Scar, minutes before the power loss hit.
I asked, “Who is Dr. Seward?”
“He’s on the MHC’s payroll.”
Figures. MetaHuman Control was a self-contained subdivision of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, or ATF, specializing in (according to them) monitoringthe most dangerous “firearms” in the world. Currently defunct, MHC had been organized more than a century ago, in the 1960s, and had bankrolled the Rangers for decades, providing us with the finances to police the Banes, information on their whereabouts, and a pretty nifty HQ. Throughout the Meta War, they stood by the Rangers. After the War and the loss of our powers, they hid us to protect us from an angry public. Or so they said.
William continued. “After what happened on Wednesday night, ATF called in some of the people who used to work for MHC. The ones not retired or transferred out of ATF, anyway, which is only a handful. They’re also working on locating the rest of the us.”
Us. The others were alive. Or suspected to be alive. So far, we had three out of the twelve of us who’d survived the massacre in Central Park. My mind swirled with the new information, trying to store the important bits away for later scrutiny. I was too hungry to concentrate right now. And I still didn’t recognize the name Seward.
“I don’t suppose this Dr. Seward has a theory on why I’ve got different powers?” I asked.
“I’m sure he has a theory,” William said. “He won’t say anything until he’s certain, and in this business—”
“It’s hard to be certain of anything.” Great, I got the dubious honor of being the group oddball. “Is anyone else here?”
“Renee Duvall and Marco Mendoza have found their way,” William said. “We’re having trouble finding the other seven.”
Okay, five out of twelve. And Renee was one of them. Icouldn’t help a small smile and a pang of curiosity about my old friend. How had she managed for fifteen years? Blue skin is a lot harder to hide than purple hair.
“How about a theory on why we all reactivated in the first place? Does Dr. Seward have one?” I didn’t have one of my own, so I wanted to hear what the eggheads thought. They were paid to analyze, not me. I wasn’t being paid at all, and after missing three days of work, I was certainly fired from my two remaining jobs.
William and Gage looked at each other. I couldn’t read their expressions, just that they’d had this conversation before. “No one is sure,” William said. “Right now it’s all theory, since we don’t know why we lost our powers in the first place.”
“Lost implies that they were misplaced, or that we were somehow active in their removal, which we weren’t. They were taken, not lost.”
William nodded, but didn’t reply. An awkward silence fell over the room, interrupted only by the bleep of the pulse monitor.
“Are you hungry?” Gage asked.
“Famished. How’s the room service around here?”
“It’s decent,” William said. “I’ll go see what I can scare up for you. Just try not to get out of bed until Dr. Seward comes to see you. Okay?”
I snapped off a mock salute. He departed, pulling the door shut behind him. Gage perched on the edge of the bed near my knees. “Thank you, Teresa.”
“For what?”
“For saving my life.” The bald emotion in his voice startled me.
“Well, I couldn’t let you die,” I said, falling back on humor and pretending to pout. “I owe you money.”
He blinked, then smiled. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“You owe me money?”
“No.”
“Would you like to owe me money?”
“You’re impossible.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. He tried to be serious. The corners of his mouth twitched. I dissolved into giggles, laughing until my stomach hurt and the last wisps of fear had evaporated. Gage remained by me, his smile never quite reaching his haunted eyes.
We had survived our first battle in this strange new war, our
I asked, “Who is Dr. Seward?”
“He’s on the MHC’s payroll.”
Figures. MetaHuman Control was a self-contained subdivision of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, or ATF, specializing in (according to them) monitoringthe most dangerous “firearms” in the world. Currently defunct, MHC had been organized more than a century ago, in the 1960s, and had bankrolled the Rangers for decades, providing us with the finances to police the Banes, information on their whereabouts, and a pretty nifty HQ. Throughout the Meta War, they stood by the Rangers. After the War and the loss of our powers, they hid us to protect us from an angry public. Or so they said.
William continued. “After what happened on Wednesday night, ATF called in some of the people who used to work for MHC. The ones not retired or transferred out of ATF, anyway, which is only a handful. They’re also working on locating the rest of the us.”
Us. The others were alive. Or suspected to be alive. So far, we had three out of the twelve of us who’d survived the massacre in Central Park. My mind swirled with the new information, trying to store the important bits away for later scrutiny. I was too hungry to concentrate right now. And I still didn’t recognize the name Seward.
“I don’t suppose this Dr. Seward has a theory on why I’ve got different powers?” I asked.
“I’m sure he has a theory,” William said. “He won’t say anything until he’s certain, and in this business—”
“It’s hard to be certain of anything.” Great, I got the dubious honor of being the group oddball. “Is anyone else here?”
“Renee Duvall and Marco Mendoza have found their way,” William said. “We’re having trouble finding the other seven.”
Okay, five out of twelve. And Renee was one of them. Icouldn’t help a small smile and a pang of curiosity about my old friend. How had she managed for fifteen years? Blue skin is a lot harder to hide than purple hair.
“How about a theory on why we all reactivated in the first place? Does Dr. Seward have one?” I didn’t have one of my own, so I wanted to hear what the eggheads thought. They were paid to analyze, not me. I wasn’t being paid at all, and after missing three days of work, I was certainly fired from my two remaining jobs.
William and Gage looked at each other. I couldn’t read their expressions, just that they’d had this conversation before. “No one is sure,” William said. “Right now it’s all theory, since we don’t know why we lost our powers in the first place.”
“Lost implies that they were misplaced, or that we were somehow active in their removal, which we weren’t. They were taken, not lost.”
William nodded, but didn’t reply. An awkward silence fell over the room, interrupted only by the bleep of the pulse monitor.
“Are you hungry?” Gage asked.
“Famished. How’s the room service around here?”
“It’s decent,” William said. “I’ll go see what I can scare up for you. Just try not to get out of bed until Dr. Seward comes to see you. Okay?”
I snapped off a mock salute. He departed, pulling the door shut behind him. Gage perched on the edge of the bed near my knees. “Thank you, Teresa.”
“For what?”
“For saving my life.” The bald emotion in his voice startled me.
“Well, I couldn’t let you die,” I said, falling back on humor and pretending to pout. “I owe you money.”
He blinked, then smiled. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“You owe me money?”
“No.”
“Would you like to owe me money?”
“You’re impossible.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. He tried to be serious. The corners of his mouth twitched. I dissolved into giggles, laughing until my stomach hurt and the last wisps of fear had evaporated. Gage remained by me, his smile never quite reaching his haunted eyes.
We had survived our first battle in this strange new war, our
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