f“Th– that’s a bold claim, Ivan. That everyone will become Linked? I’m not sure how the viewers will react to that statement, given their dubiousness in regard to Linked as a whole. For understandable reasons, I might add.” The interviewer said, now completely thrown for a loop. Mirah could see the silent panic on her face, though it was Aaliyah who understood why the interviewer would react that way. The man’s words could very easily be seen as an argument for a version of Linked eugenics.

“No, no, nothing like that Maria,” the Russian man continues, chuckling softly, “I believe it will simply happen over time. At current, Linked are appearing in situations in which a disproportionate amount of stress is placed upon the person in question. This means that during puberty, of low-income status, living in bad parts of the city, all of these things are all general shared traits among most Linked. But we are finding outliers more and more.” The Russian man looked into the camera to his left with a thoughtful gaze.

“Not a few years ago, during times of… particular unrest in Russia, an eighty-five-year-old woman became a Linked. For what reason we cannot determine, but these outliers are only going to continue to appear, more and more often until every age group, every living situation, every ethnicity and nationality have just as much of a chance as anyone else to manifest a link.”

“Well… thank you for clearing that up for us.” She breathed a sigh of relief, barely visible to the camera, “How about we move on to a less divisive topic?” Ivan smiled warmly, giving her a gracious nod.

“How about a bit about your own personal history? You are a notoriously private man, Ivan, but you are also one of the most powerful men in the world, so there is an ever-present interest in who you are.” The interviewer probed gently, this was the biggest interview she’d do in her entire lifetime as a reporter or presenter. Ivan was a reclusive man, only having ever done one other interview many years ago, answering questions for less than thirty minutes.

“Myself, hm. From the fate of the human race and their connection to a universal power to little old me.” his smile widened when he saw the worry cross the interviewer’s face, waving it off kindly, “I may as well. It has come to my attention that very little is known about me, and there is a good explanation for that. I grew up poor, with a father who worked, getting paid under the table, and a mother who could only just earn enough money to make ends meet. After my father died, I inherited his job position. I was uneducated, uninformed, and—worst of all—hopeless.” His warm smile slowly became pained.

“When my mother died, I lost it all. My life was destroyed, and nothing could be done. No one cared about me. There was no help. By that point I had been an uneducated physical labourer for almost ten years; since I was thirteen.” The man idly rubbed his arms, the scarring and wear and tear on his skin only slightly visible after years of healing.

“But one morning I woke up and the world was open to me, ideas and concepts that were so far beyond me before came easily and simply. Now, I wasn’t suddenly the greatest mathematician alive, no. I was simply smarter. It took many years of slaving away to the Russian government to learn what I needed to learn—then I decided to make my life, and the lives of so many others, better.” He patted his leg, like a judge hammering their gavel. The interviewer was conflicted. They had just gained more personal information out of the man than they ever had before, without digging into his past with… extra-legal means. However, at the same time, it was all simple vagaries without the real meaty substance that many hoped to find from the man.

“So, you decided to be a hero?” She asked jumping for a branch and seeing if it bore fruit.

“No,” he said, his voice stern, “please do not use that terminology. It is misleading. The heroes that once existed when links were first being uncovered are not realistic, and never were realistic. Those behind their masks were as human as any other, and humans given ultimate power, corrupt ultimately.”

“Even yourself?” She questioned, intending to catch him out on his own fallacy, but he simply nodded.

“Even myself. As such, I had delegated, handed things to those more suited. I am not a dictator of the course of my company and country. I merely steer towards a direction I see fit.” The definitiveness of his answers was somewhat perturbing to the interviewer. The man spoke his answers and then didn’t seem interested in expanding.

“Well, thank you Ivan for–”

The screen suddenly turned off, the light in the lecture room surrounding the team turning on, forcing Mirah to squint against the harsh light suddenly shining in her eyes.

“That was Ivan Vasiliev only a few years ago.” Tracker explained, taking in the sight of the struggling trainees. “Our links are, as far as we understand, simply a connection to a source of energy we never had access to before. Which may come as a surprise to you.” Mirah, managing to recover from the bright shock of the lights, nodded along with the rest of the group. Tracker laughed at the sight but continued.

“That’s because that interview was never aired to the public. Potentially dangerous, it was labelled. The man hasn’t done an interview since, and he very rarely releases information on the progress of his science or anything done within Think. So, there is a significant chance that he has a better understanding of links than he did back then, even only a few years ago.” All of this was immensely confusing to Mirah, she didn’t even know about Russia, let alone the Ivan guy. It may as well have been anyone on that screen but, when she had looked to the others, she could see recognition in their eyes. Walter, specifically, seemed excited by the man but now he was almost sullen.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“We show that video because it is almost required viewing. If you are Linked, there is a good chance you have seen that video. But I’ll put his words into simple terms. You aren’t special, you’re lucky.” Mirah furrowed her brow as she stared with the rest of her group, befuddled by Tracker’s sudden stark language.

“You aren’t special, you’re lucky.” She repeated heavily, “You are a subset of a subset of people. You are the very few that develop a link, even out of those that were typically under the exact same or similar stressors. Suddenly now, you have been thrust into power. There is no vetting process, no safety. Anyone can get a link and it could be the nicest person in the world, or most detestable person, and there is nothing to stop them from using their link however they please.”

“B-but, that’s why we created the Enforcers. We had heroes to fight against others with links.” Tracker looked towards Walter, who looked uncomfortable voicing his opinion. Tracker sighed, there is always one.

“That was simply an action made out of fear. Governments were afraid that if they didn’t get those with links on their side fast enough, they would eventually start breaking up cities into their own little fiefdoms, with the governments of the world forced to acquiesce to the Linked who could demolish armies in a matter of hours. Heroes never existed, and if they did, they were brutally murdered by reality.” Tracker finished darkly.

A capital ‘H’, Hero. Mirah had heard the term thrown around a few times during her stay here. She looked between Walter and Tracker. Walter was clearly frustrated by Tracker shutting him down, but Tracker herself seemed… sad. Like the adult that had to tell their child that Santa wasn’t real.

Mirah decided that she’d talk to Walter about heroes after this. He deserved at least that much. She had talked very little to the nervous man, only doing so individually a few times, one being yesterday night.

“So, what is the moral of the story then, dear teacher?” Aaliyah snarked, seemingly paying little attention to the frustrated man at her side. Tracker grinned, happy to get away from the uncomfortable conversation of heroes.

“The moral of the story, Aaliyah, is that you can cause just as much damage as you can help with your link. Whether you decide on corporate work, or maybe even leave the country for better horizons, you need to learn to understand the implications of your own powers, not just control them. No matter what you decide on,” she looked pointedly at Walter, “you need to learn this, or you will end up on more trouble than you can dig yourself out of.”

After this, Tracker shooed Mirah and the rest of the team out of the room, as apparently some other group was going to be using it and Tracker had only booked so many hours in it.

Ajax decided to go to the training areas to do some exercise, while Mirah, Walter and Aaliyah made their way back up to their rooms. But, as Aaliyah disappeared into her room, Mirah tapped Walter, making him jolt with the unexpected touch.

“Oh, uh, hey. What’s up?” He asked, being suddenly pulled out of his funk, a holdover from his frustration with Tracker.

“What are Enforcers?” Mirah asked. She was going to ask about heroes specifically, but Tracker had called them Enforcers and that made Mirah think they were different from each other.

“Well, they, uh…” He stopped, a grimace on his face as he thought, “Do you just want to come inside?” Gesturing towards the third door in the hallway. Mirah just nodded and waited for him to open his door and usher her in. She sat immediately on the sofa, which was exactly the same in all of their rooms.

Walter went to his fridge and pulled out a can of something Mirah didn’t recognize and gestured towards her with the can. “Want one?” He asked politely, though he didn’t really seem to think that she’d take him up on the offer.

The can had lettering on it she couldn’t recognize, only able to assume that was an Asian language. She shook her head, and he closed the door to the fridge and sat on a seat opposite the couch that Mirah sat on.

“So, Enforcers.” He said, getting himself into the frame of mind, “Basically they were a worldwide thing that almost every country jumped in on in the nineties. America was the first to do it, and everywhere else followed suit shortly after.”

“They were heroes?” Mirah asked, and he shrugged.

“Sorta. Tracker was right, governments were scared. Linked started popping up all over the place in, relatively speaking, large numbers. Governments were worried that some would just start taking over areas and stuff.” Walter cracked open the can in his hand as he was speaking.

“So the governments employed some Linked?”

“In a way,” the man said, then took a sip out of the can, the carbonation fizzing gently, “but countries mostly took people from their own military and police force for their Enforcers.”

“What went wrong?” Mirah questioned and Walter frowned painfully.

“Well, when the population of Linked was still growing back then, there really wasn’t much for them to do. They could solve regular crimes, but soon enough that was outlawed for ‘public safety concerns’,” he scoffed but continued, “so for a long time the Enforcers kinda just sat around and did not much of anything, you know?” She did not know, but she was starting to see where it was going.

“But, well, that didn’t last all that long. Things started to heat up more and more Linked getting into large scale battles…” Walter scratched the back of his head as he took a sip, “It was only a few years into it that Blast went insane and things just unravelled. After that there was scandal after scandal, then Centerpoint became a thing–”

“Centerpoint?” Mirah interrupted. Walter’s face quirked oddly in disbelief.

“You don’t know about Centerpoint? Where have you been living, under a rock?” He laughed to himself, but when he turned to face Mirah, he choked it back down quietly. Mirah was usually hard to read, but her features had significantly hardened in only a moment.

“I mean, uh,” he stammered clumsily, “Centerpoint is an American ‘Hero’. He can control gravity, so he’s basically untouchable.” Mirah’s expression returned to its usual, slightly gentler, version of stone.

“Controlling gravity? Does that mean he’s also an Undefined?” Mirah asked, continuing her questioning.

“Sorta. I don’t think anyone knows the extent of his abilities. All the Linked forums have been theorising on it for years. But probably, just he’s too powerful for it to matter.”

A man that powerful, to control gravity itself? That sounded… horrifying to Mirah. How could you possibly reconcile with someone that powerful? Someone who could crush anyone and anything under their own weight with his link with barely a thought.

Mirah stood from her spot on the couch, “Thank you. I’m going to go bed.” She told the man quickly, before walking out of the room without another word, perplexed by the thought of heroes and this Centerpoint.

“Uh, hey, no pro–” Walter began, calling after the rapidly retreating girl, but was cut off when his door closed behind her, “–lem.” He sighed, a little disheartened at just how… hollow the conversation was. To Walter, Mirah almost seemed like she had no personality at all, just a robot. If he hadn’t heard those screams last night, he’d have never guessed she was even capable of emotion that strong.

“Hah, well. She’s certainly interesting.”