Knowledge of superheroes and cape culture was undoubtedly my greatest strength. That didn’t mean I was lacking in other areas.
There was only so much work a teenager could put in at the gym without a detrimental effect on their still-growing body, but I’d long been testing those limits as much as I could under the watchful eye of my local fitness centre’s staff. Taking my youth into account, my average 5 km time was respectable, my personal bests on the core weightlifting exercises were nothing to scoff at, and I liked to think I was a good student in every martial arts and self-defence class I could cram into my schedule.
That was to say: I was in pretty good shape, especially compared to the average person.
The examinees today were not average, and I couldn’t help finding it all a bit unfair.
My feet pounded on the treadmill in a steady rhythm. I made sure to keep my breathing steady, my movements smooth, following the techniques that had been drilled into my head. Running was far from my favourite exercise—the pump one got from lifting weights couldn’t be beat, in my mind—but I could still appreciate it. It was a workout that let you turn off your brain and just exist. It was almost meditative.
It was hard to fall into that zen state, given the circumstances. That feeling would probably be forever out of my reach when I could see other students powering along at thrice my pace with a fourth of the effort. There was even a girl whose upper body was unmoving, her arms crossed over her chest and a bored expression on her face even as her legs were blurring.
The same story repeated all across the massive room. Hundreds of testing stations had been set up, with treadmills like the one I was occupying, resistance machines for strength, padded areas that seemed to be for reflexes, and more. Not a single one went unoccupied for more than a handful of seconds, students constantly rotating through the course.
They’d led us straight to some locker rooms immediately after the exam and had us change into some simple grey tracksuits with breathable white shirts and white running shoes. Morphosis’ explanation had been brief: follow the instructions of the scientists, complete the tests, then gather at the door with an orange mark above it. Simple enough.
He hadn’t mentioned our group would be mixed with several others. It was a little intimidating to look around and see literally hundreds of powers on display, ranging from simple body enhancement abilities that pushed their users toward absurd physical scores, all the way to the weird stuff like a girl a few stations along from me who was apparently having trouble using the treadmill because her body became steadily more intangible the faster she moved. There was even a guy who seemed to be made of light doing reflex tests on the other side of the giant hall. The scientists around his station were merely staring at him with wide-eyed bafflement as he side-stepped across the mat so fast he seemed to become a solid wall of light. The number of signals ringing out made me feel nauseous. It was impossible to distinguish between them.
I wondered if the ones monitoring me envied or pitied their colleagues. If nothing else, the kids with strange powers like that surely had to be more interesting than running tests on a candidate who was in good shape but far from abnormally so. Either way, they gave no indication. Pure professionalism.
“You can stop now, Emmett,” one of the scientists said. A pale, petite woman with bone-white hair and spectacles that seemed almost too stereotypical, she’d spoken more words to me in that single sentence than the other two scientists combined. She was also the only one who’d introduced herself: Maria.
The treadmill’s pace started to slow, and I matched it. I’d worked up a decent sweat, but it only took me a minute or so to get my breath back once the machine had gone still. There were crates of energy drinks, and I took the time to down one. The two nameless scientists flitted around me, removing electrical pads that I’d had stuck to various places on my body.
“How’d I do?” I asked Maria while they worked.
Maria didn’t bother to look up from a row of monitors she was studying. “I think you passed. Unless anyone picked up any problems I missed?”
She’d directed the question at her colleagues, and they both shook their heads.
“Then you’ve almost certainly passed this section, at least.”
I blinked. “That easy?”
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Maria shot me a dry look before she went back to whatever data she was sorting through. “You’re not doing an exam right now. Or, well, you are. But not like that. This is a medical test, not a competition with the other students. We’re here to make sure you’re fit to take the physical portion of the preliminary exam.”
Huh. Some things made more sense now. But, “What did I submit my medical history for, then?”
“It’s not unheard of for prospective students to submit false or forged documents in order to gain entry to Aegis.” She sighed, pausing for a moment to tap at the keyboard. With a final click, she turned her full attention to me. “I can admire dedication, and I can appreciate not wanting medical issues to affect your ambitions. However, the fact of the matter is the practical tests are designed to be difficult, and sixteen-year-olds with pre-existing conditions can find themselves in very big trouble, very quickly.”
“I guess things have gone wrong in the past, huh?”
“Yes,” Maria said, her eyes darkening.
I figured I’d get no further elaboration on that subject.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I promise I have no medical issues. That I know of, at least.” I tilted my head to one side, then admitted, “Apart from being, ah, very weak as far as superpowers go.”
“For what it’s worth, I believe you. But logic, experience, and protocol born from said experience dictate that we can’t take your word for it.” Seeing that her colleagues had finished decoupling me from the monitoring equipment, she turned and gestured for me to follow. “You’re on the resistance machines next. To be clear: we’re not testing your strength, but seeing if there are any weaknesses you may not know about until your body is under stress.”
“Fine by me.” I shrugged, confident they’d find nothing on that front. We left, another examinee and their chaperoning scientists taking our place almost immediately.
Maria led me through the maze of gym machines with the surety of someone who’d done this a hundred times before—in fact, she might have done it hundreds of times just over the last week. A harrowing thought. She exchanged nods and waves of greeting but no words with a few colleagues along the way, and soon we reached one of the fancy machines lined up at the back wall of the cavernous room.
I’d been getting an uncanny valley vibe from the place. A liminal space that wasn’t quite a gym, but not a research facility either. As I approached the machine and the scientists swooped in to cover me in monitoring equipment once more, it came to me.
“There are no mirrors in here,” I said.
“You’re not here to admire yourself,” Maria replied.
“That wasn’t—” I cut myself off with a sigh. “Never mind.”
Maria busied herself with typing away on the monitors immediately beside my new testing station, and the other two weren’t exactly conversationalists, so I found myself with little to do as I waited for the next test. My gaze wondered, but it didn’t have to go far to find something of interest.
On the next station over, a boy I recognised was laid back on a bench in the bench press position, his face wine-red and his eyes boggling. He was straining against a bar that didn’t appear inclined to move. It didn’t take a genius to guess he had some kind of enhanced strength. Two scientists stood on either side of him, watching like hawks, while another oversaw his readings on another row of monitors.
I couldn’t see much of the data from here, but I did see a number that measured in the thousands and was slowly climbing. Before I could figure it out, a red light flashed and the scientists called a stop.
The boy sat up, breathing hard, and our eyes met. Recognition lit up the boy’s face, and he gave a small wave.
A little awkward, I waved back. I hadn’t actually talked to the boy who’d arrived so late to the written exam, but I supposed we’d been in general proximity to each other between there and the changing room.
His handlers gave him a moment to recover while they conferred among themselves, and he approached. Cables trailed behind him, earning a few exasperated looks. None of them gave a reprimand, though.
“Hey, man. I’m Billy. Billy Poole.” His voice was a little hoarse, and I got the feeling it would’ve still been that way even if he wasn’t being put through his paces. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, a flush to his pudgy cheeks, and up close… The nicest way I could put it was that his hair didn’t look as greasy as it had from a distance. In all, not exactly a guy that was going to have corpo teams lining up for his signature.
Still, books and covers. I’d always hated the concept of judging people by their appearance, whether it was something under their control or otherwise. Some people would say that appearance said a lot about a person; background, personality, interests, et cetera.
It was bullshit. There was no way of knowing someone’s circumstances until you heard it from their own mouths. Any number of factors could explain a ratty shirt or an unfortunate hairstyle.
That, and I definitely wasn’t imagining the difference between the boy who’d come thundering into the exam hall and the guy before me. It was subtle, but his face was marginally less round, his torso leaner.
A power thing, most likely.
“Emmett Shaw,” I replied. “Nice to meet you.”
Silence lingered. Billy stared. I stared back.
Just when the awkwardness was starting to dig its claws into my spine, Billy spoke in a stage whisper.
“So hey, uh. You seem smart and stuff. Could you help me out? I think someone is sabotaging me here.”