There is a ten-year-old boy. He looks just like any other. He wears his favorite sports team’s cap on top of his sloppily cut hair. It is windy, but he has shorts and a t-shirt on. He is wearing sneakers, but he is not running. He adjusts his backpack straps, for it is heavy.

The boy is waiting for the train. A maglev biomechanical gift vehicle, traveling at hundreds of kilometers per hour. An organ cloned from someone who could generate shaped vacuum shields is kept at the front of the train, reducing its drag profile. For some it is a technical marvel. Its speed and timeliness generates millions in utility yearly.

A thousand businessmen, tourists, and people simply going home waits on the station. They can’t hear it approach, but they trust the time table without a thought; the train has never been late before. And when the time arrives they see its spear-shaped head approach in the distance. They straighten themselves, put away their phones, and make sure they do not forget anything.

The boy takes a step forward. But the train has not stopped yet. A woman notices and screams.

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Terror at the train terminal today as EMS is working as hard as they can to get the wounded out of Langshir Central. Here you can see Stonemason lifting the concrete away little by little. There may yet be people stuck in the station’s underground. We can be sure he won’t leave a stone unturned.

Early reports from police have confirmed that some sort of explosive device was employed right as the train arrived. We have yet to receive a message claiming credit for this heinous attack…

“We’ve scheduled an observation session with the Langshir Hero Dispatch following what had recently happened,” Samuel Osprey said to the class. “Those who have been appointed a supporting role will be taking a ride on the M.A.G.E zeppelin to overlook the whole situation and see how we move to deal with attacks like this. Those on the frontline will shadow the heroes on duty, such as Stonemason. Those who have been approved for all roles, pick either or, but under no circumstances should any of you step in and act. You are not educated or licensed to do anything in the field, understand?”

The class split into two groups. Lyssa had wanted to join the supports. But Amelia stopped her, pulling her along at their pace.

“Penny has been telling me what your goals are here,” the moth animalian said slyly. “Most students signed up to fight alongside Victory. You want to replace her.”

“I wanted to be different, is all,” Lyssa said.

“No better place to hone that intention than the thick of the action.”

Lyssa shot Penny a sharp look. Penny shrugged.

“I’ve told no one else,” she said.

“Do you plan to?” Lyssa asked.

“No. We’re your roommates. Nobody else is close enough to keep your intentions as a hero in check.”

“Well why did you want to be a hero then?” Lyssa said.

“Ever heard of hurricane Majestica?” Penny asked without hesitation.

“Yes,” Lyssa said, quieter. She regretted poking with the question.

“When that right whale’s psychic storm slammed into Florida it killed a hundred thousand people. I had extended family there. The worst part was, conservation groups were bleating about how it was only natural. Humanity brought them to near extinction after all. As though they were advocating for the death of my family for some perceived species-wide sin.” Penny gave a sardonic laugh. “I want to be a hero because the world needs more, even if some of us don’t deserve it.”

“I want to be one because my mother was,” Amelia said simply. “It runs in the family.”

“Now we’re even,” Penny said to Lyssa.

“I joined on a whim first and foremost,” Lyssa said. “My goals are not as ambitious as replacing Victory. I don’t think I could help you two much.”

“Many of us have been preparing since our gifts manifested,” Amelia said. “But here we are all beginners. Do not sell yourself short.”

Encouragement. It felt strange. Lyssa twisted at the idea that people wanted her to do well for no other reason than her sake. No, there was no such thing as a free lunch. They must want something in return, right?

She let the question ruminate as the bus took them to Langshir Central. The sound of sirens quickly filled her head. Hundreds of voices could be heard just outside. Samuel handed each a small radio as they filed out of the bus one by one into a slice of nightmare. Medics had not left the scene yet, meaning more people might remain underneath. The police lifted the restriction cordon for the students, quickly closing it off again before any civilians snuck through.

A single man with skin covered in a layer of white marble shoveled the pieces of architecture aside. He was enormous, roughly eight feet tall, and was shaped like a strongman. When he touched a block, his skin momentarily fused with the concrete. He lifted whole chunks of structure without it breaking.

While they watched, Osprey spoke to them through the radio.

“Sometimes situations occur where only one hero can help,” he said. “The most important thing for others to do is to wait and observe. Ego leads to impulse, and impulse can complicate a situation.”

In the distance, the M.A.G.E zeppelin came out of the clouds.

“Information is the most important thing support heroes provide. Scope the situation from a vantage point, inform your friends at the frontlines, and trust them to protect you.”

Lyssa was feeling nauseous; Stonemason had found another. The medics went to work and brought a mangled thing out of the rubble, full of jutting bones, a once-upon-a-time human. Now resembling a Frenched rack of lamb. She watched Stonemason’s rock-shielded, emotionless eyes follow the corpse momentarily before resuming his work. She wondered how many times the hero has gone through that moment.

No villain was laughing atop the station, begging for a beating. There was no target to aim for. The event had already happened. Sometimes a hero’s job amounted to nothing more than picking up the pieces. The movies never seemed to dwell long on that part.

Lyssa maneuvered between her classmates, leaving the scene with a hand over her mouth.

“There is no shame in stepping away,” Osprey said to the class. “In fact, better now than to bottle it up until you break.”

Lyssa leaned against a wall with a palm, separated from the crowd. Her stomach tensed at the precipice, ready to hurl the moment her concentration slipped. She summoned all her will to keep her breakfast. Even watching was difficult. Eventually she would need to be the one standing behind the police cordon, fishing dead bodies out of the ground.

She looked at the media crew. Their cameras avoided looking at the ground. Instead the lenses were focused on Stonemason. The onsite reporter was lauding the hero, praising his constitution, his stoicism, his tenets as a public servant.

Lyssa narrowed her eyes. Her lips pinched. She did not like what she saw. But there was nothing she could do about it. She swept her hand away from the wall to rejoin the class, leaving behind five, blackened streaks.

Look up. That was not a voice she had ever heard before. She listened anyways. Her eyes tilted up to the rooftops of the city. A figure peeked from over the curb. They were dressed in unassuming clothes, perfect for being indistinguishable from any member of a crowd. All except the satellite phone they had cupped to their ear.

Lyssa’s eyes darted to her class, then to the media crew. Her fingers formed fists. She broke into a run into the building.