Scene 3 - October 26th

Exterior City - Continuous

Quinn Kaufman

It took us a few minutes to find a new conversation topic - long enough to pay for lunch and then make it back to the car. As we headed home, though, Dad asked, “Do you have any better idea about whether or not you’re going to join the Journeymen?”

I groaned. “No, I’m afraid not. I like the people, but...”

“Is this your anxiety again?” he asked. “We’ve been over this, right?”

“You know it’s not that simple, dad.”

“Sorry.”

“But no, it’s not just anxiety and inferiority,” I said. “It’s a bunch of things.”

“Talk to me,” he requested. “What else is going through your head?”

“Well, number one is moving cities,” I told him. “I was hanging out with the Journeymen a couple days ago, and it’s something that Simone mentioned - when you join an MLED training team like the Journeymen, you don’t have to move. Well,” I amended myself, “not unless you moved to get to a city with a compound. But in general, you don’t have to move. When you graduate, however...”

“You get moved to a different city?”

I shrugged. “Potentially, yes. They move heroes around to keep up with different situations, to give people experience working with different groups... some people end up in one city for years at a time, usually team leaders like Canaveral, but its rarely their home city.”

“I remember that he wasn’t always working out of New Venice,” Dad commented. “He was in... Los Angelos? Is that right?”

“Vegas, but yeah. He moved here four years ago and was put in charge of the New Champions.”

“Why is it the New Champions, anyway? Who were the original Champions?”

“They were the first hero team in New Venice,” I said, thinking back to my Metahuman History class. “Back in the early 20th century, before the DMO was set up to sponsor heroes. They split up a little before World War II, probably because they had sympathies for different sides of the war - one of them, Dr. Hart, actually worked for the Nazis. But that’s off topic,” I scolded.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “You were talking about maybe leaving New Venice?”

“Right,” I said. “The MLED moves heroes around a lot, so...” I shrugged.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “It’s not something I had considered before. And that’s not all.”

“Go on.”

“I kind of feel like people are pushing me to be a hero. Or use my powers at least,”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I assured him. “It’s no different than when you were pushing me to be a doctor.” He made a face, and I laughed. “But I need to untangle my feelings, you know? Figure out if I actually want to be a hero or if it’s just that everyone seems to think I should be.”

“I can see why you’re having trouble making up your mind,” he commented.

“Oh, there’s more.” Dad groaned, and I laughed again. “I think I’ve brought it up before, but it feels kind of like throwing away a career I’ve made a couple years of headway on for another career that will take years to master. It’s a big change, and not a ton of my current skills will carry over.”

“That’s true,” Dad admitted. “First aid, I suppose, but heroes are mostly able to leave that to MLED agents and paramedics, and focus on threats.”

“Exactly. There’s a lot to consider.” We turned into our driveway as I continued, “And hell, I don’t even really know what it would be like! I got the impression that the one night I’ve spent working with Canaveral wasn’t a typical drug bust. And while I’ve spent time with my prospective co-workers, that’s not the same as trying to job.”

“You should ask if they take interns,” Dad suggested.

I laughed. “Oh, everyone takes interns! The question is, do those interns actually learn anything, or just fetch coffee?”

“Hey, you can learn a lot fetching coffee.”

“Like what?”

“How to carry hot liquid without burning yourself, for one.”

“True, true. How to run without spilling anything.”

“How to find a good local coffeeshop.”

“How to hide a body.”

“Hide a body?”

“In the coffee beans, obviously.” Dad broke down and laughed, and I cheered in victory as I unlocked the door to our house.