“How’s your team holding up?” Whitworth said.

“Derrick’s pretty busted up,” Sokolov said. He turned the camera to face a man napping across several seats on the C-130. “But we got everyone out of there. I’ll need a new arm by the way.”

“Come home safe. We’ll have a new one grown.”

“We’ve confirmed that plans were made for the transfer. For one reason or another they never happened. We found no presence of nuclear material or the requisite equipment to receive it.”

“Let the acronym people handle it. We did what they want. Let’s grab a drink when you get…”

The door to Whitworth’s office slammed open.

“I’ll call you back,” he said before ending the transmission.

“Sir!” A young man blurted out as he stumbled into the room. “You need to see this.”

Whitworth pulled the public identifying info out of the young man’s head. John Wicham, coordinator for the Annual games. There was panic in his thoughts, but it was more of a ‘getting caught with your pants down’ type of panic.

“What is it, John?” Whitworth asked. “Summarize it and put it to the front of your mind… Thank you. Keep working. I’ll handle it.”

The slightest hint of regret flashed across his mind. He asked himself why he did not pull that student from entering the games. It lasted a mere moment before his mind simply switched gears, and he focused on what the solution should be. The truth was it was hardly an incident. The drones caught a student using multiple gifts, big deal. The problem was this not being the first time. This girl was attracting spectacle. Perhaps she was doing it on purpose, once during the entrance practicum, again on the M.A.G.E Annual. Spectacle was currency in the modern world. People loved spinning narratives on the digital podium. Someone like Ace Pilot for example, with his Instagram stories of him flying above uptown New Langshir, swooping down to stop the occasional robbery. Did he see the crime take place and just so happened to have his phone out as it began? Every time?

But Whitworth had talked to this Lyssa girl before. He did not need to delve into someone’s head to tell if they were lying. Either she was a spectacular liar, or she did not know she had all those gifts harboring beneath her skin. The latter was the worst case.

If she really was that good of a liar, he might have her pulled from the Hero program. They could use someone like that working Clandestine. He entertained the idea as he entered the laboratories underneath M.A.G.E headquarters.

“How’s it coming, Doctor Terelich?” He ‘pathed.

“Horatio Christ, Director,” the doctor thought back. “Hate it when you do that. No. No we’ve been unable to decipher this subject’s genetic structure. It’s too dense. It’s like a library of introns.”

“What?”

“Empty shelves, more like. I’ve never seen a gift like this. I’ll have to call you back when we get more data. Keyword ‘call’. Like a normal person. Get out of my head.”

A circular pad rotated, glowed green, then clicked as Whitworth arrived at the double doors to a particular room. He did not slow his pace. The doors slid open in time for him to stride through. Men and women in white coats noted his entrance and began making preparations on their respective consoles. Capacitors charged and machines whined to life, powering the eldritch bundle of circuits in the center of the lab. The centerpiece of the lab was shaped like an inverted cone, dwindling towards ground level into a hemispherical cap hovering above a chair.

Whitworth took a seat.

“Turn it on when it’s ready,” he said.

A breaker snapped on. The world shrunk around him. He felt his presence expand to encompass the entirety of the city. Eighty million minds washed over him like trays on a sushi conveyor. He narrowed his focus, reeling himself back, and found the two announcers in the games having the time of their life speculating on how M.A.G.E could have fucked up, or on the mystery student’s true intentions. What kind of people liked to keep their gifts hidden? Serial killers, of course. What kind of people had multiple gifts in general? Crazy, unhinged folk. Like ungifted didn’t have their own psychopaths.

Whitworth made a hiss of annoyance. He did not like having to use the amplifier to fix media perspective. He reached into the minds of the announcers and nudged their interests ever so subtly. In seconds, they would drop the topic and seamlessly switch to another. The drone operators shooting the games were suddenly going to find some other groups to spectate. There were still hundreds and hundreds of talented young men and women in the games.

And it was done. Hiding things tended to propel them to the forefront of the public eye. Media was media, people were people. They would forget it as the game progressed. Whitworth would not. He thought about what he ought to do with Lyssa. Pulling her out of the games would instantly draw attention to her. He decided to let her continue and fail or succeed on her own merit. But afterward, more elaborate tests would have to be made to see if she was useful, or a liability.

“Thanks people, power it down,” he said as he stood from the seat and exited the lab.

The distraction had been dealt with. He had more important things to do, governments to monitor and possible assassinations to plan.

--

The worst part of the game was the walking. Even more so now that the ground was on an incline. The trees had thinned somewhat. Exposed roots and stones formed a sloppy staircase upward. Along the way, they caught people moving parallel to them in the distance. Other groups. The students were starting to converge.

“Look,” a student said, pointing at the top of the hill.

A hot air balloon with the number ‘1’ printed on the side hovered. Lyssa surmised that it was the first break point. Or rather, she needed it to be. Exhaustion was an understatement for what she was feeling at the moment.

The other students could still walk with their backs straight. It was her that was out of shape. Not news to her, of course. She could not go a day without seeing herself fall behind her peers. Being a hero really did have nothing to do with the power of their gifts. Or their number.

At a wayward gust, she glanced up. Vortex was hovering about thirty feet in the air, taking in their surroundings. She had been doing so for the past couple of hours ever since all their flyers left them during the ambush by the river. Lyssa found herself looking up to her, figuratively and not. If Vortex was tired, she sure as hell could hide it.

The edge of the hilltop rose. Tents had been erected. Smoke rose from the chimneys of what smelled like kitchens. Dozens of personnel moved about. A horn repeated the same message over and over.

“Welcome to the first break zone. If you are hearing this message, you are safe, and have made it one fifth of the way. If you feel discouraged, don’t be. This is the first game, not the easiest. Your journey will continue tomorrow…”

“Oh thank god!” A student exclaimed. “Cuz I can’t walk another minute.”

One by one they scattered, joining the quiet chatter of the students that had already made it. Some greedily drank from the water fountains as though they had been thirsty their whole lives. Many wandered to the kitchens, charmed by the smell of roast and gravy. Lyssa drank but couldn’t eat. She didn’t have the appetite. It was probably a wise decision; on the far side of the camp she could hear students retch. She was content with having a chance to just sit down and breathe.

Vortex came by.

“When we set out tomorrow, I’d like you to come with me, if you’d like,” she said.

Lyssa frowned.

“After that performance?”

“You have potential. If you can get yourself under control, you would be immensely useful. I need your help.”

“Huh.” Lyssa glanced away. She tried to keep herself from reacting, but the occasional fidget made it through. She hoped she did not look too flushed.

“You have until morning to think about it. I think we can ensure each other’s success.”

Before Lyssa said anything more, a patter of footsteps grew towards them.

“Lyssa!” Carrie rushed over and wrapped her arms around her.

“Hey,” Lyssa said, smiling.

“You made it!”

“I… had a lot of help.” Lyssa turned to Vortex.

“You helped yourself,” she replied. Vortex extended a hand to Carrie, who shook it. “I’m Allison. Vortex, if we want to be professional.”

“Carrie. Not sure what my Supe name is yet.”

“I’m sure we’ll meet again. Good day.” With that, Vortex left.

“What a serious person,” Carrie remarked.

“She seems cool,” Lyssa said. “How was it?”

“The match-up wasn’t in their favor. I could just freeze my water into shields. They couldn’t touch me. Penny and Amelia had an even easier time. They just flew over the whole thing.”

“Wow.” The others had made it too. Not surprising. Lyssa felt gladdened by it.

“Don’t think they can do it again for the next leg of the game though. We’ve been seeing more helicopters around the mountains.”

“We have to go through the mountains?”

“The next break point is on the other side. Come on, let’s meet with the others.”

Lyssa went with. As she walked she caught movement in the corner of her eye. In the distance, far from the hilltop towards the mountains, tiny dots roamed. They ducked behind the peaks before she could get a closer look. She did not think of them again, her mind more occupied with the thought of seeing her friends.