Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the back of a police van alongside the four bank robbers I had just helped to arrest. My hands were cuffed, and my motorcycle helmet was gone. They were normal handcuffs, however, and I could have escaped from the police van with minimal effort. I had committed myself to the path of the Hero, and it wouldn’t be very heroic for me to escape from police custody.

The robbers were terrified of me, so I got half of the van to myself. There was a silver lining, somewhat. Eventually, the van began moving forward, and I could spot two police officers in the front of the van. Their uniforms were more militaristic, so I assumed they outranked the police officers we had met previously. The side of the van and the uniforms they wore had the letters “KSF” inscribed.

“Excuse me, officers?” I called out in the most polite voice I could muster.

“What do you want?” one of the SWAT guys responded in a gruff voice.

“I have a lotta questions. Ya see, my memory isn’t too hot. I think I bumped my head, or something, and I don’t remember much.”

“Let me guess, you conveniently forgot about that crime you just committed due to the terrible beating you received at the hands of the KCD.”

I paused to consider if that was a threat. Neither I nor the robbers had been manhandled at any point during the arrest. After a few seconds, I came to the conclusion that he was just complaining about false accusations of police brutality. Was that really a big problem in this world? Eh, whatever. I didn’t really care.

“No, I remember the crime I just committed quite well. I’m a bit fuzzy on everything before that. I’d rather ask you guys these questions instead of the criminals I’ll probably be hanging around for the next few days.”

“Stop being a…”

The SWAT guy in the passenger seat spoke up, cutting off the man in the driver’s seat. “Come on, Hotchkiss. We’ve got some time to kill before we reach lockup. You know, due to the traffic.”

The statement was directed at me, I could tell. Traffic throughout the city was hellish, and the clear cause of that congestion was due to the massive clot I had just placed in the center of the city’s heart.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered.

“You couldn’t have left a single lane unblocked, huh?” Hotchkiss grumbled.

“Can I ask my questions?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“What’s a Level 3?”

“Jesus, kid,” Hotchkiss said, letting out a bark of laughter. “You really don’t remember anything! Level 3s are, you know, like Ragnar or Kingfisher or Calypso.”

The other SWAT guy cut in. “Don’t forget about Templar.”

“Oh, yeah. There’s also Seraph and Akuma, though they’re listed as Level 2+ on their official stat cards.”

“Guys, guys. This isn’t really helping me. What is the difference between a Level 2 and a Level 3? How do these guys,” I pointed to the robbers, “know I’m a Level 3?”

“They’re probably just confused. There are no Level 3 Telekinetics.”

The leader of the criminals said, “He’s a Level 3, I swear. He barely put any effort into it when he destroyed the road.”

“Shut up!” Hotchkiss shouted at the criminal. “Getting back to the question, Level 1 powers are basically worthless, like lifting a quarter with your mind or being 10% luckier than the average human. Level 2 powers are actually useful, and most Enhanced are here. Level 3s, on the other hand, are ten times stronger than Level 2s. Calypso, for example, could freeze an entire city if she wanted. Luckily for us, she’s a Hero.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Luckily,” I muttered.

“Yeah. Basically, an Enhanced Human’s Level becomes obvious whenever the Enhanced Human uses their power. You, Mr. Macro-Kinetic, are probably a Level 2 Telekinetic. There are plenty of those in the world.”

“But-,” the robbers’ leader tried to say.

“These guys are just stupid,” Hotchkiss cut the criminal off. “I’ve heard plenty of tales of Telekinetics lifting cars or tearing up roads.”

After a beat of silence, I said, “Thank you for the information, officer.”

The SWAT guy in the passenger seat chuckled mirthfully. “A respectful criminal in our paddywagon? Cherish this, Hotchkiss. This is a rare event.”

“One more question, if you don’t mind,” I said. Not sensing any resistance, I asked. “Where are we?”

“Huh?” Hotchkiss grunted.

“What’s the name of this city?”

I thought back to the letters written on the side of the police cars I saw earlier. The letters CPD for Chicago Police Department were written on Chicago police cars, but the police cars I saw carried the letters NKPD.

With suspicion in his eyes, Hotchkiss said, “We’re in the city of New Kingston, capital of the nation of Ontario.”

My head spun, and a deep sense of alienation settled into my bones. Something was very wrong with this world.

“This city used to be called Chicago, right?”

“Yeah, I guess, but Chicago was destroyed back in the ‘70s, right?” Hotchkiss said, clearly unsure of the veracity of his statement.

“‘81.”

“Right, it was destroyed back in 1981.”

“How?”

“A buncha things, kid. I’m not really qualified to give a good answer, but the long and the short of it is that Enhanced Humans did it.”

“To be fair,” the passenger said, “Enhanced Humans rebuilt it, as well.”

“Whatever,” Hotchkiss muttered. “They’re in charge now. Sebastian Sutton has been the governor of this city since the early nineties. You’d think he’d get bored of being in charge eventually.”

“Sebastian Sutton is an Enhanced Human?”

“Yeah,” Hotchkiss said. “Anyway, we’re at the station. Get out.”

The car had parked inside of something that looked like a parking garage to me. We must have been underneath some kind of police headquarters.

I stepped out of the police van as Hotchkiss and the other guy with the letters KSF written on his armor opened the doors in the back.

Hours later, I was dressed in an orange jumpsuit and being escorted into a cell on the lowest level of a prison built on an island about a mile into Lake Michigan. A blinking collar had been fastened around my neck, and my hands and feet were shackled together. I sighed at the thought of being separated from my phone and MP3 player as the prison guard led me through a large cell block.

“I am a hero, and heroes follow the law,” I repeated to myself for the seventh time that day.

The government of New Kinsington was seriously starting to get under my skin. No wonder the world had a major super-villain problem. If I had just ignored the orders of the police officers, I would have been flying around the city at that moment, testing the limits of my new powers in peace.

I stepped into a cell, and the guard unshackled me through two small holes built into the door. As the guard turned and walked away from me, I couldn’t stop myself from venting some of my frustration.

“I’m being very considerate by not just breaking out, you know!”

The guard must have heard me, but he did not react. All he did was turn over his shoulder and say, “Welcome to the Chateau.”

I rolled my eyes at the name as I stopped to examine my cell. Why did all supervillain prisons have ironic names?

A bunk bed was nailed to the wall on one side of the cell, and an older man with graying hair sat on the lower bunk. He didn’t immediately notice my entrance, since he was too busy staring at a small coin that was lying on top of his bed. The man’s face scrunched up in effort, and the coin slowly lifted up in the air.

“You’re a telekinetic, too?” I asked.

The coin fell back onto the thin mattress as the man’s focus was broken. He looked up to me and smiled.

“Yeah, welcome to the telekinetic cell. I hope you last longer than my last cellmate. I’m Ryan, a Level 1 telekinetic.”

I paused for a second, considering if I should tell him my name. “I’m Kevin. I’m a Level 2, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“That’s what it says on my papers.”

“I see.”

Ryan tossed me a small metal object, and I caught it instinctually. Looking at the object clasped in my palm, I realized it was a roll of quarters.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“They’re for practice. Apparently, it’s bad for you to not use your power for long periods. The voice gets a bit… insistent.” Ryan pointed to his head as if his meaning was obvious.

I would have asked Ryan about the voice, but I didn’t want to project weakness on my first day in a maximum security prison. Instead, I jumped onto the top bunk and began fiddling with the plastic wrapper holding the stack of quarters. Practice would be good for me.