The news hit on the way back from the woodlands. Lyssa noticed the way the Director tilted his head, receiving the report from M.A.G.E’s eyes and ears.

“What happened?” Lyssa asked.

She blinked in surprise when he answered. “New telepathic attack,” he said. “Our rabble-rousers have forced thousands of civilians into a state of united effort—a hive mind.”

Lyssa had little experience with the telepathic side of her gifts. Its power was both immense and frightening. Though even she knew it took a time to get into someone’s head and plant a complex idea into it.

“It’s easier to do when people start thinking the same thoughts,” Whitworth explained. “When people are aligned under one banner, one ideal, they forget themselves. The barriers that separate us meld. This makes the whole group susceptible to influence. Among telepaths it’s called the granfalloon effect.”

Lyssa appeared wary.

“Why are you telling me?” She asked.

“Because you’re going to help me. I have a team of urban heroes scouring the city for where they might be operating out of. You’re going to join them. If anything, this would be a learning experience. Listen to their instruction.”

Whitworth seemingly switched between principal and Director at will. Lyssa couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“Yes sir,” she said.

“Once this is over you’ll get a month off from this course of ours, if helping the city isn’t enough incentive.”

She didn’t notice, but her back straightened at the news.

The city grew in the distance. First as a yellow smear of lights. Detail grew exponentially. The lights differentiated into grids in neon colors and sodium incandescent. They flew over swarms of zeppelins and smaller balloons projecting holograms of the city’s night life. Then the helicopter paused and the bay doors opened. Cool air buffeted the interior.

“Well?” Whitworth shouted over the wind.

“Wait, here?” Lyssa said in alarm, glancing between the open air and the Director. They were hundreds of feet above the ground.

“I’ve briefed your second mentor,” Whitworth said. He raised a thumb and smiled. “Try to have some fun!”

Lyssa’s fingers curled with anxiety. She took a deep breath and unbuckled herself from her seat. They floated above the rooftop of a highrise. It looked like a small square, waving from the helicopter’s unsteady hovering. She breathed deep again and jumped. Panic settled for a moment; this was much further than she was used to.

She remembered the things her Selves did now that she held onto the totality of her mind-scape. Their nightly romps had been the cause of her constant exhaustion. Gaining control over them had made her more powerful than ever before. But their individuality had been buried deep, subdued beneath her singular ideal. She could not remember the depths of their emotions, only her own; Eury’s bravery and Mercurial’s furtiveness were theirs alone. Lyssa would never reach the ceiling of control over their respective gifts.

But she had enough to slow her descent, landing on the roof with a brief second of wobbling. She extinguished her force-fire and looked around.

The wind howled. She thought she smelled rain in the air. She was alone, and cold. Hot annoyance burned. There was supposed to be someone here, wasn’t there? Lyssa flicked her hand upward, fingers arrayed in a claw-like manner. Her annoyance became five flicking teardrops of firelight.

“Put that out.”

Lyssa jerked back, scowling with surprise. But there was nobody there. She couldn’t even sense their thoughts. Even the voice had been thrown. Ventriloquism.

“Here.”

This time the person was where the voice emerged. Even then it was hard to see. A figure walked out of the shadow. A female hero dressed in a dark cowl with black hair tied away in a tail. She was shapely, slender, but her musculature tensed like steel cables beneath the body-fitting suit when she moved. Lyssa could not see her face; it was masked with no apparent eyeholes.

“I’m Lyssa,” she said.

“I know,” the hero said. “One of Whitworth’s wildcards.” She extended a hand. “Lycosidae.”

Lyssa shook it. “I’m ready to,” she began.

Lycosidae leapt backwards, clearing the roof entirely. She fell below the ledge noiselessly. Lyssa did not clue in until a second later. Then she raced towards the edge to follow, quietly cursing her involvement with this insane school.

Lycosidae somehow fell faster than Lyssa. It should be impossible—gravity affected all mass equally—but the hero was on the roof of a shorter building far before Lyssa ever arrived. This time she landed with her twitchwalk, appearing in a puff of black smoke, panting as she joined the hero on the curb of the roof.

“They’ve been active for a while,” Lycosidae said.

“What?” Lyssa asked as she regained her breath.

“The enemy to our kind. Unnamed, unannounced. The most dangerous kind. Usually villains announce themselves.” She pointed down the wide street, where a mass of people had grown into a moving wave. “This is a distraction. But we have to monitor it nonetheless, just in case people get hurt. This is the limiting factor of heroes. We have to operate predictably.”

“Because otherwise people wouldn’t trust us,” Lyssa said. It was a well-repeated idea in her CEOR classes.

Lycosidae made the slightest movement: a downward tilt of the chin.

“As if people trust themselves,” she said.

Lyssa almost dared to reach out with her mind, to touch on the surface of the hero’s thoughts. Manners withheld her mind. She could only imagine the things heroes saw in their lives working with the worst of humanity.

Lyssa could feel it, even now. The strange amalgamation of deadness and emotional extremes that moved as one continuous wave in the crowded streets below. She could hear the din of a socially distressed city. The public consciousness had a selective and limited palate when it came to support for their own protectors. Victory—beautiful, strong, American—much loved by all despite the limited scope of what she could really do. Her colors were the most recognizable pattern in the west.

Lyssa watched Lycosidae move. The hero easily slipped into the night as if it were a second skin, becoming invisible even while she was so close by.

“Watch,” she said. “There are others here besides us heroes, monitoring their movement.”

“Every time one of these incidents occurs, there are always drones in the area,” Lyssa said. “I don’t know if-”

“Yes, we’ve noticed as well,” Lycosidae said. “And they’ve noticed that we’ve noticed. Our own digital spooks almost found them. It’s one person. Someone with a gift for computers, managing all their projects.”

And then she was off again, leaping silently through the air. Lyssa struggled to follow without Eury’s force-fire. It was obvious that the light would only impede their watch. The air was cold up there, but below the heat only rose. The horde of mentally influenced humans grew, attracting those who weren’t affected at all with its sheer momentum.

Horns blared as cars became marooned in the ocean of man. News helicopters shone lights down below, farming the story rich occurrence like a filter feeder. Lyssa began to feel an itch. Like she was doing something wrong by simply watching. Traffic collapsed. Pedestrians were shoved out of the way. Somewhere in the crowd, a child was lost. The panic of the young mind leaked like an overpowering spoor.

Lyssa stepped onto the curb, preparing to jump. A hand on her collar stopped her.

“Stop,” Lycosidae said.

“But-” Someone was in danger. The panic, fear, racing hearts. One was so small, and all the faster, squirming like a bubbling thing sinking into a brackish pool. Lyssa’s fists curled. Her gifts charged like they never have before.

The mentor strengthened her grip. It was strong, yet casual. Lyssa raised her voice.

“Why are we here if not to help?” She asked.

Lycosidae brought a finger to the part of her mask where her lips would be.

“Watch.”