Morgan Hudson was released from prison last week in a divisive court case. Somehow, this criminal was able to charm his way through a judge and jury. His defense was “It wasn’t about robbing banks, it was about making a statement. I think you can all understand why it was, in actuality, a good thing.” Banks and museums are tightening security as a result of this injustice, but a cult-like faction of supporters has risen up for Morgan. While the details of this Class I’s power are still a mystery, it’s clear that the legal system is unprepared for it. – Julia Nash 676 Anno Imperi Ortu

“An external power!” A voice cheers. I don’t recognize it. I can’t process much of anything. I feel myself drifting in and out of sleep. What I do see is blurred, but the world is mostly black.

“Can he handle it?”

Did they stop talking? I don’t hear anything. I feel so tired. I blink and the blurs have changed. I think the sun is moving. My brain can’t handle the auditory or visual stimulus, so it decides to discontinue accepting any input, and I feel myself drift away again.

“You administered the test…”

Another blink. All I can hear is sporadic words. I want to tell them to slow down, but my brain doesn’t respond to my thoughts. I overexerted myself. Just how broken am I?

“Impulsive, proud…”

“Outside…”

“We can’t. His mother…”

“What are we going to do?”

“A Peacekeeper…”

“They can’t know…”

“Omega protocol…”

“Forget…”

“He clearly can’t process…”

“Go ahead, keep an eye on him…”

I feel weightless as I float through a formless void. The words fade into a dull buzzing and varous shapes rush past my eyes. The sudden movement and influx of light forces me to clench my eyes shut. Darkness is better than these imperceptible figures. I feel pressure, as if hands are pulling me from the void, but my body refuses to return to the world. Instead, I drift for a while longer.

“Until we make a final decision…”

“Recruitment…”

I’m in the car when I wake up this time. I would recognize the nauseating bounciness no matter my mental capacity. I don’t know where they’re taking me. I try to ask, but I barely muster a groan. As discouraging as that is, it’s an improvement. Regardless, it’s too much. I’m exhausted once again, and I collapse into the welcoming embrace of a peaceful slumber.

A car door slams. I hear conversations fluttering around me like moths in the shade. Another door opens and I’m flying again. Soaring through the air. I pry my tired eyes open, but the light is blinding. I feel my stomach churning, protesting the movement forced upon me.

I feel myself floating gently down. My head rests on a soft bed of feathers. Warm sheets cover me, reminding me that I am indeed cold. The soothing embrace of my new environment is enough to make me forget about the car. Dreams and visions of the fights dance around in my mind – fireflies illuminating the shadows of my thoughts.

“What happened to him?” An unfamiliar voice demands.

“Must have been in a fight,” the agent of the Council replies in his gruff voice. While not technically lying, he is concealing the truth for one reason or another. I want to address this fact, but I feel as though my brain is disconnected from my body, not allowing signals to flow through the neurons.

“During Recruitment?” The nurse asks. As the fog clears from my mind, I begin to recognize her. Though I still can’t visually perceive my world, a clear image of her appears in my mind. Her hair is lightening with age, but her youthful spunk refuses to accept it. The lightning in her auburn eyes as she accuses the agent – caring about nothing more than her patient – is admirable.

“It would appear so,” the agent replies coldly. I hear his heavy feet falling away. Clearly, he isn’t interested in answering more questions. The nurse sighs and moves closer to me.

“Hey, Car,” she whispers gently. The melody of her voice sings a siren’s song. I feel at ease. The thick fog coating my mind becomes a mere mist. Struggling, I try to pull my eyes open against the crust which has coated my eyelids, but I’m unable to muster the strength.

“What are they doing to you guys?” She mutters under her breath. I’m starting to think she doesn’t realize I’m awake. I feel a slight prick in my arm and panic floods through me. I would have thought the adrenaline would give me the energy to shoot out of bed, but it just pulls me back into my state of catatonia.

“Another one?” How long have I been asleep? Whose voices are these? In spite of my best attempts to focus, I can’t find my answers. I can’t even gather enough information to formulate a whole sentence.

“Battle School…”

“Testing is confidential…”

“Potential…”

“Better way…”

Finally, I pull my eyes open. I have to force the combination of mucus and oils out of the way to pull my eyelashes apart. The fluorescent lighting above me bathes the room in a synthetic glow. At first, I squint as I look around the room. It doesn’t take long for my eyes to adjust, though.

Groaning in pain, I swing my legs off the edge of the bed. Slowly – cautiously – I drag myself into a seated position. Examining myself, I count the wounds. A few scrapes in my arms and some major bruising, but I don’t think there’s anything lasting.

A PICC line is taped to my arm. Tracing the tube back to the source, I see some type of medication in a bag. I’ve been in this room enough times to know the layout well. I offer a quick glance to my left to see the clock on the wall. I don’t have time for this. With a quiet groan, I start picking at the tape.

“Carson,” Nurse Yates greets sternly.

“I have to get to the ceremony,” I choke. My throat feels hoarse and my voice protests from lack of use.

“You’re not going to miss your schools,” she reassures. “They’ll understand the circumstances.”

“I’m fine,” I assure her.

“I don’t think you’re qualified to make that decision,” she argues. While she’s definitely right, I don’t want to deal with the implications of that fact. I can’t lie in bed while everyone else is assigned to their schools. I refuse to look weak – especially now that I’m on the path to becoming a PeaceKeeper. I won’t give the Council any reason to believe they’ve made a mistake.

“Really, look,” I plead. I stand to my feet, but I know the clear shakiness doesn’t do much to prove my point. As I do, I continue to pull at the tape. Finally, I get a corner up and start tugging at it. A moment after that, I ‘m able to full remove the tape.

“Why does always happen on my shift? Jenni and Oscar never have to deal with this.”

“I appreciate you,” I smile, trying to appear nonchalant. I suppress the fit of coughing which is vying for dominance over my lungs. With a few deep breaths, I’m able to stave it off completely. I’m sure it will come back with a vengeance, but I just have to get out of this room first.

“Right,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Carson, I’d really appreciate it if you got some rest.”

“I will, but later,” I promise. “Really, I’m okay.”

I pull the line from my arm. I know I should have allowed her to help me remove it, but I’m in a rush. She groans as I race past her. I feel bad – I know she has my best interests at heart. She cares deeply about her job and each of the students. Regardless, in this case I have too much at stake to heed her advice.

Confidently, I walk through the door and leave the nurse’s office behind. As I move, the fog begins to return to my mind. I have no doubt that she was right. I’m over-exerting myself. I start to take turns and navigate through the school on auto-pilot.

There doesn’t seem to be a gradual decline before the physical exertion becomes too much to handle. Instead, I suddenly collapse, dropping to the ground. I will my body to stand, but it refuses to comply.

“I guess Recruitment got the best of him…” A voice. Am I asleep again? I have no way to gauge how much time has passed.

“Wish I had the confidence to nap…”

“Going to be late…”

“Not our problem…”

“Carson?”

I stir, recognizing my name. How much time had I simply blinked away? I don’t understand what’s happening. When I open my eyes, the sun burns them to shreds. I am barely able to lift my hand and shield my eyes from its vengeful rays. The shade doesn’t do much to protect me from the sun’s light and heat, but it is enough to ease me back into the waking world.

I can’t let myself fall asleep again. My hand is heavy. It falls to my side, but the sun doesn’t feel so bright anymore. Actually, nothing feels bright anymore. The blurs are gone.

An earthquake! The world falls apart around me. Adrenaline fills my veins as my eyes shoot open.

“Woah, it’s okay.” A calming voice this time, and one speaking in an entire sentence at that. My brain seems to be willing to process a bit more. Squinting, I look toward the person who shook me. Even just by the outline, I’m able to recognize Rhett. Squatting down, He rests beside me.

“Are you alright, man?” Rhett asks gently.

“I don’t know,” I mutter earnestly. I can tell the words are jumbled, but I’m sure he’ll get the point. As his face begins to isolate itself from background, though, I’m less confident. Narrowing his eyes at me, he tilts his head.

“I have no idea what that means,” he whispers.

“I’m fine,” I assure him. This time, he raises one corner of his mouth in a smile.

“I don’t think you are. That was barely discernable.”

“I’m fine,” I reiterate, carefully enunciating. My full vision is slowly restoring itself. I’m leaning against a wall looking out at the track behind the school. How did I get here?

“You never came to lunch,” Rhett observes. There’s a hint of betrayal in his voice and it breaks my heart.

“Sorry.”

“I just assumed Phases 3 and 4 took us in different directions,” he shrugs. With a sigh, he looks at my face. His hands press against my cheek and I wince. “I guess I was right. What did they do to you?”

“I don’t really remember,” I cough.

“Maybe that’s better. I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from fighting them for you.”

“You’d lose.”

“At least you wouldn’t be alone.”

I laugh, but the sudden motion of my lungs sends me into a coughing fit. As I lean forward, Rhett catches me. He pats my back before helping me to my feet.

“I didn’t lose,” I argue.

“Oh? Should I see the other guy? Can’t image he’s much worse off.”

“Well, he’s probably fine. But I technically won.”

“I believe you,” Rhett replies teasingly. Wobbly, I step away from him and stand on my own. The wounds on my arm, leg, and abdomen seem to have clotted. I feel a wrap around my stomach, but I seem to be wearing new clothes. When I move my leg, I feel the tickle of gauze there too. The only visible wrapping is on my arm. Aside from that, I have no idea how my face must look. Clearly there’s something on my cheek, because Rhett had felt the urge to press his hand against it.

On the bright side, my head is no longer pounding. Maybe my body just needed to take some time to create some new blood cells. I look around, utilizing my returning vision to examine my surroundings. The field is almost completely empty. Maybe it’s safe to tell him. I feel like I need to get it off my chest. I have to make it real.

“I discovered my power, Rhett.”

“No way?” He asks, excitement growing in his voice.

“It’s external.”

“Oh, okay, you really are delirious. Maybe we should get you to a doctor.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“I know you think that, Car, but you have also taken quite a beating, and from what I can gather you’ve been passed out for a while. I’m sure you had some vivid dreams.”

I want to show him. I hold my hand up and try to muster up enough energy to move the dirt on the track. The pounding in my head returns and I feel pressure building up in my brain. I can’t seem to move anything. It’s all still so new, and I barely have the strength to stand. A grand gesture of power is out of my reach now. Maybe it’s best if I just wait for that.

“How did you find me?” I ask. My legs are becoming stronger, but I lean on the wall nonetheless.

“Well, I heard a few people talking about passing an unconscious person back here. I couldn’t find you, so I had to check.”

“Wait, where were you?” I ask.

“Recruitment. It’s starting now.”

“We have to go!”

“I’m sure the schools will understand.”

“Maybe for me, but I won’t let you miss it. I’m fine,” I insist.

“If you say so,” Rhett agrees reluctantly. Slowly, he guides me toward the auditorium in the middle of the school. I stumble every few steps, but Rhett manages to keep me standing for the entire trip. I’m exhausted by the end of it, so I collapse into the first chair I can find. Rhett, apparently too nervous to sit, stands beside me.

As the principal takes his place at center stage, Rhett finally sits. The murmuring which fills the room begins to quiet down, but a strange combination of eagerness and trepidation is palpable. The auditorium is filled with students and on the stage sit the principal and scouts of each school. These ceremonies are closed to the public, probably to protect the privacy of students. While the tests are publicized, the results aren’t.

“When I call your name, please rise. Interested schools will stand, and you will make your choice,” the principal curtly explains. I look around, realizing there had been more to his speech. I’m so lost in the magnitude of what’s happening that I had forgotten to actually pay attention to the event itself. Shaking my head, I remind myself to focus. With my last name so close to the beginning of the alphabet, I’m sure to be called soon.

Of course, my school has already been chosen. I’m here mostly for the formality. Still, I don’t want to give a bad impression by missing my summons.

“Glenn Alden,” The principal announces. It’s not an alphabetical list, then. Glenn, a flyer who can barely levitate, stands shakily. An awkward moment passes as everyone in the room silently stares at the scouts. One of them has to stand.

“There is honor in the Drone School,” the principal consoles solemnly. His attempt at deceit doesn’t do much to comfort Glenn, who falls into his seat and buries his hands in his face. It takes a few more names – each of which is a rejection – for me to realize that I recognize them all. The ceremony is proceeding in class order. I sigh and sink back into my chair before another name demands my attention.

“Rhett Lincoln,” the principal calls. Rhett stands and tries to feign confidence. I can see through his transparent act, but I hope it’s merely because I know him so well. Standing tall and holding his head high, Rhett is probably doing enough to maintain the perception he’s trying to create.

As time slowly passes, he wavers. A look of concern and disappointment shoots across his face. No scout has risen for the other students yet, and they aren’t likely to do so for a Class V. He knows that as well as I do. Regardless, Rhett refuses to let that fact affect his posture.

The principal takes a breath, but before he condemns Rhett to the Drone School, a single scout stands to her feet. The Medical School is interested in him. They usually only take Intellects. Perhaps they have recognized the potential use of his power in wound care. To me, it seems minimal – nothing ice and a heating pad couldn’t accomplish. Nonetheless, I’m ecstatic for him.

The scout from the Mechanic School stands as well, and the Construction School follows shortly after. Rhett’s eyes light up. Not only is he the first student to receive an offer, but it’s been contested. I try to keep my expression neutral, but I can’t stop myself from beaming.

“I would like to attend the Mechanic School,” Rhett announces. That makes sense. He’s always liked machinery and working with his hands. Rhett sits down and the principal calls someone else to rise. I squeeze Rhett’s knee, silently congratulating him on his accomplishment.

“Alexis Powell,” the principal calls. I don’t know why I’m so shocked to hear her name. I turn to face her, hoping she doesn’t catch sight of me. I try to convince myself that everyone was offered the same deal as me. They had to be, right?

If that’s true, though, why are the scouts not standing? No one wants Alexis at their school. Before long, the principal makes another comment about the pride she should take in the Drone School. I’m baffled.

Slowly, the principal works his way through the remaining Class V’s. Everyone else on my dodgeball team gets at least one offer, which is comforting. I’m sure it has more to do with their performance in later phases, but I’m glad I was able to play a role in propelling them forward.

“Danny Cunningham,” he calls. More than half the scouts rise instantaneously as his name is spoken. At least I didn’t ruin everyone’s chances during Battle School Recruitment.

“Carson Adachi,” he finally summons. I breathe a sigh of relief. As soon as I choose my school, the ceremony will be over. Looking around, I realize that there is no representative of the Battle School present. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to attend the ceremony at all. Was I too exhausted to remember those instructions?

As I rise to my feet, I try to remember all the things I heard. They were talking about my power, I think. Then they talked about my tests and some Council business. Everything is fuzzy.

One by one, the scouts rise – tearing me from my ruminations. The Research School scout stands first, apparently impressed by my performance in Phase 2. Even the Sports School scout shows an interest. Every scout is standing before me.

“Make your decision, Carson,” the principal orders. What do I say? I open my mouth but no sound comes out. Suddenly, someone climbs onto the stage from the audience. Grateful for the time bought for me, I breathe a sigh of relief. This distraction will give me a moment to weigh my options.

I promptly realize it’s more than just a distraction. Dante Amar motions for the principal to step off the stage and takes his place at the microphone.

“Thank you all for attending Recruitment. I am proud of each of you, and I am honored to lead your Council. I wish you prosperity in your careers and knowledge in your schooling. Mr. Adachi, please meet me outside the auditorium.”

“The Powerless?” One student chimes, muttering to his friend.

“I heard he has a power,” the other responds.

“What does Dante want with him?”

Blocking out the overwhelming conversations – almost all of which were about me rather than the students’ choices of school – I push my way through the crowd. I keep my head down, trying to avoid being noticed. I don’t want anyone to ask questions I can’t answer, and I know Battle School is a closely guarded secret. Even if it weren’t, I’m not sure my capacity for thought has fully returned, and I may not have answers anyway.

“Car?” Rhett asks, grabbing my shoulder. I had completely forgotten about my best friend in all of the commotion. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain everything,” I promise. “Just not now.”

“Okay. Do you need help getting through the crowd?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been working on something. Check this out,” he chirps. Holding his hand in front of me, he grins wildly. Nothing happens.

“I don’t get it.”

“Hold on, I’m warming up.”

Finally, I feel a slightly uncomfortable heat radiating from his hand. It’s barely noticeable, but it could be enough to make people shift around if he walks by them suddenly. This proves to be exactly what happens as he guides me through the dense crowd and to the auditorium doors.

“Thanks, Rhett.”

“Don’t thank me, just keep me informed,” he laughs.

“Sounds easy enough,” I shrug. I hope it will be. I hate keeping secrets from him, but I have no doubt there will be things Dante wants to keep unknown.

Putting those thoughts aside, I walk through the door. Dante, who had far less distance to cover, is already leaning against the wall near the door.

“What are you doing here, Carson?” He scolds.

“What do you mean? Your agent dropped me off.”

“He dropped you off at the nurse.”

“I just figured…” I start, but I don’t know what to say. It doesn’t seem unreasonable to me to believe that I should have gone to the ceremony to choose my school. Especially concerning the absolute lack of information provided to me on the subject. Still, I can’t say that to the leader of the world, so I bite my tongue and hand my head.

“Don’t be ashamed,” Dante comforts, patting my shoulder. “I should have given you more guidance. I mean, I meant to, but you fainted. Still, we could have been less vague at the start.”

Once again, I’m off-put by Dante’s humility.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugs. “However, if you don’t mind, I’d like it if you came back with me. We have some things to discuss.”