trash fires today were at the much more tolerable number of zero. So after she had finished mopping the floor and emptying the bins Katja finished her assignment with a few minutes to spare.

As she walked through the Collegiate part of the library she spotted one of her team members, the blonde Aussie, as he was restacking some books. Katja could have sworn he had said something about working at the University wing. Since he worked here, maybe he’d know more about who caused the trash fire. Shrugging to herself she thought she’d ask him about it later when she had the time.

Now though, it was time for the main event of the day.

---

The stadium was already packed by the time Katja arrived. Most of the more senior student teams seemed to be sitting together, so she tried to find some sign of her own team members. Unfortunately finding any of them in this sea of students turned out to be as easy as finding a needle in a haystack. So Katja quickly gave up on finding any of her fellow team members and just found a random empty seat somewhere close to an elevated stand.

Soon after, the ceremony would begin.

Katja slowly rose to her feet when everyone was asked to stand up for the national anthem. While most sang or hummed along, there were some in attendance who sang their own country’s national anthems. Even over the crowd she could pick out some Australian loudly belting out his own anthem, which made her smirk. But only for a second. Katja herself would keep her lips tightly shut. She had no love for any of the Mundane nation states, as they had shown little love for her. Perhaps Canada was different, but given her experiences in South Africa and the United States, she was highly doubtful about that.

Dr. Lehrer took the stage after the anthem was finished. Katja had to admit that he was quite a charismatic man, and she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t enjoy his speech. The time seemed to fly by during his speech, making Katja almost forget her sense of time. But she was pulled back to the present when Dr. Lehrer announced the commencement of the Homecoming Trials with some pretty impressive pyrotechnics that wouldn’t be amiss at a Rammstein concert.

When Katja turned around to head back to the Intake House to prepare for the trials to come she spotted a familiar face: Haleigh Crawford, a fellow member of Team 21.

As Katja got closer to her, she noticed that something seemed off. Even Though they hadn’t interacted a lot before, Haleigh didn’t seem to be the person to become anxious because of a little trial. Yet here she was, seemingly stressing the fuck out. Seeing her like that… Katja couldn’t just ignore it.

After quickly running out of patience waiting for the file of students to slowly shuffle out of the stadium, Katja used her imposing physique to -carefully- force her way through towards Haleigh. While she received a few angry glances, none really spoke out against the tall girl. As Katja got closer she gingerly raised her hand to get Haleigh’s attention so as to not unnecessarily startle her

“Hey,” Katja said in a soft voice as she squatted down next to Haleigh, “you alright sus?”

---

The early-morning sun was warm on Luce's back as she knelt over the soil in P.R.C.U.'s greenhouse. Beyond the glass panes she could hear the low hustle-and-bustle of students and faculty coming and going - things were busying up these days in the run up to the opening of the semester - and also the occasional chirp-squawk from the seabirds that inhabited the isle; but in here they were muffled, and with a little bit of focused attention Luce could tune them out and concentrate solely on the seedbed in front of her. She could shuffle along, inch by inch, sidling her small bag of tools along with her to plant, water, prune, re-root, and in doing so work herself into a comfortable rhythm and achieve a sense of peaceful calm. Around her, all manner of produce sprung fruitfully from the earth: tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, asparagus. Right now she was tending to some aubergines that she'd planted last week, and that had begun to sprout healthily.

'Exposure Therapy', Dr. Mercia had called it. Gardening was well regarded as therapeutic and a good, centering activity, teaching valuable skills while also allowing allegory to take hold in a patient's mind; but for Lucille, it doubled as a way to become more comfortable in the outdoors and around wildlife again, albeit in a far more controlled, low-scale manner as compared to braving some of the forest trails that populated the acreage surrounding the academy. The idea had been floated, for certain, but Luce had turned full-face at the idea of it; the trees loomed like spectres in the distance anytime she moved between buildings on campus, and the thought of approaching them, willingly offering herself to be devoured by the forest once again, was far more than she was capable of bearing.

Gardening, as it turned out, was a suitable middle-ground. Luce had been forced, like the rest of the student body, to take a community elective to assist in the day-to-day running of the university, and when the topic came up in Luce's weekly sessions, Dr. Mercia had practically forbidden her from taking any of the indoor electives. They'd compromised, and much to Luce's surprise the greenhouse had quickly become a home-away-from-home - or home-away-from-dorm-room, from her perspective - and she often found herself toiling away at the dirt in her down-time even outside of allotted community placement hours. She had developed a surprising aptitude for it, and Luce would often feel a rush of pride when seeing some of the fruits (and vegetables) of her labour appear in the canteen.

Luce was interrupted from her green-thumbed meditation by the trumpeting call that signaled the day's start, and she stuck her trowel firmly in the dirt next to the tomato plant she had sized up for pruning, marking her place for when she returned. She stood, and quickly discarded the academy jumpsuit she'd been provided; beneath was the day's uniform, pressed and pristine, if now a bit rumpled around the knees where she'd been kneeling. She touched a hand to her 'Blackjack' armband, delivered to her temporary dorm just the night before. It represented so many unknowns, so many uncertainties, but also a fresh start, a chance to learn who she really was. Organized education hadn't suited her in the past, but P.R.C.U. wasn't exactly aligned with how the rest of the world approached a formal academic institution; there was opportunity here to seek a new beginning, and discover where she was supposed to be.

All she needed first was a deep breath.

"Long time hyperhuman; first time caller. Never been to one of these shindigs before, so just out of curiosity, how many of us WILL you be sacrificing to your gods in this thing for a good harvest this year?"

Cassander's attention was turned towards the source of the voice, finding no surprise upon discovering that it belong to none other than 'Banjo'. The age old rhetoric said that every class had to have a clown, and Banjo was gunning for the title between his name, his comments and general antics. To his surprise however, out of the corner of Cassander's eye, he caught a smile creep across Calliope's face in response to Banjo's comment.

A statuesque beauty, Cassander would be lying to say he hadn't noticed Calliope. Her demeanor though was rarely as enticing as her appearance. A literal ice queen. If Banjo could thaw her, then maybe he wasn't so bad to have around after all.

“So cool,” A mocking voice called out in retaliation to Banjo's comment making Cass' head spin as he tried to locate the nearby voice.

“Look everyone, at the cool boy challenging the system. He’s so edgy. No one’s evah thought to do that before!”

Suddenly Cass wished he had been able to ignore the voice as his eyes located the source. While Trace wasn't the least human-appearing Hyperhuman that Cassander had come across on campus, they were the ones he saw most often and their inhuman eyes and borderline transparent hair still gave him pause. Cassander was often guilty of wondering what Trace had looked like before their Hype-Gene exploded. Most of them got off 'lucky', at least in a manner of speaking. Hyperhumans were often attractive, retaining their youth longer if the faculty were anything to go off of. But cases like Trace were what propaganda makers focused on, branding them all inhuman monsters.

Following suit with the rest of the student body, Cass stood from his seat. Taking a second to brush himself off, more out of habit than actual necessity. The campus grounds were kept nearly immaculate, though the older teen would be lying if he said he hadn't put together that the students themselves were the ones doing the bulk of the menial labour. His eyes wandered back towards the center of the stadium, starting towards the woman who had introduced Jonas and the man himself whom she was talking to.

Cass' eyes were suddenly pulled across the bleachers as he watched a blonde amazon make a beeline for a familiar face he knew to be Haleigh Crawford. The wheelchair-bound girl had been assigned with him to aid in the mess hall and the two had spent more hours familiarizing themselves with various produce than either had anticipated coming to a school for 'gifted' youngsters. That said, barely a word had been spoken between them, but as low of a bar as it was, Haleigh was still the closest thing Cassander had to a friend on campus.

All the more reason Cassander's protective instincts kicked in when he realized that the amazon wasn't simply moving towards Haleigh out of the same familiarity, but because something was wrong. Cass had already planned on offering Haleigh a hand with her wheelchair, though the girl now kneeling beside the other teen definitely had him 'outgunned'.

Jumping over several rows of seats in front of him, Cassander tried to close the gap to get to Haleigh before being suddenly halted in his tracks. The sight of the familiar spade emblem on the amazon's bicep made Cassander realize that the blonde bombshell was more of an ally than he originally realized and that perhaps, he didn't need to play hero today. Awkwardly stopping, he hoped no one had seen his saviour complex override his common sense. Taking one last look to ensure, Haleigh was in good hands, he felt his cheeks burn for a second as his gaze lingered too long on the teen knelt beside his kitchen buddy.

“Fuckin’ wanker.”

Cass's attention was quickly brought back to his surroundings as he heard Trace continue to complain about Banjo before being caught in the wave of students moving toward the exit. He briefly locked eyes with Banjo who looked like he was about to respond to Trace before Cass allowed himself a half smile and responded.

"Hey, they may have said it. But we were all thinking it." He raised his hands dismissively, cobalt-coloured energy accidentally crackling through his fingers betraying Cass' manufactured calm demeanour. He was a little on edge and not just because of the situation moments ago with Haleigh, or the slight confrontation just now with Banjo, but because he had no idea what 'Trials' they were about to experience.

In his exploring of the campus, Cassander had asked around about the trials and not once had he gotten a straight answer, nor a repeated one. It was beginning to feel like after you got sworn in, you kept the secret of the trials or else Jonas would make you disappear. Given everything he had seen at this school, he wouldn't have been surprised if the rest of 'Blackjack' had to work together to steal a dragon's egg tomorrow.

Breaking off from the main throng of students, Cass meandered his way back towards the Intake House. The day was too nice to rush through and he knew there was a bit of time to retrieve his uniform and necessities before the shuttle carted them all off to the far side of the island to be, as Banjo so eloquently put it, sacrificed for a good harvest.

Finding himself at the fountain outside of the Administrative Building, Cassander's eyes were drawn to a plaque dedicating the fountain to Vanessa Bordeaux and the five other Hyperhumans who were lost during the Crestwood Hollow Incident. Of course, Cass had heard about the incident; he had lived in Crestwood Hollow for seven years. Back home Hyperhuman was a loaded term, the incident put Crestwood on the map and for all of the wrong reasons. Alexis didn't like to talk about those days, Calvin let on a little more but the way Cassander understood it, the murders were grisly and Alexis' brother, Aiden was right in the middle of it. In fact, so was Jonas as Cassander understood it.

The name Bordeaux also stuck out to Cassander. Wasn't his bunkmate Axel Bordeaux? In fact, he was sure there was a Viktor Bordeaux on staff at Pacific Royal as well. No doubt, both were related to Vanessa somehow. As large as the Hyperhuman community was, it also felt like one big family at times.

It was borderline eerie.

Speaking of eerie, Cassander had never spent enough time at the fountain to previously notice, but the water occasionally warped into the shape of a person, alternating between six distinct shapes. Looking back at the plague, it suddenly clicked as Cass jumped back.

Couldn't just have a statue like anywhere else?

While Alexis didn't recount the incident, she had spoken about babysitting a much young Vanessa, and how Vanessa and Aiden used to play under her watchful eye. She spoke in terms of endearment like one would speaking about a sister.

A wave of homesickness passed over Cassander. The winds blowing off the Pacific suddenly seemed a little colder and he wished the blazer of his uniform provided the same warmth Calvin's jacket did. Ripley would be starting Grade 4 this year back in Crestwood. Cass smiled sadly into the crystal waters of the fountain. He could only help but wonder if she was as nervous as he was about the beginning school year. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Cassander turned his steely gaze towards the Intake House.

There was only so long he could delay the inevitable.

“... Down at the body shop, doing something unholy…”

Rory Tyler bobbed his head and tapped his feet as he sang quietly to himself, the sound of his words dulled significantly by the high pressure kitchen faucets running at full blast. He wasn’t at all displeased to be working as a dishwasher, working through stacks of dirty dishes on a line at the scrubbing section. He relished the opportunity to put his strength to good use in some small capacity, facing each bit of hardened egg or cheese with a ferocious determination to make sure the dishes were scrubbed off to be stacked and reorganized. He recognized a couple of his new teammates peeling potatoes in another part of the kitchen when he walked in. Guess it took a lot to feed this many students.

By the end of his shift, Rory’s hands ached. He pulled off the yellow rubber gloves he had been wearing and rested them on the edge of the large sink area, stalking towards the exit. He had already been walking back to his room when he looked down to realize he was still wearing a black rubber apron. He quickly ran back to the kitchen, bursting in and throwing the apron over one of the hooks as he grabbed his blazer. He had changed into the fashionable jacket and was nearly out the door again when he heard a small thud, turning around to see the apron had fallen to the ground. With a small grunt and a few extra seconds spent gingerly returning the apron to its appropriate hook, Rory was back out racing for the intake house to grab his gym bag.

---

Rory stood in front of the rock climbing wall, taking a deep breath as he looked up at the intimidating climb. He double checked his harness, and dipped his hands into a small bag of chalk and rubbed his palms together to spread out the chalk. He took a few deep breaths as he tried to parse out the best path up, before just shaking his head and beginning his climb. The beginning was easy, as he steadily got a few feet off the ground without much pause between each step up. But as Rory looked above him for an easy handhold, he found the grips were all spaced farther out. He stretched out one arm, fumbling as he kept stretching farther to clasp one of the grips. His fingers just barely caught on to one, and his muscles ached as he began to shift his weight. He lifted a foot up to latch on to one of the grips, only to feel his foot give way as his shoe failed to gain the right traction. Rory hung for only a second before his outstretched hand’s grip gave way, and his body dropped slightly. His remaining hand grip wasn’t strong enough to keep him upheld, so Rory dropped a couple feet before the harness caught him. Rory looked down to see he was barely hovering off the ground, and sighed as he was lowered down by gym staff the rest of the way. Rory quickly assured them he was fine, and ready to try again.

---

Rory rushed into the stadium nosebleeds, smelling faintly of peach scented soap and his hair clearly still wet, as the assembly was starting. The call to stand for the Canadian national anthem made Rory feel at ease and helped him blend in, despite the stern looks from faculty manning the doors as he entered just as things were starting. He mumbled along with the national anthem softly as he quickly grabbed the nearest sea near the few faces he recognized, each sporting the signature “blackjack” armbands. He tried his best to pay attention to the boring speeches, but quickly grew bored of the presentation. He began tapping his right index and right thumb together, trying to match the cadence of the voices that practically droned in his head. Before long, he was startled to hear everyone beginning to stand up… along with a few interjections:

“.. how many of us WILL you be sacrificing to your gods in this thing for a good harvest this year?”

“Look, everyone, at the cool boy challenging the system. He’s so edgy. No one’s evah thought to do that before! Fuckin’ wanker.”

Rory felt his body immediately tense up, innately feeling the tension begin to boil. Banjo’s outburst didn’t make much sense to him: there were gods at this school? Rory had read some book back in middle school about something kind of like that. It would be cool of his teachers were gods. But he didn’t like the idea of getting sacrificed to one of them. Rory also didn’t recall gods being mentioned in Harry Potter.

“Hey, they may have said it. But we were all thinking it.”

Rory’s brow furrowed. What were they all thinking? Did everyone else know about the gods? Was Rory the only one who hadn’t put together the pieces?

“Hey all! Looks like we’re teammates. I hope we don’t actually have to play cards. I’m much more of a soccer guy myself.”

“Yeah, everyone, let’s all hold hands and sing Kumbaya together.”

Rory smiled slightly at Calliope’s “suggestion,” completely dodging the sarcasm with the expert precision of someone far too excited at the thought of having some actual friends for once. He called out as people began to disperse. ”Calliope is right… maybe some ice breakers would help!” He shot a sincere smile to whatever teammates weren’t rushing away, but couldn’t help but to feel a bit dejected at the shift in mood. Trace was gone, as was Calliope. Cassander had left as well, while Katja and Haleigh seemed to be having a bit of a moment. Rory turned his gaze to Trevor in particular, walking over to his new teammate and slapping a hand on his shoulder. ”Calliope is right, Kumbaya might be a better warm up activity… whatever that is. I’m totally down to play soccer, but I don’t think that would be best for… well… all of us, you know?” Rory tilted his head slightly in the direction of Haleigh and Katja, a warm smile still plastered on his face.

Rory watched as more people were funneling out of the stadium, and quickly patted Trevor one last time on the shoulder in reassurance. ”I’m gonna head back to the intake house and get changed. I’ll meet you there, man.”

He had been blowing off seeing Mister Lehrer since he got here, intended to do so after he had gotten a little more settled in. Last time he had met him, Axel had been angry and disrespectful. Pumped full of adrenaline and far from ready to face what he was. He had mellowed out in the last couple of years, he would like to think.

Instead, he had fixed himself out of his training clothes from the mornings flight session. Dressed in the appropriate attire, Axel began moving to the infirmary. He was tending to the overexertion wing of the ward, that is, hyperhumans who had overextended their abilities on campus and now lacked vital minerals and electrolytes at best - at worst, they were missing blood or calcium. Axel was tending to a speedster who had ran until he fainted. Providing him with an IV. Axel cursed as the puncture wound from the needle kept healing before the IV fluid could enter his bloodstream.

"How do we fix this?" He asked to no-one, before he remembered the training he had gotten when he signed up for this job. Using an inhibitor would have made sense - but it was pretty clear that putting an inhibitor on someone else without their consent was a violation of their integrity and grounds for severe disciplinary actions. Most hypeabilities provided the person with incredible healing abilities, so disabling them would do more harm than good in terms of injury. While perpetually hovering about four inches off the ground, he moved towards the supply cabinet. Getting out a needle labeled with a toxic symbol and a single letter, he opened the package and attached it to the IV. This time it entered the skin. It was a specific poison that would in the short-term distract the antibodies in a Hyperhuman immune system, allowing the IV to enter the circulation of the barely conscious speedster. The bag that Axel hung up above the medical bed had three clear letters on it. "HZE"

He tended to a few sprained ankles and popped one guys shoulder back into place before it was time to head to the ceremony. But first, he need to change clothes. Heading home, he remained in the air, getting a few stern looks from people, one guy in particular blasted him a finger-gun. He never quite got used to people not freaking out upon seeing him use his after all rather mild powers. Out in the real world this had always cause him trouble. Things were truly different, he supposed.

As he changed clothes and got ready to head to the ceremony, he felt different. He was tired in ways he hadn't been in a very long time, not since he had taken Talia to the roof of the world, that was one of the few times he had truly exerted himself. Well, that and Crestwood. He slept for a week after returning to New Lilith.

During the ceremony he remained in the air, fatigued. Flying above the stadium thanks to the open roof. Having a retractable roof seemed overkill. As Jonas's speech got longer and longer, he found himself short of breath. Theron met his eyes and nodded in approval. Axel looked to the side, and on the other edge of the stadium he saw the blue-haired girl, Maeve. He waved awkwardly. She did not seem nearly as bothered as he was by their homework. It sparked a competitive edge in him, and he felt a second wind coming on.

The speech ended, he stayed in the air chit-chatting with Maeve as he side-eyed his father, leaving the stadium along his fellow faculty members, talking to some of the older members of his house, Lynx. Maeve's friends were calling her as she bid farwell of Axel, who was about to return to his room - completely forgetting about the rest of the activities planned for the rest of the day. On his way there, he stopped in the air above the particular fountain.

She took his attention. He had seen the statue, back in Crestwood. He had seen it from the ground. But from up high? She looked different. Something about her looked different. Sadder. On the ground, he spotted his bunkmate Cassander, and a fellow member of their little strike force-to-be. He was coming down, not entirely intentionally, he was losing steam once more.

"I guess it's nice to look at, but I wouldn't be caught dead having my likeness used as a roundabout way of saying 'look at me, I have money to burn in a world where people are dying on the streets'." The girls spoke and Axel landed right next to the two, without much fanfare in doing so. He looked up, the fountain turning into her again. By the time he landed, his ears were ringing so he couldn't make out the following statement. A grim look on his face, he piped up.

"Her name was Vanessa, she was killed, brutally. They all were." Axel was panting quite heavily as he sat down, catching his breath.

He really should have pocketed one of those HZE bags, a bag in box of that stuff would have done him good.

Banjo ran down the back path to the Southern Plateau laughing his arse off. He didn't care if nobody else would find it funny. He was going to take the opportunity to take the piss out of their little ceremony, and was imagining the facade on that four-eyed Chancellor Lehrer cracking like a cheap mirror.

The laughter cut short as he was stopped in his tracks by a familiar face.

One of the few faces he knew which COULD count as familiar.


The man who'd brought him here, and had been the middle man between Banjo and every single boarding school and care facility he'd ever attended. The man he referred to as The Butler, since he'd never been provided with a name.

"Hullo there, what's this joker up to?"

"Fancy seeing you here. In a chair which doesn't belong out here and you would've had to bring yourself. On the round-the-back way to the place I HAD to go..."

"Yeah. It's almost like I know you or something... So, what are you doing?"

"Going to Homecoming Trials." Slowly the smirk returned to his face.

"You know what I mean. Dressed like THAT?"

"Whatever do you mean..?" The older man sighed, dealing with this kid had long been like getting teeth pulled. "I'm dressed in PT clothing to the letter of the dress code requirements. No more, no less."

Banjo was standing before the man wearing nothing but a pair of black speedos with the P.R.C.U stripes down the side.

"You see, the phrasing of the dress code allows for the wearing of speedos, and whilst it specifies aquatic activities as a potential time for when these optional alternative items of PT uniform MAY be worn, it doesn't specify that they can't be worn during other PT activities, nor what those exclusionary PT activities may be. I was even considering just wearing the trunks and going with wearing the speedos on my head, but why not just cut out the middleman? Soooooooo..." He gestured at himself.

"What about the armband..? I know that's normally optional as well, but I'm pretty sure it's required to identify teams during the trials. Got you. You can't worm around that one. He pointed at Banjo's bare arm.

"You're right, it is usually optional with this being a clear exception. But I'm not worming around anything. I'm wearing it."

"What, no you're no--" Banjo reached for the waistband of the speedos, about to retrieve something or reveal something from within. "--OK, mate. I'll take your word for it." Raising up both palms and looking away.

Another deep sigh left the mouth of the older man.

"Why? Why are you doing this? The Hell is the matter with you?"

"Just... taking the piss out of their big day. Were you at that assembly thing in the stadium? Bunch of brainwashed tykes with the combined power to level a continent. What do I want to have anything to do with this place for? Hell, you and me, we'll probably up sticks in a couple-a months anyway. That's what usually happens."

"Yeeeeeah naaaaaaah, kid. Hate to break it to you, but I just bought a place up here. Makes a nice change from renting for all these years, just waiting for when we'd have to pick up and go at a moment's notice. We're in here for the long haul."

"Or at least until I get expelled..."

"HA!" The older man ejaculated a single laugh. "I'd like to see that." He dug into his wallet and pulled out the last of his Australian currency. Ten crisp blue ten dollar notes, with the image of A.B. Paterson on them. "Hundred bucks says you can't do it."

"Challenge accepted." Banjo replied with a wry grin.

The Butler shook his head. "It wasn't a challenge. Think of it more as me informing you of a universal law of physics that you were previously unaware of. It's not a thing that can be done. And before you think about making your little Uni library fire thing any bigger, understand that this school has had over two dozen students just to my knowledge who have had it within their power to burn a school, or even a city down without a single match, who all had tenuous little control over their powers at some point... and the school still stands."

"You heard about that, huh?"

"Yes, mate. I heard about it. And did you ever wonder why, when you started a fire in the library in your first week, the immediate consequences was to send you to a place with younger, more vulnerable students?"

"I figured it was a punishment."

"Pleeeease... this place has ways to punish you that you haven't even dreamed of yet. That wasn't a punishment. It was the absence of a punishment. It was a message."

"Well then I guess I'll just have to get creative."

"You don't get it, kiddo. You aren't dealing with pragmatic, mercenary schools who are taking you for the tuition fees, realising they've bitten off more than they can chew and decided that the hassle you bring isn't worth the money. You're dealing with idealists. You're not going anywhere. They might make your life a living Hell if you try and do it to them first... but they won't be kicking you out."

"You mean I'm stuck with these dickheads and defectives for four fucking years?!?"

The Butler rocked back in his chair. "Said the lad wearing only a pair of budgie smugglers to an event that'll run overnight."

"Part of the whole hyperhuman thing. I can take the cold."

"I'll reiterate. 'Said the lad wearing only a pair of budgie smugglers to an event that'll run overnight... surrounded by the only co-eds who he's just realised are going be the constants who he's going to have to interact with over the next four years.' You might not 'be bothered' by the cold, but does that mean your... ahh... body doesn't respond to it?"

"Whaddo I give a shit about them for regardless, four years or not?" He said out loud, before breaking it down and thinking about it. Sure, the handy white maiden would probably give him some shit about it, but that'd just give him the opportunity to return serve... and he'd left so much on the shelf last time, he was honestly kind of just itching for another shot. He was pretty sure half of the female contingent in the group he was stuck with were gay, other than the one who was older and wore a ring and Calliop--

"Oh. Oh shit."

Banjo spun on his heels and beat tracks to get back to the Intake House for a quick-change with however little time he had left. Thankfully most had probably already left.

The Butler leaned back in his chair and basked in the warming B.C sun, a wide grin crossing his face. "Ahhhhh. It is good to lay down some roots and have a home again..."

"You can't possibly expect me to drink all this."

Hannah had brought a fishbowl to the group's table. It was filled with a bright red semi-translucent drink, and Makenna could smell the sugar in the concoction, something of a feat given the dizzying amount of alcohol.

"All yours baby-girl!" Cheered the blonde, pushing the over-sized glass directly in-front of Makenna and offering a wink. "Got them to make it just for you, figured you should get a little reminder of home on your first night of drinking. Southern spirit and all that." Hannah's usual barely detectable accent was played up to a degree of ridiculousness by the end of her speech, the girl was already near plastered and the night had barely begun.

"C'mon," Bemoaned another voice from another sashed bridesmaid. Jenny was plucking at the cheap plastic tiara on Makenna's head. "How else are we going to get you on stage?"

As though on cue the speakers above them gave out an ear splitting bow-out as the current karaoke participant attempted and failed to hit a note.

"God they're terrible," Jenny threw her head back laughing after she'd recovered enough to uncover her ears. "Please Kenna, we beg you- end our suffering."

"Please," She scoffed, though her face warmed from the indirect praise. "I'm certainly not going first- or alone."

It earned her an eyeroll and another push of the drink towards her. "As our beautiful bride commands- Shall we show her how it's done?" Hanna asked, offering a hand to Jenny and the pair worked their way to the stage.

The drink was sickeningly sweet, a hurricane, Hannah would call it later. A Mississippi novelty, Hannah told her upon returning. That alone might have been enough to dislike it. Makenna joined the idle chatter of the three remaining bridesmaids while the other two began a string of duets. They'd been feeding her drinks all night, and she'd given in more times than she'd expected. It was a devious and dirty trick, the way her entire bridal party worked as a group to queue up her favourite songs, topping off with tacky 80's power-ballads they knew her to be unable to resist.

So it was Makenna found herself in front of a bar filled with some fifty-odd people, microphone in hand and the first notes of I Have Nothing blaring out from behind her. She couldn't quite recall how she'd gotten there- nor was there time to think long on it before the lyrics began scrolling on the screen before her.

"Share my life-" The rancorous cheering from her table covered the bulk of the first entire verse. Four more straws had been added to the over sized drink, and they were making the most of it. For all the embarrassment that came with it, Makenna found confidence in the support of the others and began truly belting the chorus. A love ballad. It was a bit much, even for a bachelorette party, but it was Carson Makenna thought of as she sang, but her grandmother. Their many evenings over an old record player, memories of happy nostalgia easy to get lost in. She chalked it up to the delusion of alcohol, but it felt as though the entire audience had gone silent to listen to her.

"I have nothing, nothing- NOTHIN-" The final loud note before the end of the song- and the speakers blew out again. Reflexively Makenna buckled over to cover her ears, only to realize she couldn't hear in the first place. The music had stopped, and when she looked up to the rest of the bar, she saw chaos. Half the furniture and people were blown clear across the room- and glass was everywhere. Under all the tables and a sea of the stuff behind the bar and under where the windows should have been. Dully, Makenna was aware of a damp warmness running down the sides of her neck before collapsing to the floor.

It wasn’t as though Makenna was unfamiliar custodial labour. Her first job had been washing out the back washrooms and kitchen of a greasy rest-stop on weekends. Except even after that experience she swore she’d never suffer through that indignity again. Now she found herself bent over the toilets of the women’s upstairs bathroom some six years later. She wasn’t even getting paid. Part of Makenna had wondered if her mother somehow interfered to ensure her daughter was assigned to nothing other than sanitation for the first entire month of classes. Of course such a feat would require the bitch to actually show an interest in Makenna’s academics, or worse still, acknowledge her existence in the first place. At least scrubbing proved a decent outlet for frustrations. She had enough to get rid of after all. As if the ever looming yet unseen monitoring of her mother wasn’t enough she had to worry about roommates, an entire cohort of wayward young adults, and some damned tedious sorting trial- as though the hours and hours of psych evaluations hadn’t told the board more than enough about each of them.

There wasn’t time to do much else besides shower and change before the assembly. Another pointless formality. All of them had been debriefed of the intake process half a dozen times over. She surveyed those around her as the foreign anthem played, making out the familiar faces of the intake house and decidedly avoiding eye contact with any she found. Most were younger, all immature as least as far as Makenna saw it. She’d worked hard to develop a respectable social circle in her old life; three of her bridesmaids were pursuing doctorates already- only pushed backwards into a rag-tag group of rejects.

As the ceremony ended a group of them began to… congeal together at the stadium exit. Makenna hurried past them without so much as a second glance. She could smell Calliope’s bougie perfume as she brushed her shoulder. Sharing a room with the brat was already testing the limit of her false politeness and cheer.

She managed to wait the entire trip back before checking her phone. She knew better than to expect anything; not that it did anything to quell the pathetic hope in her heart rising only to be crushed each time. Unthinkingly, her thumb pressed Carson’s name on the recently dialed screen, bracing for the too-familiar voicemail message.

Except it rang. Four full times, and just Makenna had begun to hold her breath, there was a pause in the tone.

“Hullo?” There was an awkward beat, where Makeena half expected the rest of the recording that failed to follow.

He picked up her slack; “Ken? Sorry I’ve missed your calls- that time difference is a real bitch.”

She’d hated the nickname since the moment he’d first said it on their third date. But it made her misty eye-ed to hear him say it after so long.

“It's me,” She manged to confirm before needing to clear her throat, and turning up the smile until it could be heard in her voice. “Been trying to get a hold of you for a couple days now. There’s this… Thing.” It was always awkward bringing up anything PRCU related, it was too close to all the things they’d put so much effort into avoiding. “An excursion, a sort of boot-camp I guess. Might get really busy-”

The other team blackjack members had caught up to her head-start and made their way back to the intake house. Calliope the first to trickle in, and closely followed by the pale Brit.

“Makes sense, think you’ll-”

“Sorry, I'm going to have to hang-up.” She said, suddenly intent to end the conversation before any of the others overhear details of her personal life. “I just wanted to say bye- but I should be able to slip in a call when we get there.”

There was another pause, this time from Carson. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’ve just gotta go for now. We’ll talk tonight. Promise?”

“You got it.” All the certainty of his delivery was voided by the hesitation that came before it. Not that there was anything she could do about that now.

“Love you,” She said as goodbye, her pleasant smile turned pinched but voice still jovial over the phone.

“You too.” Was his reply, and they both hung up.

The visitation area was one of the places Iñigo Giménez-Pozo frequented for the last five months. Guards usually made a big deal whenever he left his cell that it just became a procedure. One guard would wait to escort the detainee to their destination while the other fastened an inhibitor onto them. Whether they were heading to the cafeteria or the library didn't matter to the guards. Or how often trips to the infirmary were for recurring migraines and nausea—the result of frequent inhibitor usage. But as expected, the guards didn't care about the state of an illegal hyperhuman. Like many other detainees in the detention center, Iñigo was subjected to verbal and physical abuse from them. There conveniently was no evidence of their wrongdoings to file a complaint against them.

And detainees that push forth despite the threats and intimidation tactics often find themselves deported or in solitary confinement for weeks. That was how Iñigo ended up in solitary for one week. On the sixth day, he began to feel his sanity gradually slipping away. The constant noise of pounding against the metal doors and windows that kept him up during the night wasn't helping. His mind would've been lost on the third day if it wasn't for his ability. The very thing that got him condemned by society and tore his family apart was keeping him sane. And with each use, Iñigo understood its benefits and limitations better. Then, while altering his right hand to appear slightly wrinkled, a lone guard opened the metal door, holding an inhibitor in his hand before tossing it to him.

Iñigo smiled for the first time in days.

Waiting in the visitation area for a half hour was nothing compared to a week in solitary. Iñigo followed his attorney into one of the secluded rooms and sat on the plastic chair. There was an absent expression on the attorney's face while pulling papers from his bag and placing them on the table. Before he could ask if he was alright, two complete strangers in professional wear entered the room and approached the chairs across from him. Iñigo turned to his attorney with a nervous look, whispering a question about their presence. One of them was an older woman with her graying hair in a neat ballerina bun, wearing a decently expensive navy blue sculpted suit. She also pulled out papers from her leather bag, along with a laptop, and placed them next to her on the table.

The other was an older bald man in a black lazio suit, staring at them as if trying to listen to their conversation. But he was confident and poised with no emotion like he had done this act over a dozen times. Iñigo looked back at his attorney and started getting up from his seat, which was when the older man cleared his throat. His arms were now resting on the table as he spoke with an authoritative but soft-spoken voice. "I suggest remaining, Mr. Giménez-Pozo; you'd be interested in what we have to offer."

There were eyes on the new student upon his arrival on campus, which was hard to avoid. Students and faculty alike stared at the stranger dressed in a blue prison jumpsuit with canvas slip-on deck shoes. Of course, it didn't help that he was the only person with an armed escort consisting of two guards. Their presence was required to "complete the transfer of custody over to the university from United States soil." But the arrangement never considered how humiliating it would've been to be paraded around like a hardened criminal for everyone to judge in silence. It wasn't helping that the inhibitor was causing the worst headache imaginable ever since arriving on the island. And, as almost expected, those sensations worsened upon entering the Administration Building.

Inside, every student waiting by the chancellor's office was immediately staring at the new arrival. One of them even took a discreet picture of him before acting all innocent. Iñigo Giménez-Pozo glared angrily at them before staring down at the floor in defeat; he was too exhausted to respond accordingly. The office, for the most part, didn't stand out to a former university student other than being more vintage. He kept staring down, minding his own business as the guards approached the chancellor to receive confirmation of the transfer. And with the sound of pen on paper, Iñigo officially transferred from one prison to another—but this one was more liberating in a sense. He heard the guards leaving the room but didn't notice the chancellor had taken off the inhibitor.

"I'd normally begin with a question to better understand my students, but..." Jonas Lehrer sighed and discarded the inhibitor into the small trash bin beside his desk. For a brief second, subtle sullen lingered in the air that would've gone undetected if it wasn't obvious. It was defused by a warm, soft smile from the chancellor. Iñigo admittedly felt awkward with the sudden shift towards a more sympathetic environment after living in a dentation center for five months. It was quite bizarre to experience. "...you need rest. I had my assistant set up an appointment at the infirmary for a check-up tomorrow. Your uniform is on the desk, along with your belongings. And the opening ceremony will start soon if you're up to attending it. Otherwise, you can rest for the day in your room."

Iñigo went over to the desk and seized the plastic bag containing only a photo of his family that was originally in his wallet. The rest of his belongings (his wallet, phone, and clothes) were declared "lost" months ago by the dentation center. A complaint was filed, but there wasn't enough information for them to reach a decision. Nevertheless, he was relieved to see the photo untouched by those bastards. "Gracias." Iñigo said softly before cursing at himself for the accidental slip-up in language, all ready to apologize.

But instead, Jonas shook his head and said without any hesitation in his voice, "It's no problem, Inigo."

---

By the time Iñigo changed into his school uniform and arrived at the stadium, the opening speech had ended as students went to their designated teams. He was assigned to Team 21, known as Blackjack, and scrambled toward the other members hoping the others didn't notice the late arrival. As he got closer to the group, conversations were already taking shape. And it was quite daunting for someone that didn't have many buddies back at the detention center. Sure, there were visits between his lawyer and chats with his remaining friends over the phone. But those were nothing compared to informal talks with complete strangers in an unfamiliar environment. So instead of initiating a conversation, Iñigo waited for someone else to do it while relaxing near a planter.

"I guess it's nice to look at, but I wouldn't be caught dead having my likeness used as a roundabout way of saying 'look at me, I have money to burn in a world where people are dying on the streets'."

Cassander was suddenly startled out of his thoughts. Jumping, energy crackled along his hands, a slight pulse of light emitting from his palms along with an audible 'pop'. Turning his eyes to the source of the voice, they widened slightly upon realizing the statuesque beauty from the ceremony was not only standing across the fountain from him but actually talking to him.

His mind raced thinking about how to play the situation in front of him. Did Calvin ever give him any tips on talking to girls? What if he ended up sounding creepy? Or worse, what if he ended up sounding like Banjo? Calvin had always said that the first thing Alexis had noticed about him was the jacket, the same leather jacket that he had given to Cassander when the teen left Crestwood Hollow, and the same leather jacket that was currently sitting in a foot locker.

And instead, I'm stuck wearing this dorky uniform, at least it looks good on her.

It was true though, on Calliope the uniform was flattering. She wouldn't have looked out of place in the corporate world or a high-end law firm. On Cass however, he felt the uniform was too tight in places it should have been loose and too loose in places that should have been tight. A tailor would have gone a long way on this campus in Cass' opinion. The upside was that everyone on campus was forced to wear the same aforementioned 'dorky' uniform. Clearing his throat to respond, Cassander tucked a finger inside the high-collared shirt, moving it around his neck attempting to loosen the stiff fabric.

He could feel dampness on his finger that he wasn't sure if it was caused by the heat of the sunny day or an unmistakable nervousness slowly escalating instead of him. The prolonged silence was broken as Calliope spoke again, Cassander thanking the universe for the few extra seconds to think as he tried to formulate a response through floundering thoughts.

"Sorry, we don't know each other and I may very well be insulting a person you like-"

Opening his mouth to speak, Cass was cut off as another teen suddenly dropped out of the sky. Instinctively, raising his hands, Cassander felt his control slip as a blue glow swelled between his fingers. A crackling orb of energy formed in either palm only to dissipate as Cass realized the gravity-defying student was none other than his bunkmate.

"Her name was Vanessa, she was killed, brutally. They all were." Axel stated, his eyes motioning towards the fountain and its many faces. Panting between his words, Axel paused as though he had more to say before deciding against and sitting down on the edge of the fountain.

"I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it," Cass interjected, circling the fountain while positioning his body between Axel and Calliope. This wasn't the first time in the past week that Cassander had seen Axel openly and freely use his abilities. In fact, it was often the norm for the older student, Cass could barely pick out a moment in his mind when he had seen Axel with two feet on the floor. To say it was annoying would be burying the lead, Cassander was downright jealous.

Cass' own Hyperhuman ability could only be used for destruction and he could barely control it. One wrong reflex, one instinct-driven action and he could blow. But Axel, Axel was able to fly. What Cassander wouldn't have given to have his head literally in the clouds, to have flown away from all the bad foster homes in his past, to have picked Chloe up and disappeared over the horizon where they both could have been safe.

The scowl across Cass' face betrayed the fact he had become lost in his thoughts again. It was Calliope's voice that once again brought him back to his present surroundings.

“No, I meant it the way I said it. I didn’t know she was being honoured, however. Even still, the money spent on it could have surely gone elsewhere.” Came Calliope's reply. Tilting his head slightly, Cassander shot her a look out of a narrowed eye while Axel replied to the pair.

"Their deaths started all of this. It caused the creation of this school. They became martyrs for all of our kind."

While talking, Axel palmed some water from the fountain, splashing it over his face as a bead of sweat was running down the side of his face. Dabbing himself, he stood up, catching his breath as he once more pushed off of the ground a couple of inches, hovering in front of the two.

Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, Cassander had to question whether this was an intimidation attempt. He had been in enough fights to recognize the signs and while he felt fairly confident he could hold his own against the literal 'Air Jordans' in front of him, he wasn't about to be baited into a fight when they had places to be.

"Most of P.R.C.U. wasn't built with money either, the school and campus are basically self-sufficient. They build, grow and create everything they need here. Primarily through the use of our abilities. While this fountain is a bit of a vanity project, it didn't take any funds away from a worthier cause."

Cassander's attention was suddenly pulled away from Calliope and Axel. Behind the other boy, exiting the Intake House dormitories was none other than their resident troublemaker, Banjo, dressed in nothing but a school-issued speedo bottom. Suddenly burying his head in his hands, Cass took a moment to gather himself, or rather his gag reflex. The vision of Banjo's wedgie burned into his mind's eye. He coughed, clearing his throat before addressing the other two teens around the fountain.

"I think the two of you might want to look over there." Cassander pointed as Calliope replied.

“Well, that’s one way to get kicked out of school. At least he has the body for it.” Looking at Calliope, Cassander tried to hide his frustration at the comment. It was utterly disheartening that Calliope seemed to only be interested in Banjo's physical form, enough so that she was willing to overlook his juvenile and frankly grating personality. The familiar feeling of envy slowly crawled up Cassander's spine as he looked at the girl practically drooling after the cackling maniac.

Peering behind him, Axel smirked a little. It reminded the older student of his high school days. There had always been some jackass who would go streaking after a football game. It seemed that those behaviours were never truly gone in some people.

"I'm sure he just thinks he is invisible or something," His attempt of a joke was undercut by his serious tone. Taken aback by Axel's tone, Cassander furrowed his brow momentarily. He had been counting on Banjo's performance to break the tension.

"I really hope one of the faculty members can transfigure clothing." Cass stated wryly, realizing that they had all probably delayed getting to the Southern Plateau long enough, he jutted a chin back towards the Intake House.

"I guess we should more or less follow suit and head over to the shuttle to get to these trials."

Trace was quickly reminded as to why they were glad they’d been ejected from secondary school like an ill-timed roman candle—a lot of air but a very tired fizz out. The way out of the bleachers became clotted as a few people slowed down. They all brandished the “blackjack” armband. One boy—Cass it might have been—announced that Trace was right. Of course, they were, but they didn’t languish in the praise. Instead, their attention was drawn towards the loud one—Banjo—as he pretended not to hear them. Only to contradict that point by flipping them off. “That’s practically a Sutton greetin’ there. Tell me what otha’ tame ass jokes you have. Going to call my mum fat? Go ahead. Though, I should warn you… she’s dead.” The way Trace said that was the same as someone saying the sky was blue or that crabs were nippy. As if it was a well-known and constantly regurgitated fact.

Banjo moved toward the group with the confidence of a cat that just finished in the shitter, but Trace’s attention was called away by Trevor. He arrived on the scene with other stragglers who only loitered momentarily before disappearing. He plainly stated that he enjoyed soccer… as if Trace wasn’t standing right there. They couldn’t be more obvious if they were a neon vest that said “Brit.” Then the dark-haired, traditionally handsome boy came up, patted Trevor on the shoulder, and agreed to play soccer.

“Right. Look. I don’t care what you call the damn sport in your yankee hick backyard. But just do me a favah’ and call it football around me. Thanks.” They glanced over to see that Banjo was gone and shrugged. “Well, it looks like the annoyin’, gross one left with your communally shared brain cell so that’s my cue to get out of here as well. You two chaps enjoy your mutual wank. I’m off to go get dressed.” They pulled their umbrella tighter to themselves as they backed away. “You know, so I can get sorted into the Slytherin House propah’.” They gave a little faux salute before turning on their heels and leaving.

Everyone in this damn class was handsome. Trace knew that not all hyperhumans possessed cinema-worthy good looks. There were some like them, and there were some that were far worse. None of them were in the “blackjack” class, though. As soon as they passed the threshold into the Intake House, they made a beeline for where they’d been staying. It was very temporary, but it was a lot more space than they ever had while living with their brothers and dad. Speaking of which, along with the package that sat on their bed was a picture. Trace had been waffling doing something with it. It was one of the few family photos where everyone was in it. Thomas I stood over the lot of them as the patron of the family. Though imposingly tall, he didn’t radiate toxic masculinity. Instead, he seemed to represent the old saying that “still waters run deep.” A very quiet man that could fuck something up if pushed into it. Then there was Thomas II, tall like their dad but with the darker brown skin and black hair of their mother. He smiled wildly for the camera, leaning over Timothy—who was the spitting image of their father with much paler skin, brown hair, and lighter eyes. Trevor and Terrence were somewhere in the middle, and while not twins they actually looked like they were related to each other. Then there was Trace, back before they changed. Naturally brown skin, dark black hair that was long and curly. They had paler eyes like their dad and his very Anglo-Saxon nose. But their chin and cheeks were definitely their mother’s, and they were the only thing that they kept.

Trace patted the picture before laying it to the side. Better get changed before their roommate decided to come in. It wasn’t that they were shy or anything, but they didn’t want anyone to gawk as the rest of their body looked as pale and lifeless as their face. The last thing they wanted was the Scooby Doo gang called to investigate a ghost when it was just Trace naked.

"Hey," A voice called out. "You alright sus?"

Haleigh looked upwards towards the voice, locking eyes with a tall—no, towering— muscular woman. Katja, Haleigh believed, her name was. She hadn't quite yet had the chance to interact with Katja, nor did she know much of anything in regards to her power. What Haleigh did know was that the two of them had been sorted into Team Blackjack, though that was obvious to anyone by the spade-adorned armbands they both wore as part of their uniform.

"It's... I'm fine, thank you."

It was a terrible lie, Haleigh knew. She had never been good at lying, and it was hardly in her nature to do so. Regardless, Haleigh struggled with the truth, unable to properly admit to Katja that deep down she was afraid. Afraid of herself but also of what she might do or who she may harm. Innocent people had already been put in danger by Haleigh, albeit unknowingly at the time. Even now, one potential misstep could've easily buried everyone in the auditorium.

She began to wonder if she should've taken the offered inhibitor instead of the wheelchair. It would potentially save lives, surely. But was it right for her to suffer at the expense of others?

"We... We better get going," Haleigh continued, turning her wheelchair around. "Don't want to be left behind by everyone else."

"It's... I'm fine, thank you." Something was off about the way Haleigh replied, but Katja couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. She was sure that the wheelchair bound girl looked distressed just a moment earlier. But looking down at her now, Hayleigh looked more embarrassed than anything. Had she really misread the situation this much?

Katja could kick herself. She didn’t mean to make the other girl feel embarrassed, Katja just wasn’t used to interacting with people a whole lot and apparently she just prematurely jumped to conclusion. But Hayleigh already turned around before she could apologize for causing the awkward situation she created. Katja bit on the inside of her cheek out of frustration at herself. It seemed like she had a lot to learn about reading other people.

She looked at Hayleigh leave for a few seconds before going after her. After catching up with Hayleigh, Katja put her hands in the pocket of her blazer and walked casually next to her as they left the stadium. She felt a bit too awkward to strike up a conversation with Hayleigh, instead she fell back to one of her older coping mechanisms and started whistling a song her mother used to sing to her.

Katja spotted a cluster of their fellow team members as they got close to the intake house. Having had enough awkward encounters with team members for this day, Katja decided against joining in whatever conversation they were involved in and headed straight for the intake house. She didn’t really know if Hayleigh was still with her or if she’d stopped to join the rest of the team.

Honestly, she was looking forward to the Homecoming Trials. It sounded like some sort of physical aptitude test, given how they had to get their PE kits on. This excited Katja, as unlike dealing with other people, physical activities were much more her forte. She did wonder what kind of activities they’d get to do though. Combat seemed a bit unlikely, as it’d be hard for a school to excuse their super powered students beating the shit out of each other. Plus, how would you fairly regulate fights between people who can bench trains face off against people who can talk with plants?

The thoughts about the Homecoming Trials had Katja absentmindedly opening the door to her dorm room, trying to look for her PE kit. She honestly should have knocked, and would have if not being distracted by her thoughts. But she didn’t and now she walked in on the pale shape of another team member, Trace.

”Oh fak!” Katja exclaimed in surprise as she immediately cast her eyes down to the ground and tried to move back behind the door. She honestly hadn’t seen much of anything. For all she knew Trace stood there fully dressed in a short sleeved shirt and shorts or whatever, but she didn’t want to take the risk by double checking. I’m really faking sorry… I should have knocked. I… She let out a deep, frustrated sigh.

This day was going swimmingly…

---