Twelve people, effectively claiming rule over the entire USC? Even the Lower Council manages nearly a hundred, despite being drawn solely from representatives of around a quarter the number of cities. The faces I see are too few, for all that responsibility. The Upper Council can’t even represent every city, just by definition.
Then I realize, with a start, that it is too few. I see only one face I recognize, not the three I’d been told to expect—the Captain, her expression serious, where I’d been told that both Jonathan and Vermillion had seats as well.
Not all of them are here, which begs the question why?
“Charlie Celera Gardner,” a voice from the bottom left says, drawing my eyes to a middle-aged woman with spectacles over her harsh eyes, “The hero ‘Frontrunner,’ and a yet unnamed operative of the BCCSI. This is you, correct?”
Before I can even nod, another speaks up, “You never gave her a goddamned code name? What the hell have you been up to, Inertia?” The speaker is a balding, flushed older man, who sputters indignantly.
“A reminder that, while in session, you will address her as ‘Councilwoman Heydrich,’ Councilman Torrich,” the harsh woman from before curtly interjects. A stickler for the rules, then. I suppose that explains how she addressed me.
“Torrich is right, it is highly irregular,” another, younger but still middle-aged man says, “Motion to assign a codename?”
“Seconded,” Torrich replies instantly.
“I move to defer that motion,” the Captain interjects, “Let’s not forget why we’re here.”
And why is that, I wonder? Not something to ask out loud, though.
“Seconded,” a new voice interjects—coming from another, this time much older, woman, “We can deal with the trivialities at the end.”
“All in favor?” the harsh-eyed woman asks. Instantly, a green checkmark or red cross appears on the bottom left corner of every screen. I count them in my head: 7 checks, 5 x’s.
“The motion passes,” the harsh-eyed woman says, “We’ll address the topic of Ms. Gardner’s operative codename after all items on the original agenda have been concluded.”
“Immediately,” Torrich interjects, “I would append ‘immediately after’ to that statement.”
“Sustained,” the woman replies, “Continuing on, I will ask again that Ms. Gardner confirms her name for the record?”
A beat before realization dawns. I nod, all the while flabbergasted by the display. A minute in, and they’re already so drowning in petty politics that they had to vote to decide whether or not I was to be given a new codename for being a reaper? I thought they’d leave this kind of thing behind at the Lower Council, but it seems the smaller group only makes it worse.
“All right then,” the harsh-eyed woman replies to me, “Again for the record, let it be known that the Highest Operating Council of the Union has reached a minimum quorum of three-quarters of its active membership, totaling twelve members of the council.”
Twelve is three-quarters, which means they normally have sixteen. Still not even the bare minimum needed to have a representative from each city, nor so low as to indicate that only the top cities get representatives, unless they double up. Is it strange that my greatest problem with the secret cabal ruling my country is that it’s not a representative body of government? A question for later, as they immediately continue on.
“Ms. Gardner,” the harsh-eyed woman says, “The Council requests that you provide a summary of your experiences and perspective regarding the events that took place on the night of the Twenty-first Superhero Exhibition, as well as the following morning. We are particularly interested in the events prior to Councilman Alston’s appearance.”
I swallow, my mouth dry, but under the expectant gazes of the Upper Council I know better than to stay quiet, pushing down my fear and beginning to speak, “I left the afterparty accompanying a friend of mine-”
“That ‘friend’ being the allowed foreigner and known villain Rowan Ward, correct?” the middle-aged man from earlier interjects.
I nod, “Yes. I was walking with her when my ability warned me to a significantly dangerous presence-”
“Your ability being ‘Superhuman,’ correct?” the same man interrupts once more, “This ability includes a high-order sixth sense?”
I feel a twinge of irritation, but continue on, “I can tell when a dangerous attack is headed my way, and on occasion when a particularly dangerous individual is in my presence, unless they make an effort not to be known. I do not know what a ‘high-order-’”
“That’s fine,” he says, “Continue.”
I grit my teeth to bite back a singularly unwise reply, irritation flaring up in me, “As I was saying, I sensed a dangerous presence, and when I warned Rowan, she noticed someone I ignored, thinking he was merely another bystander—Drake Lee, the man responsible-”
“Drake?” the older woman from before interjects, “That man has many names, but that one is not known to us.”
I smother the irritation even deeper this time, since it was actually a valid question and not a petty interruption, “That’s how he introduced himself to me. He also mentioned that in the USC he is referred to by the codename ‘Energizer.’”
I almost miss an older gentleman who hasn’t spoken yet making the sign of the cross over his chest. Almost. The woman nods, “Thank you.”
I nod in return, “The man then proceeded to use some measure of his ability on the nearby crowd, forcing me to engage him. A fight ensued, over the course of which both Rowan and I were badly injured, myself slightly more so. A few heroes also attempted to engage him later, but two of them were killed and I had to save the third from death. I sent him away hoping he could bring in more capable backup, as I was losing the fight badly.”
“Dakota Norris, aka ‘Phantom Grip,’” the Captain provides, “He’s responsible for alerting Jonathan. He survived the day, though he’s already retired from hero work.”
I grimace, though I’m equally grateful for the news. The fact that he survived is good, even more so that my decision may have just saved my life and Rowan’s, but… well, I can hardly blame him for giving up after that. I doubt he’s the only one to resign after that night.
“Continue,” the harsh-eyed woman orders.
“After that, the fight continued up until Dra-Energizer finally decided to…” I hesitate, “to kill me.” I take a deep breath, “I barely managed to escape with some luck, but he caught up again, and that’s when Jonathan arrived.”
“How exactly did you ‘escape?’” A new voice asks—coming from a hard-jawed old man, “It should not have been possible were he, as you claim, genuinely trying to kill you.”
“I…don’t really have an answer for that,” I tell him.
I get several skeptical looks.
“I mean,” I clear my throat, “I think he underestimated me somewhat, but not all that much. He should reasonably have been able to kill me, given what I saw later, but when he went to do it, he tried something different. Instead of using his ability to attack me, he seemed to be using it on me, pushing some kind of energy into my body. It was enough that I started to break apart, but then…”
The whole sequence is burned into my mind. I don’t lose memories easily, especially after getting Superhuman—I wince at the reminder of my fatigue—but this particular moment is still incredibly vivid, especially, by my perception, being not even a full day ago. Except…
In that moment, that one critical moment, I’m drawing a blank.
“I don’t know what happened,” I tell them honestly, “I think I might have heard a voice, but I can’t remember what it sounded like or what it said—and, to be clear, that is very unusual for me. After…whatever that was, I turned whatever he was doing back against him, and I was able to hit him hard enough that, as he recovered, we had time to run. That’s all I know.”
I get a dozen blank faces for a moment, before someone clears their throat.
“How amusing,” a new man says—his face is oddly familiar, but I can’t quite place how—a smirk blooming on his lips, “It isn’t enough that our newbie met the boogeyman, now she has to claim she spoke to God? At least come up with a more believable lie.”
My cheeks flush before I know what’s happening, and I open my mouth to protest but I’m beaten to the punch.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Councilman Mainse!” the harsh-eyed woman says indignantly, “May I remind you that the council has not voted to give her higher clearance, much less level five!”
My jaw drops. Did she say level five? Is God fucking real?
“Oh, stow it, Reid,” he says flippantly, “She couldn’t have made up a lie like that without already knowing.”
“Except she didn’t,” the Captain buts in, “Trust me when I say if that girl knew about even the Acrisius protocols, she would have caused a mess long before now.”
I don’t know whether to be offended or grateful for that. I settle on shocked because Deville Mainse the fucking Upheaval war hero just went and revealed God is real and the rest of the council is only shocked because I wasn’t supposed to know that.
“So what,” Mainse flippantly replies, “You expect me to believe she just miraculously had an oneiros in the middle of a battle and just happened to gain an equally miraculous, veritable deus ex machina power boost?”
“It,” the Captain replies, “would not be the first time.”
…
Not a single one of them reply, not even Mainse.
Then harsh eyes—Reid, apparently—clears her throat, "Councilwoman Heydrich, I needn’t remind you that what you just said is also under level five classification and under your argument, she is not already privy to that knowledge, making what you said a serious violation of policy.”
The Captain smirks, “To quote a phrase: ‘stow it.’”
I can’t tell who looks more indignant at that: Reid, or Mainse. But to the woman’s credit, she quickly masters herself, “Let us move on before this gets any worse, shall we?”
Ten heads nod. Only the Captain and Mainse abstain.
“Good,” Reid says, “Ms. Gardner, I kindly ask that you forget what you just heard. Repeat this, and the next time I ask, it will not be ‘kindly.’ Understood?”
Recognizing a dead end, I nod.
“Splendid,” she says, not sounding like it’s very splendid at all, “Without further ado, I think it’s about time we move onto the next item on our agenda. Councilwoman Heydrich, if you will?”
The Captain clears her throat, still smirking a little, “Of course, Councilwoman Reid.” She continues to smirk as she looks at me, and though she doesn’t do so, I can almost see the eyeroll in her gaze.
She continues in an overly ceremonial—and slightly sarcastic—tone, “Charlie Celera Gardner—the Council would like to officially commend you for brave actions in the face of an unprecedented threat. As part of this, you have officially been rewarded with one week leave and a hundred-thousand dollar bonus to your yearly pay.”
Then she drops the tone and the smirk, “The leave is mostly so you can recover, as your injuries and ability fatigue have yet to fully fade.”
I nod in confirmation, not really knowing what else to do.
“Yes, thank you Councilwoman Heydrich,” Reid drawls lazily, somehow coming off as sarcastic even with her evenly proper voice, “With that out of the way, I believe that was everything on the agenda. The floor is-”
“I move to add Gardner to the damned list.”
The speaker is yet another new one—a balding man with a scrunched brow, seemingly utterly placid despite the gravity of what he just said. I go stiff as a board, my eyes flicking around to gauge the reactions of the council. Surely, none of them would…
“We’ve been over this, Lambert,” another new voice interjects, a tattooed woman with a scar under her left eye, “You need more support than you have to overturn the previous decision.”
“Seconded,” Mainse says, almost casually.
Reid sighs, “All in favor?”
I hold my breath as the votes roll in: four in favor, eight against. A failure, but I don’t relax just yet—four people on the council want me dead, and I make sure I know them. Mainse and this ‘Lambert,’ as well as two who have not spoken yet: a wrinkled, graying woman with clouded over eyes, and a man with a military buzz-cut and square face.
“Motion failed,” Reid says, as if it were a foregone conclusion, “as I was saying, the floor is now open for any further motions. If there are none, we will move on to the deferred motion to grant Ms. Gardner an Operative Codename.”
I take a shaky breath, trying to flush out the adrenaline that rose in me as these men and women calmly considered my execution.
“I move to reconsider the status of allowed foreigner Ward,” the man from before who repeatedly questioned me states, “In light of recent events, it seems that she may be more of a danger than originally anticipated.”
And fuck, but there the adrenaline is again.
“Wait-” I start.
“Seconded,” Mainse, that fucking bastard…
“All in favor?” Reid asks calmly.
“Stop-”
Votes start flashing in. I see green, and I see red.
“Enough,” I growl, “You will not hurt her.”
A shiver goes through the room, my words a physical thing, and while I can’t quite be sure they feel it the same, I can see all of them stiffen as every screen before me, one by one, cracks.
“I will not pretend you have a reason to listen to me,” I say in a low voice, “and I will not pretend I can do anything to stop you. But it’s one thing for you to sit there calmly debating my death, it’s another entirely to do the same for my friend, and I will not sit here and watch as you damn her to a shallow grave.”
I stop, breathing heavily.
Then the headache catches up, and I crumple to my knees, eyes watering. Pain shoots through me, piercing deep into my skull. My ability wars with my body, and for a moment I feel like I’m going to die, the agony enough that I’m sure. Then, slowly but surely, it fades.
As the blinding pain subsides, I glance back up to the screens.
Not a single one moves.
The Captain clears her throat, “I don’t know about all of you, but I think we can agree that trading one powerful enemy for two is not the best idea. Let’s not forget about Rhea either.”
Half a dozen murmurs of assent. What was mostly checkmarks swiftly becomes red x’s, a whole host of dissenting figures. Only three remain, but that is far from enough to pass.
I breathe a sigh of relief, but it's far from over.
“I-if that is the last motion,” Reid stammers, “I think we have one last agenda item. Councilman Torrich, if you please?”
The red-faced man hesitates, “Uh…yes, the name. Um…any ideas?”
…
Nobody seems to have anything.
“If I may,” the Captain interjects, “how about ‘Operative Paragon?’”
A few nods all around, but a few look suspect. That is, until the only one left to speak pipes up—a bony man with shaggy hair.
“‘Paragon’ as in an individual who unflinchingly believes they’re in the right?” he clarifies, “Even when it costs more to stick to their path? Subtle.”
That gets a few more considering looks, and they end up putting it to a vote. 11 for, 1 against. It swiftly goes through, even as I stop paying attention. Their voices become background noise as they go through the motions of ending the meeting, asking nothing more from me. Slowly but surely, the screens blink out, until not one is left.
A metallic hand reaches down to me.
I turn up at Apex’s face, realizing with a start that I had completely forgotten they were there. I wonder what they were thinking during my outburst. Would they have killed me, if ordered to? Why weren’t they, when I was clearly so weak?
I take the hand, and let myself be hauled to my feet.
“Ms. Gardner,” they say, “or, if you would prefer, Operative Paragon, would you like assistance in returning to your room at the infirmary?”
I almost go to refuse, but then the blinding pain returns for a fraction of a second, and so I just nod instead. God, ‘paragon’ is right. I was so reckless back there, even if it was for Rowan’s sake. I’m powerless right now. If they wanted me dead, it wouldn’t be hard.
“Why did they back down?” I wonder aloud, not quite expecting an answer. I get one anyway.
“I’m afraid that information is under L5 classification protocols, Operative Paragon,” Apex informs me stoically, “Regardless of recent events, I do not believe you have been officially granted access at that level.”
I weakly chuckle, though it hurts, “What level am I anyway? I imagine I’m past L2 by now.”
“Legally, still L3,” Apex replies, “but the reports of Operative Vermillion suggest you have been privy to L4 information for some time. Technically, this is illegal, though were such access ever contested, all it would take is her signing off on your status. Only L5 clearance requires a vote of the entire council.”
“Like Kur?” I ask.
They nod, “And similar select information.”
With that new information, I go over what I know in my mind—or as much as I can through the headache. I got L2 when I learned about reapers, and presumably L1 is the default, or maybe just the default for heroes. L3 probably came with being a reaper—perhaps deeper knowledge on the organization, or intel on specific operations? Apex implied L4 was deeper secrets, like Kur, or the status of people like Oberon.
What does that leave L5? It involves ‘God,’ or whatever equivalent Mainse was referencing. It also somehow gives them a reason not to kill me? Not a compelling one, if ‘Lambert’ is an indication. Are there higher levels, or is that the last one? Vermillion mentioned some ‘truth behind abilities,’ and there are so many things I’m still not being told.
Since the start, Jonathan has acted strangely conflicted about killing me. He wants to, I know he does, but cutting through all the excuses something has stayed his hand time and time again. Something big.
I have a sinking feeling I need to find out what, before he finds a way around it.
As Apex helps me return to my room, I run into the inklings of a plan. First though, I settle back down onto the bed to rest before turning back to them.
“Do you have some time to chat?” I ask.
They turn to me, “Of course. This extension was made to reside here at the Bowl. I have no immediate needs for it at present.”
“Extension,” I repeat, feeling a little sheepish, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but are you implying that you have multiple bodies with one mind?”
“In essence,” they reply.
“So why do you need my help for the villain here?” I ask.
They cock their head. It’s a little unnerving.
“Darya said you needed extra warm bodies to target multiple hideouts at once,” I explain, “but if you have multiple bodies, why not just muster and take them all on yourself?”
“It is not so much an issue of scale as focus,” they reply, “Drowning my opponents in disposable extensions is in fact a tried and true tactic of mine, but while I am significantly better at multitasking than humans are, I still have limited processors.”
I nod, following along, but still not quite seeing it.
“Simply put, the enemy has proven an exceptional hacker,” they say, “and I can only defend so much of myself at once.”
“That…” I say, “is admittedly a very good reason.”
I can only imagine the kind of damage a villain could do with a bunch of Apex copies under their control. I’ve gone a long way in no longer considering your average villain to be all that bad, especially considering the kinds of things I’ve seen, but that’s still a recipe for disaster.
And an opportunity, of exactly the kind I had been hoping for.
“I think I’d like to help,” I say, "once I’m recovered, that is.”
“That would be appreciated, Ms. Gardner,” they reply, “will that be all?”
I nod, and they leave. Leave me with the chance to turn an idea into a plan, that is. There’s an opportunity here that I’d been hoping to have. A criminal mastermind, and a good hacker at that, one who hasn’t yet made it onto the damned list more for their discretion than their lack of threat. In other words, someone who is capable but not truly all that evil.
If I want to know more, maybe it’s about time I found myself a good spy.
- Jonathan Alston
- Lynn Heydrich (the Captain)
- Sandra _____ (Vermillion)
- Samantha Reid (harsh-eyed woman w/ spectacles)
- Deville Mainse (old war veteran)
- ____ Torrich (flushed, balding, older man)
- ____ _____ (middle-aged man, questions Charlie)
- _____ _____ (much older woman, supported Captain’s motion)
- ______ ______ (hard-jawed old man)
- ______ Lambert (balding old man with furrowed brow, wants Charlie dead)
- ______ ______ (tattooed and scarred older woman)
- ______ ______ (super old, blind woman - wanted Charlie dead)
- ______ ______ (military buzz cut & square face - wanted Charlie dead)
- ______ ______ (bony man with shaggy hair)
- Unknown (not present)
- Unknown (not present)
Hopefully that helps. I know I needed it to keep track when writing this.
Updates Mondays @ 12:00 pm EST.