Though I didn’t know it at the time, I had already caught the attention of some very powerful individuals high up in the food chain. As I languished in the top bunk of a small cell, a woman stepped out of her custom-made aircraft parked on a helipad near the Chateau’s entrance. She double-checked a hand-held device as she stepped into the prison’s upper-level.

Without looking up, she pressed a small plastic card to a scanner, and a side entrance to the prison opened up with a quiet beep. After walking a few feet into the administrative area of the Chateau, she walked up to a woman working behind a desk protected by thick security glass.

“Hey, Sparrow. Are you here for a prisoner?” the receptionist said with a smile and a wave.

For a female superhero, Sparrow’s costume was very loose and utilitarian. She looked more like a soldier than the typical Hero like Seraph or Calypso. Her head was covered by a low hood and a thick bandana pulled over her face. Under her jacket, she wore fatigues that were lined with pouches and holsters, all of which held small devices or weapons for the various problems that a Hero could expect to face on the job.

“Yeah,” Sparrow answered. “There’s a telekinetic that just got arrested for destruction of property. Apparently, he calls himself ‘Macro-Kinetic.’ I need to get him out today.”

“I’m sorry, but you don’t have the clearance for that,” the receptionist said with a frown.

“Of course, I understand. This is an order from Kingfisher himself. The telekinetic will be released under the Boss’s supervision.” Sparrow moved to show the document on her screen to the receptionist. “You’ll find the confirmation here.”

“I see, just let me get my reading glasses.”

As the receptionist leaned down to retrieve a set of thick bifocals, the lights flickered and shut off. Sparrow jerked to the side as the receiver in her ear began blasting a loud, high-pitched note. She threw the receiver to the ground and crushed it beneath her heel.

After a few seconds of darkness, the light returned. Sparrow took inventory of her devices and soon found that everything she carried that held a battery charge was completely depleted. Her tablet couldn’t be turned on, and the arc thrower she carried on her hip was completely out of energy.

Fear settled into Sparrow’s stomach as she realized that her arc thrower was inoperable. That weapon was powered by zero-point energy; it should have taken decades for it to run out of charge.

“What just happened?” the receptionist asked, looking at Sparrow as if she had any idea what was going on.

“I don’t know,” Sparrow answered truthfully. “Something just sucked the electric charge out of the air. All of my wireless devices are out of charge. That should be impossible.”

The lights began to flash red, and a quiet but persistent alarm began to sound in the background.

With dawning terror on her face, the receptionist said, “That must mean… the bomb collars…”

Sparrow had to stop herself from swearing. Every Enhanced prisoner at the Chateau wore a bomb collar on their neck. That was the only way they could cover all externalities and prevent one criminal with an aberrant power from breaking out all of the other prisoners.

Sparrow knew how the bomb collars worked. She had designed them, after all. The trigger mechanism was powered by a rechargeable lithium battery, which would begin to beep loudly when out of power. This was meant to inform the guards that one of the collars was uncharged. If every bomb collar ran out of charge simultaneously, the collars’ alarms would inform the prisoners that now was the time to break out.

Stolen novel; please report.

“I need to get back to the Albatross,” Sparrow said as she took several quick steps toward the exit.

“We’re in lockdown,” the receptionist said. “The doors are locked. None of us can get out until the lockdown is over.”

Sparrow reached the exit, and she began pushing against the door.

“Let me guess, the doors are designed to handle a Level 2’s strength.”

“Of course,” the receptionist said with a shaking voice.

As Sparrow looked out through the small plexiglass window in the door, she saw the gargantuan head of something peeking out of the water. The head alone was the size of a building, and it must have been standing in water that was several hundred feet deep. The creature’s head was reptilian, and it glowed faintly with yellow energy. Streaks of that same yellow energy coursed in its direction, and Sparrow was sure that creature was the cause of the electrical outage.

“Mary,” Sparrow said to the receptionist, and she jumped at the sound of her own name. Never in a million years would she have thought that a Hero would remember her name. “Kingfisher believes that prisoner is a Level 3 telekinetic. We need to break him out now!”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do what I can, but some of the other wardens will try to stop you.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Sparrow said with a chuckle. “This will be my third time going rogue. I just hope the tribunal doesn’t take as long this time.”

Back on the top bunk, I was trying to levitate a quarter without bending it or squeezing it until it turned into a liquid. On the third try, I realized that I could keep it levitated in the air if I just balanced it on the palm of my hand.

“So, what are you in for?” I asked after thirty minutes of largely unhelpful practice.

“You first,” Ryan said.

“Property damage and felony disturbance of the peace.”

Ryan let out a low whistle. “Oh, my. They’ve got you on the supervillain track.”

“Now you.”

“Right now, I’m in for my fourth DUI. For the first few, they usually let you off with a slap on the wrist. When it becomes a habit, they start locking you up.”

“DUI!? Really!? You’re in super-Guantanamo for drunk driving!?”

“Yeah?” Ryan said it was obvious. “When New Kinsington needs to keep Enhanced Humans imprisoned, they put us in here. Even the most murderous Mundane Human would be stopped by steel walls and a bunch of guards with assault rifles. You or I could break out of any normal prison if we wanted. It’s not about the severity of the crime but rather the type of person imprisoned.”

“Huh, I hadn’t thought of it that way. What’s your day job, Ryan?”

“I’m a professor of rhetoric.”

“That sounds about right.”

Suddenly, the lights shut off for several seconds. I barely had enough time to jump out of my bed before the lights turned back on. The collars on Ryan and my necks began beeping, and I suddenly became very concerned.

“Why are our collars beeping?” I asked.

“The trigger mechanism for our bomb collars just ran out of charge.” Ryan sounded more concerned than heartened by this fact.

“Bomb collars!? What!?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, ignoring my concern. “That means there’s about to be a prison riot.”

“Why?”

“They’re the only thing keeping us in our cells.”

Unfortunately, Ryan was completely right. The prisoners on our cell block began shouting in raucous excitement, and the unmistakable sound of cell doors flying open rang out moments later.