| 2041The airlock exploded off the side of the downed Albatross as the pair emerged from inside. Unscathed and surrounded by a glowing field of energy, they didn't hesitate before running from the wreckage deep into the snow-laden woods. Holding tightly to the young girl's hand with his original arm, James 'Jim' Christopher O'Neil raised the prosthetic one as he smashed a path through the thick underbrush.
"Hurry Cass!" Jim ordered, pushing the thirteen-year-old girl to run as fast as her small legs would carry. While Jim had yet to get a bearing on where they had crash-landed exactly, he'd be damned if he gave Hyperion and his goons a chance to close the gap. They had already claimed so many lives of those he cared about, Cassander, Tad, and even Banjo.
Banjo went down the same way he had gone about everything, with that stupid smirk on his face.
But his sacrifice hadn't been in vain. Banjo's death had given Jim and Cassandra a chance to get the Albatross in the air and escape the island, the island that once held Pacific Royal Collegiate & University. Now it was Hyperion's personal fortress. Hyperion had gotten far too close to getting to Cassandra, and had they been able to get their hands on her abilities, it would end the war.
In fact, there never would have been a war.
As far as Jim and Miranda had been able to ascertain, Cassandra's ability allowed her to not only fold space but also warp time, even travel through it. Unfortunately, she had exhausted her abilities during their breakout from the former Alpha Base leading to their current need to travel by foot.
If Jim was able to get Cass back to Haleigh they might be safe for a while. Haleigh was still leading the resistance despite an encounter with Hyperion seemingly stripping her of her abilities. But she was resilient and no one knew more about Hyperion and his 'Children' than Haleigh.
The mission was more personal to her than any of the rest of the resistance. Two decades was a long time to develop a grudge over. Banjo's death wasn't going to be easy to break to her, let alone Elle, Banjo's wife.
Lights appeared on the horizon. Jim had begun to ascertain they likely crashed somewhere in the Yukon. That was nowhere near far enough away from the Island. Hopefully, the right people were picking up Jim's distress beacon.
A beam in the sky told Jim that one of Hyperion’s was coming for them. He could have killed Adie and Belle for having ever cooked up that infernal machine. The day the instantaneous transportation device was finished was the day that Pacific Royal fell. What was supposed to protect the student body in the event of another attack created a backdoor for Hyperion to waltz right in, behind the defenses meant to keep them out.
Hyperion themselves had always been able to seemingly travel near instantaneously, but thanks to that device, squads of their followers could be dropped nearly anywhere in the world in a moment’s notice.
“Why run, James? Where to? There is nowhere we cannot find you.”
The voice came like sand pouring through a hole in hessian. It chilled Jim to the bone, recognized instantly. There was no mistaking the owner of that voice.
“Or that naïve little girl of yours.”
The hand appeared quickly - far too quickly - crashing through the foliage that surrounded them, blackened fingers reaching through toward Cass. Jim reacted with moments to spare, yanking the girl away from the charred grasp of Malcolm Withers, one of Hyperion’s top lieutenants, and an overall vicious, vindictive man, gleeful for the opportunity to practice his own evil under Hyperion’s protection.
Withers stepped through the brush proper, a last few flecks of light drifting off him from the teleporter. He was a phantom-in-flesh, gaunt to the point of caricature, his skin leathery and pitted and clinging to his bones so tightly it seemed that one wrong move would tear it open from sheer lack of give. His hands and feet were blackened from the digits, almost comparable to frostbite, and where he trod the snow receded before giving way to flowers and vines that sprung up about him. The flora flourished for but an instant before wilting and rotting in the same spot. His face gave no emotion, just the impression of old canvas stretched thin over a cadaver’s skull. He didn’t even look capable of smiling, and yet when he spoke in that terrible, horrible, raspy voice, there was an undeniable tone of sadistic glee.
“Why do you protect her, James? Nobility? Some misplaced sense of righteousness?”
Withers stepped forward, reaching out again, and Jim pushed Cass behind him as she shrieked. Pure reaction drove Jim to lift his prosthetic arm; Withers seized it in his grasp and the artificial arm began to crack and peel beneath his palm. Withers leaned over, the corners of his mouth stretching back into his cheeks. Ghastly. Inhuman.
“Give us the girl, and this will all go away. All this struggle. All this death. All this pointless, futile fighting. We will be standing together, as we should have from the start. We will always have been standing together.”
The bubbling on the prosthetic reached the end, and Jim and Cass stumbled away as Jim unhooked it from the stump of his arm. Withers let out a low growl as he crushed the rusted, brittle metal between his hands, decaying the splinters of what was left beneath his feet as they flaked to the ground.
“Give us the girl, and you’ll even have your arm back. Won’t that be better?”
“Y’all can keep it, I never needed it anyway.”
Jim pushed Cass away as he stepped forward, the air beneath his stump shimmering purple as he focused his powers and a psionic replacement formed, solid and strong - and then, in a well-practiced movement, took a single step forwards, pushing the psionic arm out towards Withers in a single, forceful push; with it went a barrier, and the effect was like punching an old man with a brick wall attached to a hydraulic piston.
Withers flew back, crashing through brush and trees before finally coming to a stop in a plume of dirt and dust, and Jim stood straight, fists still clenched, but his face set with a firm smile of grim satisfaction. He’d put his all into the assault, nearly everything he had left in the tank - there were maybe two or three hypes he knew could withstand such a blow, and even then one of them would be in the roughest shape of her life.
So Jim was stunned when the dust cleared, and revealed an upright and walking Withers, seemingly unfazed by the attack. Jim remained stunned when, in a matter of blinks, Withers appeared before him, faster than Jim could even visually process. He didn’t even feel any pain until Cass screamed behind him.
Jim looked down. Wither’s blackened hand, fingernails sharp and ragged, was piercing his abdomen up to the first knuckle. The flesh around the wound was already turning black and necrotic, and Jim couldn’t speak for the agony as he felt Withers wiggle his fingers between his ribs, literally rotting Jim from the inside out. He could only look Withers in the eye, that ghastly expression that passed as close as he could manage to a grin plastered across his grim visage.
“Hyperion has been very good to me, James. Why won’t you let him do the same for you?
“Because you look just terrible for your age, kiddo.”
From seemingly nowhere, a man in a crumpled cloth suit stepped forwards, delivering a forceful kick as he did so, separating Withers from Jim, who collapsed onto his rescuer’s waiting shoulder.
“I mean, you’re what, half my age? Less? And look how good I look.”
“H-Hemlocke…?” Jim stuttered out, his stump hooked around Hemlocke’s neck as the other hand pressed against his wound. “H…h-how did you f-find us…?”
Hemlock reached behind him with his free hand, proffering it to Cass with an urgency she found frightening; Jim only nodded slightly, and she reached out and took it.
“Kid, you won’t believe the kind of noise a guy like Withers makes in Limbo just by existing. Speaking of, hold onto your lunch.”
Withers screeched in fury, lunging forwards, but then seemed to freeze in place; there was a whooshing kind of pop - like when the pressure shifts on an airplane - and a brief, cloying, all-encompassing darkness, the likes of which neither Cass nor Jim could have even fathomed possible, and then the darkness receded and in its place was a landscape eerily close to the forest they had just left, sans Withers or any of the snow-laden evergreens that had previously surrounded them.
The previously vibrant forest had been transplanted with trunk after trunk of petrified, barren trees, devoid of leaves or the healthy deep brown of living bark. The ground beneath them held no foliage or floral debris; it was closer to the consistency of baked clay or mud, dry and flaky and cracking audibly under their footsteps. Everything as far as the eye could see was the same washed-out, under-saturated, muted palette, like the colour was slowly draining away, and beyond that, this strange copy of the world Jim and Cass had known was draped in a thick, obscuring fog. You couldn’t see further than ten, twelve feet maybe. The air was cold, and breathing felt more like the atmosphere sucking itself out of you than you sucking oxygen in; like with every exhale a little bit more of you was sapped away.
Hemlocke helped Jim stand by himself - an act which felt far easier for Jim than he supposed it should do - and tended to the frightened Cass, helping her calm down. Jim moved his stump to help, only to stop confused when he noticed the psionic arm he’d held there mere moments ago was no longer present. He frowned as he concentrated, frustrated as said arm flatly refused to reappear. Hemlocke stood up and noticed Jim’s furrowed brow, staring at the empty air where he expected his arm to be instead.
“Ah, yes. When you get as old as I am, the science of it all gets trickier to keep up with, but as far as I know it, those fancy particles you kids use for all your gimmicks don’t permeate through to here. So. No gimmicks, I’m afraid.”
Hemlocke looked between Cass and Jim as he explained, making sure they both understood him. Jim lowered his stump, shaking his head in frustration.
To Hemlocke’s dismay, Jim looked particularly wan. The blood from the wound on his abdomen trickled up and out from him in a scattering of crimson lines, like threads drifting in the breeze. Jim followed Hemlocke’s gaze and looked at his own wound, then back up to meet eyes. Hemlocke shut his and nodded. Jim set his jaw and nodded back. It was so brief, so innately understood between them, that the whole exchange was completely imperceptible.
“Where is ‘Here’? And who are you?” Cass questioned, impatient and brazen. Her voice was ladened with the tone of someone who had learned to trust very few people, and Hemlocke was summarily not on that list. He turned and gave his best smile under the circumstances.
“My name is Hemlocke Valentine Frey, and I’ve long sympathized with the Hyperhuman cause and long disagreed with Hyperion’s approach to it. And I’m a good friend of Jim. I think. And this is Limbo.”
He said it all so matter-of-factly that Cass felt like he was deliberately understating the gravity of the situation, or even trying to make light of it.
“What is Limbo?”
Hemlocke tried another smile.
“It’s where dead people go when they can’t move on, and it’s where I can go because I’m a little bit special like that. We shouldn’t dawdle; we need to get going. Jim, can you move?”
The matter was settled; Hemlocke certainly wasn’t inviting any further questions from Cass with that tone of voice. Jim nodded grimly. It was getting easier and easier to ignore his wound. Hemlocke nodded back.
“Alright then. Let’s make tracks.”
| Present"Bloody Hell, Slot Machine. You look thoroughly rooted there, mate. Normally takes a teacher about a month, month and a half of my shit to get to that stage. Wearin' you down already, eh?"
Jim felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. At that moment, he wanted to unload the past month on Banjo. He wanted the child in front of him to bear the full brunt of the consequence of once again running his mouth. Apparently, a week in the infirmary hadn't been enough. Jim should have advised them to leave him to heal naturally. The way Banjo carried on, it wouldn't have been detrimental to his education. Jim could already hear the excuses for every late assignment, laden with ridiculous euphemisms in that obnoxious accent.
A sharp inhale from flared nostrils allowed Jim the moment he needed to take a sobering breath. Banjo wasn't to blame for everything going hell around Jim. Definitely, quite the coincidence that it all started after Banjo came to the school, but even Jim knew it was just that, a coincidence.
"At least you're becoming self-aware there, Dingo." Jim smartly saluted Banjo with his remaining hand before doing a quick head count. Flicking his eyes towards a nearby clock and then back to the gathered teens, Jim decided enough had shown up that the remainder could be victims of their own tardiness.
"Listen up folks, no doubt some of y'all are wondering why you have babysitters watching over your shoulder. You've been on campus long enough you no doubt have an idea of where you're going. As your faculty representatives, Aaron, Miranda and I are responsible for your actions as long as you attend this school. It's in our own best interests to ensure each of you gets off to class."
Departing from the Mess Hall, the three teams fell into line behind their respective representatives. While both Blackjack and Eclipse ventured North West toward the Academic Quadrangle, Miranda led Team Firebird due South towards the Augmented Reality Center.
“I know many of you were disappointed that you didn’t get a chance to show off during the Homecoming Trials,” Miranda began, “Time to put that enthusiasm into class, you’re the first of this year’s Hyperhuman Enforcement Accelerated Training program to use the Augmented Reality Center.”
She pointed ahead towards a large dome-shaped building.
“All students completing H.E.A.T. have to learn to use control and use their abilities in practical situations. Leaving Pacific Royal, each of you will be eligible to work with one of the many branches within the Enforcement and Response Division of H.E.L.P. I myself used to be a Hyperhuman Emergency Response Operative. In the field, you need to be able to use your abilities effectively, and efficiently. That’s the goal of Practical Ability Training.”
“The A.R.C. a form of neural transmitter linked with a feedback suit and artificial environment to create a convincing simulation that you are using your abilities, when in reality we’ve merely tapped into the part of your brain and are redirecting those signals through an emulator. This only works within the A.R.C. and can’t function outside of these walls. It’s not a replacement for an inhibitor, despite in many ways acting similar to one.”
Miranda paused to smile at the group,
“Albeit without the side effects.”
Opening the door to the Augmented Reality Center, she ushered the team inside before turning to introduce the man waiting for their arrival.
“Team, this is Aiden Roth. Aiden oversees the A.R.C. and is one of the first students to enroll at Pacific Royal, having been part of Jonas’ pilot program in Crestwood Hollow.” Miranda turned to Aiden before continuing.
“Why don’t you tell the Team a bit more about yourself? I think you’ve got it from here.”
“Alright Team 78, my name, as Miranda already stated, is Aiden Roth. I was one of Jonas’ first students and after my time at Pacific Royal where I met my wife Victoria whom you’ll all meet later today, I ended up working with H.E.L.P. in an early iteration of the Hyperhuman Investigative Tactical unit.” Aiden paused to clear his throat.
“Back in those days, we didn’t have quite the same division of responsibility and H.I.T. was essentially the entire Enforcement division. Over the years I’ve helped develop the curriculum at P.R.C.U. along with working with H.E.L.P. to optimize the Enforcement division. Along the way I discovered my passion for teaching and upon some further accreditation, Jonas finally allowed me to run the Practical Ability training.”
He smiled, clearly proud of his journey. Slapping his hands together, Aiden eagerly rubbed them before motioning for Firebird to follow him further into the Augmented Reality Center.
"Some of you might be aware of how your abilities work. To others, this might be new, but all Hyperhuman abilities rely on the manipulation of high-energy particles, particles which are driven by Earth's electromagnetic spheres. These high-energy particles, or hazies as they’re colloquially referred to, exist all around us, not unlike an active energy field. But there is a finite limit to them at any given time and the more Hyperhumans localized in one sphere, the weaker they become as there are fewer hazies available to each of them to manipulate. For some of you with abilities normally beyond your control, this makes P.R.C.U. the safest place for you to be.” Aiden explained from the center of the Augmented Reality Center.
“Relatively speaking,” He reluctantly added. There was no need to explain the underlying message. Hyperion’s attack, while unprecedented, had a ripple effect on Pacific Royal’s reputation and the faith of not only the students but also the staff.
“Normally, we don’t start with this lesson, but given what each and every one of you experienced at the Southern Plateau, there’s a need to update the curriculum.” Aiden continued to explain.
“All Hyperhumans are able to suppress the abilities of others by exerting control over the immediate hazies around them. Yes, that includes the stored ions belonging to the Esoteric among you.” He took a moment to pause.
“If you’re not aware, each of you has a classification based on your abilities. If you’re not aware of your classification, please see me before you change into your A.R. Suit.”
“As I was saying,” He continued, “You’re able to suppress the abilities of another in order to prioritize your own. That’s how Hyperion was able to prevent you from retaliating and rendered you seemingly powerless. The flip side to this ability is that you’re also able to redirect your own hazies to another to boost or bolster their abilities. Today we’re going to work on those two techniques.” Aiden stopped to point towards a set of doors off to the side of the large domed room.
“Through there are the changing areas. Find an A.R. Suit in your size, change and return out here. We’ll break into pairs and then work through some exercises. I’ll be going around to each set of partners to ensure you understand the basics of the techniques. Don’t worry if it doesn’t happen right away, Exoteric Hyperhumans have more of a natural aptitude towards this sort of exercise, so don’t let it discourage you if some of your peers are having a much easier go at it.”
|
| _______________________________ ■ Suit Up
■ Grab a Partner
■ Start practicing cancelling and boosting each other’s abilities |
Meanwhile, Aaron Matthews led Eclipse in the opposite direction, back towards the bulk of the campus and the academic buildings.
“Been a tough couple weeks for you kids, eh?” Aaron said as they walked, trying to loosen up the atmosphere and break the ice.
“But now you’ll see us at our best - as teachers and mentors. We’re here for you, after all.”He recalled his own time at the academy, smiling as he dipped a toe in nostalgia.
“And you’ve got one of the best for your first class. Victoria’s A-class. Top student when she was here and then top everything else after that, too. And hey, if you’re lucky, maybe Aiden will pop in, and you’ll get to see Tori get all bubbly and giggly. Adorable, those two.”Aaron mused on - mostly to himself - as they approached the academic buildings, classrooms lining the halls within. He spearheaded the group through the main doors, before guiding them through the winding corridors and eventually to the door of the Team’s first class. Aaron smiled wildly, opening the door and ushering Eclipse inside.
One by one, each pupil filed into the classroom, carefully picking seats and quietly settling in to what would be their first class of semester. At the front of the classroom, leant against the desk, stood Victoria Roth, who was to be their professor for the class. She nodded to Aaron after the last of the team had taken their seats, and then Aaron closed the door behind him, and quietly took a seat in the back corner of the room, gesturing to Victoria to take it away.
“Good morning, class. Welcome to your first class of the year.”Victoria paused, letting the students murmur back their own greetings in a wary, monotone chorus.
“Now, I understand that the start of your tenure with us at the academy has been…” she stalled momentarily, searching for the right word,
“...turbulent. I understand there are lots of unanswered questions, lots of high emotions, and for some of you, the director’s response - and that of the academy at large - has been called into question.”More murmurs rippled through the class, which Tori allowed to bubble and burst before summarily quelling entirely by merely standing straight and bringing her palms together.
“I understand. But that is not what this class - or indeed any class - is meant to discuss, and to allow such discussions to misguide us away from your proper studies is a disservice to you, as students, to us, as teachers, and to the academy, as an institution of learning and self-betterment. So, on behalf of the academy, I want to be the first to acknowledge the tragedies of the last few weeks, and I want to be the first to state, categorically, that we cannot let it interfere with our purpose here. I hope you can all agree when I say that the priority of this academy is to help you, in all the ways available to us. And we absolutely intend on fulfilling our promise to our students.”Tori’s speech seemed to be well-received; the incident was, of course, incapable of being forgotten, an irrevocable stain on the legacy of P.R.C.U.: but the students were students; the teachers, teachers; and the academy an institution of education. No one could forget the reason they came here, either.
Tori turned to the digital display board at the front of the class, picking up an e-pen that hung beneath it and quickly writing the subject of the day in large, bold lettering:
MANAGING CONFLICT & INTERVENTION STRATEGY
“Now,” Tori restarted, turning back to face the class,
“I’m sure you’ve all had your own experience with conflict recently, what with the differences in opinion flying around campus - but it’s one thing to engage in conflict, and another to intervene. Outside this academy, you will face conflict every day of your lives - it’s simply the nature of society. But you all - each and every one - have a responsibility to de-escalate and manage any situation you’re in. The world is always looking for an excuse to go to war - do not think you are exempt. One Hyperhuman is all it takes to turn the public court against every Hyperhuman. You cannot let yourselves become that one Hyperhuman.” She breathed, giving her words the space to digest and for the meaning to settle in her pupils’ heads.
“But the best place to start - is from within. We can’t be our best selves for the world, if we can’t be our best selves for each other. If society wants to group us together to put us down, then we need to be a group. So what I want you to do is be open about the recent incident on campus - hear each opinion, every conflicting viewpoint - and then accept that opinion. And then move on. No counterpoint. No arguing back. Just let it sit in you. Ruminate on it. Empathise with it. And then, within your groups, figure out how to reconcile those opinions. Because when you accept your differences - you inhibit others from using those differences against you.”From the back of class, Aaron beamed a wide smile and gave Tori a thumbs-up. Tori returned a distinctly tighter smile and a distinctly smaller thumbs-up, before clapping her hands, startling the class.
“Alright. Break into groups. Share your opinions. Accept others’ opinions. Be empathetic - be constructive - be open. I’ll be joining each conversation to monitor how you’re getting on and provide guidance.”|
| _______________________________ ■ Break into three groups (two of three and one of four)
■ Open up honestly and genuinely about a recent conflict, incident or struggle on campus
■ Listen to others from your group and their perspectives |
Elias Onassis had a presence that dominated the room. From the moment that Blackjack had entered the Introduction to Law classroom, not a single one of them had taken an eye off of the large man writing on the archaic chalkboard. The chalkboard in and of itself was a conversation piece, nearly every classroom across campus was fitted with a state-of-the-art ‘smart board’, but Onassis himself had specifically requested a retrofit with a sliding chalkboard placed overtop of the modern fixture.
Despite the green slate from the fifties, Onassis still picked up a sleek, modern, tablet, before adjusting a pair of reading glasses and glancing down on it.
“When I say your name, please raise a hand.” He instructed in a booming baritone.
“Cooper,” A deliberate pause followed by a quick glance, “Crawford,” Onassis continued, exhibiting the same behaviour as he read off the surname of each member of Blackjack’s roster, working down the list before coming to the final name.
“Tyler.” His voice seemed to echo in the confines of the classroom as he finished taking attendance. Satisfied, he put the tablet down and moved to the front of his desk. Standing before the classroom, Elias addressed Team 21.
“Welcome to Introduction to Law. As future members of H.EL.P., you’ll need to have an extensive comprehension of the current laws, bills, active proceedings and all manner of legal concepts. It may be your job to enforce these laws, while for some of you, you may work on changing them. Neither of these can be done without understanding the system, its history and where it’s going. It’s my job to start you on that journey.”
He reached toward the desk behind him, picking up a still steaming mug before taking a loud sip and placing it down on the student desk directly in front of where he had chosen to stand.
“The past sixty years have seen an unprecedented amount of laws being passed, repealed and passed again. Many of which have had to do with social issues and equality; in no small part due to the emergence of Hyperhumans.”
Onassis gestured towards the notes written on the chalkboard behind him.
“To summarize, Hyperhumans have had their natural - some might even argue God-given - abilities suppressed, controlled, and even registered. Hyperhumans have been banned from work and performance in several sectors, and even their marriage has been outlawed at times, especially between a Hyperhuman and a ‘normal’ human. All of this has been in the name of security and safety for the greater public.” Elias paused to look each of the students in the eye, studying for that gut-driven reaction of disgust.
“And that’s not even touching on the pandemic in recent years that targeted Hyperhumans.”
Out of the corner of the room, Jim winced at the mention of the SARS-CoV-2 virus. While the Hyperhuman community knew the very real reality of the situation, there was no doubt several of the students would have been sheltered from the fact that it only affected Hyperhumans and had killed off seven million across the globe while rendering countless others sterile.
“Most of us would call it a prime example of inequality, fear-driven bias. But then we have Hyperion-”
It felt like a bullet to the chest. Jim had no idea how Hyperion factored into this lesson but depending on where Onassis took this line of thought, there was a chance for the first time in his time at P.R.C.U. that Jim would have to interrupt a lesson.
“A Hyperhuman who explicitly operates outside of the law. Many of you are probably asking what good the law does if a terrorist manages to constantly evade it? Why should you worry about living until its constraint if you too could be powerful enough to live above it. But it is only because we have these laws that we can deem a person like Hyperion to be lawless. Our laws allow us to distinguish between a good method of integrating into society and those who refuse to integrate themselves and thus alienate themselves, falling outside of the social contract. That is to refer to the contract in which we surrender certain freedoms in exchange for security.”
Onassis pointed to a quote from Thomas Hobbes on the chalkboard before returning to his train of thought.
“An extremist like Hyperion creates a rallying cry for both those who support and oppose him. Especially if they are left unchallenged. If all of us were to act in this manner we would descend into a state of self-involved anarchy. The law creates accountability in the interest of security. I do not believe that any form of civilization exists without a form of law. The governing interests of self can not be allowed to flourish if a society is to persist.”
Gesturing over the class, Elias turned the floor to Team Blackjack.
“So I ask of you, separating into two groups, is taking the law into one's own hands ever truly justifiable? Cooper, you will lead de León, Miller, Olyphant and Schade in arguing for taking the law into one’s own hands. Crawford, you’ll be leading Kruger, Musgrave, Richards and Tyler in arguing against your teammates about why the law should be upheld in every circumstance. Shall we hear your opposing arguments in twenty minutes?”
|
| _______________________________ ■ Break into two groups
■ Discuss why or why not taking the law into one’s own hands could ever be justifiable
■ With your group, prepare to present your argument. |
Member
HeMandaddy
Half Pint
Melissa
Festive
Supermaxx
Sep
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Ezekiel
swordmasc
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