CLAIRE

I glanced at the clock on my computer as I put all my completed homework back in my messenger bag.

12:47.

I knew I'd have to get up at six the next morning, so it was better to get to sleep as soon as possible. I looked down at the leftover Chinese food that Holly dug out of the fridge. I might as well finish that up, before going to bed.

Wait, no. Might as well be cozy.

I got up— I'd at least switch into pajamas or something first. I grabbed the first set— a burnt-orange long-sleeved shirt made of the softest knit fabric I've ever known with long vertically striped white pants with lines of turquoise and burnt orange running through them.

I stripped my socks and threw them into the plastic laundry bin tucked under the clothes with my other pairs of shoes that weren't the muddy boots required for the colder Montana winters.

I curled up in my gaming chair as I stirred the Chinese takeout with my fork. The events of the tram troubled me— and not just because of what had happened with Renegade or all of the collateral deaths thanks to Power Line.

I had superpowers. I never even knew that I had them— then again, most people didn't. Not unless there was a member of your family who had them.

I didn't know how all of it worked— all that any of us really knew was that there weren't supers before the accident in Old Kingsbury back in 1979.

Every kid learned about the accident as soon as elementary school. Not far beyond the city limits of New Kingsbury was the Old Kingsbury. Blocked off with a chain-link fence with signs tacked up around it, warning all who came close to get away for fear of the nuclear radiation that remained and would remain after we were all long dead and gone.

No one knew exactly what had happened— except for Atomic Energy. But there was some accident, and radiation spilled from out of the now-broken nuclear energy factory. It spilled into the land, into the water supply.

We didn't relocate very far— only as far as the experts deemed minimal. But the damage was done. After the first generation of cancers and disease came the heroes and villains— and the world would never be the same after.

Atomic Energy knew the most about the supers. After they rebuilt and re-engineered new facilities that would prevent a repeat of history, they created the Sentinels through some miracle feats of genetic engineering and lab technology.

They held all of the cards in New Kingsbury— but I started to wonder if that wasn't the case elsewhere.

After all, it wasn't like the city was forced into isolation. It naturally happened because, I mean, it's Montana. People did come and go, some moved in and some moved away.

And some of them had to have been supers.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

I opened a new tab on my laptop— I was curious as to what exactly the rest of the world knew about the feature of little 'ol New Kingsbury.

As soon as I finished typing in my keywords, the list of official heroes sponsored by the major cities in America appeared. Chicago, L.A., New York, St. Louis— and even a few in cities outside of America, like Paris and Tokyo.

They weren't seen nearly the same way they were here— they didn't continue to betray the trust of the other cities like they did in New Kingsbury.

The apophism about living long enough to see yourself become the villain?

That happened to nearly every independent hero in New Kingsbury. Of the ones that were left, anyway, after the big superhero war that happened nineteen years ago.

I remembered the memorial, out near Memorial Avenue, naturally, that commemorated the fallen heroes and the tragedy of there being supervillains in the first place.

Mom and Dad took me every anniversary of the final battle, although they never really said why.

I then decided to click around and see if there were any articles that went into how supers happened— or how to tell if you were one, before it had happened. I wanted to know what all the warning signs were before this point, to know what I should've been looking for and what everyone around me missed.

And to see how long it would be before I would be found out.

I thought to the colleges I applied to back in September. I'd start to see acceptance letters about now, November or December. If I could keep myself under the radar until next August, I'd be in the clear.

The first article, to my surprise, dated all the way back to 1995– twenty-four years ago. It was from the Princess North's website. I glanced to my search parameters on the side box. I'd put the most-cited results at the top, and this was it.

This practically ancient article was the basis of all research into the subject of superpowers.

I sighed and clicked on it anyway. I was immediately greeted with a picture of Heretic in her full glory. This clearly had been taken before she built her death ray and was discovered for what she truly was.

I scrolled down to the byline and the article. It was written by an Anya Weiss.

Why did I feel like I'd heard the name before?

I shook my head— it didn't matter. I skimmed through the article, until I'd gathered the necessary facts.

There were no warning signs about being one of the supers.Not unless you had parent or sibling who was— then you would definitely develop powers sooner or later.That wasn't necessary to become a super— sometimes it took a few generations before the nuclear radiation morphed into superpowers in you.But most supers by 2005 had parents who were supers.

I could only imagine the odds by now, in 2019.

That's when the doubt and fears came creeping in. Was Mom or Dad a super?

It seemed unlikely with Dad, and I'd never seen any signs of that. He was just an ordinary guy who worked with computers. A little nervous, bit of a music snob— but one of those everyday heroes, who did little nice things. Definitely not the kind of guy to ever don the spandex and mask.

As for Mom. . . I was so little when she died, I couldn't remember exactly if there was anything special or different about Mom. Except that she was my mom, of course.

It was possible.

But if that were true, then how could she have died in the fire? Couldn't she have just used her powers, whatever they were, to escape, to fight Heretic off?

It seemed equally as unlikely. That meant I stood alone, with no connection to anyone to lean on. No one who I could share this secret with.

No one except for Renegade, a treacherous part of my brain reminded me.

I shook my head— I would not be making friends with the vigilante. I wasn't the only black mark on his record, after all. Thefts, vandalism, and the occasional stunt like what he pulled with me. Of course, stolen things usually came right back and vandalism was quickly repaired by the city, and there was the fact of no collateral casualties on his head, as he was so quick to remind me.

But just because the damage was never permanent didn't excuse it. He still had put me— and others— in a terrifying situation.

I sighed and decided to quit while I was ahead and put in a cat video. Then it was off to bed for me.