You worked with M.A.G.E for the first couple of years out of school. Then you would join a security firm. They had their own marketing team, uniforms, narratives, licensing. It was like signing a part of you away. No different than how an actor would seek roles. There were other things one could do. The office could always use someone who was fast. Contractors always needed someone strong. Even QA could use someone with keen vision. There was always a place for gifted. But everyone wanted to be a hero. Which meant nobody wanted things to get better for good. This could be seen as a sin on behalf of the heroes. But what kind of naiveté did it take to truly believe the world could ever become a place where conflict did not exist?

Giantsbane had gathered a crowd to listen to his various ventures. Out of all the top heroes, he was the only one to bother interacting with the public to such an extent. He was an effigy. People who liked him, loved when he appeared. People who disliked him, hated his every proclamation. Everybody speculated, believed, came to their own conclusions about his feats, his intentions, the veracity of his character. All had one thing in common: nobody asked him directly.

How could they? A man can’t be expected to be honest about himself. Yet it ought to be far worse to assume things about others without asking them at all. The reason fans did not want to really meet their hero, was because they wanted to continue loving them. The reason haters did not want to confirm their misgivings, was because indignation was their ambrosia. We were all slave to biases.

“Is it true what you did during the Rocky Incident?” Someone asked.

“Yes,” Giantsbane replied. “I did hold a small mountain on my back.” He explained how he walked into a partially collapsed mineshaft and slowly grew until he expanded the passageway enough for the trapped workers to leave.

“Ohh I remember that,” Carrie was saying. “They made a film about it. It was really good.”

Giantsbane. Covered in dust and dirt. Holding up the earth to save the two dozen. The Atlas metaphor wrote itself. Even that came with criticisms. People accused him of showboating. That he acted rashly. There was no way to predict how the rock would behave if he thrust himself into it. He could have killed all the miners.

“It wasn’t just me though,” Giantsbane said. “Rainman hadn’t retired then. She mentally simulated the entire mountain using finite element analysis. The Mule psychically bridged her thoughts and mine.

“That’s what I hope all of you learn from this school. Teamwork is victory. There are no heroes among heroes.”

Lyssa grimaced. The world seemed to tilt. Luckily, they were at the back of the crowd, and only Carrie seemed to notice. She caught Lyssa in her arms. The rest of her drink and popcorn clattered on the ground.

“Whoa girl, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I…” Lyssa managed to murmur. Something had changed. Her head was burning up. “I don’t know.”

Carrie brought her to a bench and set her down. Lyssa cradled her head.

“Do you want to go back home?” Carrie asked. “I’ll come with.”

When Lyssa looked up, she nearly leaned back. For just a moment, Lyssa’s face was contorted in an expression she had never seen on her before, anger to a degree uncharacteristic of the strange girl. Emotional extrema in general were uncharacteristic.

Lyssa softened almost instantly.

“I’m okay,” she lied. “I just need a moment. You shouldn’t hang back for me. Go meet people.”

“I don’t need to go anywhere.”

“It’s what you do,” Lyssa said. She smiled warmly. That was the more alarming than anything.

“I’ll take you to the infirmary,” Carrie said.

The festivities of the square retreated behind her. Lyssa stumbled, barely upright with her arm slung around Carrie’s shoulders. Sections of hallways passed by in a blur. Every time she blinked, she seemed to be somewhere new, until she finally felt something soft against her back.

“Where is the nurse?” She heard Carrie say. Then to her, “I’ll be back.”

For the moment, Lyssa slept. She would not notice that the blue sky suddenly darkening, nor would she hear the windows of the infirmary rattle once.

A zeppelin had shadowed the square. It had not been there seconds ago. Now it was, displacing atmosphere in one gentle shockwave. On its side, a massive screen scrolled through hellish imagery.

“How easily you people forget your crimes,” a booming voice narrated over the school. Blood and gore played on the screen, eliciting gasps.

“You celebrate your work and look for the new generation of murderers to pollute our streets.”

There were pictures of people in ICUs, half-rend bodies still glowing with energy and steam. The evidence of a gifted struggle was obvious.

“You trade good for evil like the devil come market day.”

Many people turned away from the picture of a red smear on the asphalt. There was nothing to distinguish; the damage was so severe nothing was recognizable. Except for the spokes of little wheels and the bits of fabric left over what was once a sun canopy; the remains of a small carriage.

--

“I want the two of you to go in and shut it down,” Whitworth said into his ear piece. “Just two. They’re trespassing. We’ll treat it as nothing more.” He switched channels. “Find where they’re broadcasting from. I don’t care how many proxies they’re streaming from.” Switch. “Sokolov, get your guys ready.”

“What about the press?” Jackson said. “A lot of these guys are on our side.”

“Let them continue,” Whitworth said. “We can’t overreact to this. We just have to separate fact from fiction.”

“Those images are from the awakening,” Jackson said. “Most of them weren’t from hero malpractice. But some of them were.”

“We’ll get to it.” Whitworth trailed off. From his vantage point, he saw people leave the zeppelin, gently gliding down onto the surrounding rooftops. Most were leaving. “Sokolov, do you have a visual?”

“I see them,” came the reply.

The intruders were shielded somehow. A psychic of some power was at work. Not to mention the high-category teleporter it would be have taken to perform this stunt.

A bit hypocritical, don’t you think? He thought to himself. There was more. A team of people were descending onto the school itself. He could feel the presence of their minds, but nothing else.

Jackson had already gone, no doubt to prepare the school’s defenses. Though it had to be assumed the enemy had already prepared for this. Who could it have been? At this point Whitworth was sure the orchestrator had once attended M.A.G.E in an intimate capacity. But there had been so many such personnel over the years. Who could have left with such ire for the hero institution? Was it a student or an employee? A previous hero?

The alarms sounded, warning people to lock the doors and away from the windows. Security drones crawled out of vents and began to roam the halls. Turrets spawned out of the ceiling, sweeping the hallways for any sign of the intruders.

“Is there any chance they’ll find a way underground?” Whitworth asked Jackson through his earpiece.

“I patched that particular entry method,” Jackson said. “Whatever they’re after must be in the surface buildings.”

Whitworth swept his thoughts across the campus, noting the many mental sparks taking cover, trapped in whatever rooms they happened to be in at the time. One particular mind snagged his attention. A chaotic maelstrom resting in the infirmary.