We experiment with using her repulsion field from both hands, turning her 70 mile-per-hour "fastballs" into potential 90 or 100 mile-per-hour concussion-makers. Then we work on how she can steady herself while hovering by applying her hands sideways, almost like pinching herself in place.

"You know," I say, watching her practice hovering, "you might be able to use this for more than just flying. Have you ever tried skating on your fields?"

Maggie's eyes light up. "Skating? Like, on the ground?"

"Yeah, try leaning forward and projecting your fields downward and slightly back. It might give you a boost of speed on the ground."

After a few tumbles and false starts, Maggie manages to glide a short distance. Her laughter echoes across the empty lot.

"This is amazing!" she shouts, executing a wobbly turn.

As we continue practicing, I can't help but feel a mix of pride and worry. Maggie's picking things up quickly, showing real potential. But with everything going on in the city, I can't shake the feeling that we're racing against time.

"Alright," I say, after Maggie's successfully deflected a barrage of pebbles I threw at her, "let's try something a little more challenging. I'm going to come at you with a basic punch, and I want you to use your field to deflect it. Ready?"

Maggie nods, looking nervous but determined. I step forward, throwing a slow, telegraphed punch towards her open hands. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, suddenly, I feel like I've punched a wall of jello. My fist bounces off an invisible barrier, the force of it nearly sending me stumbling backward. Jello that hates me, and wants me out immediately.

"Wow!" Maggie exclaims, looking as surprised as I feel. "That worked way better than I expected!"

"Yeah," I say, shaking out my hand. "Felt it, too. That's some serious potential, Mags."

She beams at the praise, then looks thoughtful. "So, if I can do that... maybe I could use it offensively too? Like, create a repulsion field around my fist to add extra force to a punch?"

I nod, impressed by her thinking. "That's a great idea. We'll have to work on your control a lot more before you try it, but yeah, that could be really effective. We can try it and see what happens."

To demonstrate how powers can be integrated into combat, I focus for a moment, feeling the familiar pressure building in my hands. With a grunt, I push a set of teeth through the skin of my knuckles, letting them poke through the slits in my gloves.

Maggie's eyes widen. "Holy shit, that looked painful!"

I shrug, letting them become loose and fall out of my knuckles, leaving tiny, red, inflamed gaps in my skin that immediately start pulling and itching shut. "It's not so bad. Kind of like being constipated, but in your arms."

"Gross," Maggie says, but she's grinning.

"Hey, you asked," I laugh. "Anyway, the point is, my regeneration lets me train harder than most people. My body recovers from lactic acid buildup faster, and I can condition my bones more effectively. Plus, the teeth from my knuckles act like built-in brass knuckles. That's why my fighting style focuses on things like shin strikes and knuckle punches."

Maggie nods, looking thoughtful. "So I need to figure out something similar for myself? How my power can work with combat stuff?"

"Eventually, yeah," I say, trying to balance encouragement with caution. "But you don't need to worry about that just yet. For now, let's focus on the basics. Remember, you have to learn the rules before you can start turning your powers into lethal weapons."

As we continue practicing, I can't help but feel a growing sense of responsibility. Maggie's enthusiasm is infectious, but I know firsthand how dangerous this world can be. I just hope I can prepare her for what's coming.

"Hey, Sam?" Maggie says as we're taking a water break. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," I say, wiping sweat from my forehead. "What's up?"

She hesitates for a moment, then blurts out, "Do you think I could join the Young Defenders someday?"

I nearly choke on my water. "Uh, well... that's not really up to me, you know? There's a whole process, and..."

"But you're part of the team, right?" Maggie presses. "Couldn't you put in a good word for me or something?"

I sigh, trying to figure out how to answer without crushing her enthusiasm or giving her false hope. "Look, Maggie, being part of a team like that... it's not just about having powers. It's dangerous, and complicated, and..."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"And you don't think I'm ready," she finishes, looking deflated.

"That's not what I meant," I say quickly, and I mean it. I'm not really sure what I mean, because I sure as hell wasn't ready either when I joined. "It's just... there's a lot going on right now, and I don't want you getting caught up in something you're not prepared for."

Maggie's quiet for a moment, then says, "But that's why I need to be prepared, isn't it? Because of what's happening out there?"

I don't have a good answer for that. Instead, I say, "Come on, let's work on your aim some more. Try to knock down that sad excuse for a scarecrow without taking out the fence behind it," and she swallows it down.

What's wrong with me?

As Maggie lines up her shot, I can't help but think about how quickly things are changing.

The scarecrow goes sideways, a fastball ripping a side of its face off.

"Okay," I say, forcing a smile, "let's try that again. This time, maybe imagine the scarecrow owes you money or something."

----------------------------------------

The sun's starting to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. It's getting late, and I'm about to call it a day when I notice something in the distance. A group of people, maybe half a dozen, walking with purpose down the street towards us.

"Hey, Maggie," I say, trying to keep my voice casual, "I think we should probably wrap this up. It's getting late."

Maggie follows my gaze, squinting at the approaching figures. "Oh, is that one of those patrols? The Citizens for a Safer Philly ones?"

I nod, feeling a knot of unease forming in my stomach. "Yeah, I think so. Let's start packing up, okay?"

As we start gathering our makeshift training equipment, I keep one eye on the approaching group. They're closer now, and I can make out more details. Yellow bandanas covering their faces, American flags tied around their arms like armbands. And leading them...

My breath catches in my throat. The man at the front of the group looks like he stepped out of an old detective movie. Fedora, trench coat, the works. But there's something off about him, something that sends a chill down my spine. Maybe it's the domino mask covering his eyes, or the way he moves with an almost predatory stance, like he's ready to tackle me. I can see his eyes - bright, baby blue.

"Maggie," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, "we need to go. Now."

But before we can make our escape, a sharp pain shoots through my leg – the same one Deathgirl punctured about two months ago. I stumble, nearly falling over.

"Sam?" Maggie says, concern evident in her voice. "Are you okay?"

I try to answer, but suddenly my head is pounding, my vision swimming. What the hell is happening? I've never felt anything like this before. It's like my body is suddenly remembering every injury it's ever had, all at once. Or, at least, the ones that happened in the past two months.

"Sam, something's wrong," Maggie says, her voice rising in panic. "I can't... I can't float anymore. My powers aren't working!"

That snaps me out of my own discomfort. If Maggie's powers aren't working, then... I try to push out a tooth, just a small one through my gums. Nothing happens. My stomach drops out like I just got caught stealing cookies. Our powers are gone. How is that even possible? Mr. Nothing needs to touch you to do that, and there's nobody touching us.

The group is getting closer now, close enough that I can hear their footsteps on the cracked pavement. The man in the fedora calls out, his voice carrying an edge of authority that makes my skin crawl.

"Hey, you kids! Aren't you out past curfew? It's getting pretty late!" He calls out.

I try to stand up straight, ignoring the pain in my leg. "There's no problem," I call back, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "We're just training. I have permission from the city council," I lie.

The man's eyes narrow behind his mask. "What's with all those soda cans? And that... is that a scarecrow? Looks like vandalism to me."

"We're not vandalizing anything," Maggie protests. "We're just-- we--"

"Why are you dressed up like superheroes?" one of the yellow-bandana guys interrupts. "You know you're not allowed to use powers without a license."

Maggie reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small card and flourishing it. "I have my LUMA! Look, it's right here-"

But the man in the fedora isn't listening. He takes a step closer, and I instinctively move in front of Maggie, right as his arm shoots out like a snake. It stops inches from my face, maybe centimeters, and Maggie quietly squeaks, folding her card back into her wallet. I'm suddenly very aware of how young we must look, how vulnerable, even under our helmets.

"You seem like vandals to me," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Thugs. You know what we do with kids like you, out after curfew, vandalizing some poor lot owner's private property?"

The others behind him mutter in agreement, and I feel my heart rate spike. The same thing I've been thinking for the past hour, the past day, the past week, the past month. This is bad. This is bad. This is really bad, and it's about to get worse.

"Look," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, "we're not causing any trouble. We'll just pack up and go home, okay?"

The man in the fedora smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Oh, I don't think so. Why don't you two come with us to the station and we can get this all sorted out?"

I look around desperately, hoping to see... I don't know, a police officer, an adult, anyone who might help. But the street is empty except for us and this increasingly hostile group.

"Get 'em, Zero!" Someone calls out from across the street. While the man in the trenchcoat menaces us, the rest of his cadre sits, comfortable and jeering, all the way on the other side of the tarmac. His personal servants? Lackeys? Minions? Goons? Or just some opportunistic pieces-of-shit along for the ride?

That's when it clicks, although it should've clicked two minutes ago. This guy, the one in the fedora – he must have some kind of power-negating ability. That's why Maggie and I can't use our powers. And he's using it to intimidate us, to make us feel helpless.

Well, screw that.

I grab Maggie's arm, my mind racing. We can't fight, not without our powers, not against six, seven adults. We can't reason with them – they've already decided we're guilty of... something. Which leaves only one option.

"Maggie," I whisper, not taking my eyes off the approaching group, "when I say go, we run. As fast as you can. Don't look back, don't stop. Just run. Okay? I have a place."

I feel her nod, her arm tense under my hand.

The man in the fedora takes another step forward, his hand reaching out. "Come on now, kids. Don't make this difficult. Just come with me and we'll get this all sorted out."

I take a deep breath, my muscles coiling like a spring.

"Run!"