“Well,” Shaman said with a smile, “there are eight Enhanced Humans here. I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Seeing my opportunity, I said, “I’ve been meaning to ask, what powers do we have to work with here?”

“Ganymede, you go first,” Shaman commanded.

“Okay,” Ganymede said in an annoyed voice. Strangely, that prisoner was even younger than me. I would be surprised if he was older than twenty. “Level 2 Fire Manipulation.” To punctuate his statement, Ganymede opened his palm, and a puff of fire appeared for a fraction of a second.

“We’re in an enclosed area. If I overuse my flames, we could all die of smoke inhalation,” Ganymede explained.

“My power is Level 1 Mind Control,” Speaker, a small Mediterranean man with a sleazy smile, said. He gripped his voice box between his thumb and forefinger, saying, “Lift your left arm.”

With no hesitation, Shaman, Forgemaster, Salieri, and Ryan raised their left arms into the air. The two remaining prisoners and I remained completely unmoved.

“Asshole!” Forgemaster shouted.

“It doesn’t work on everybody, apparently,” Ganymede mocked.

Speaker’s easy expression turned into a glare as he said, “My power works on 99% of people. It’s not my fault you guys are freaks.”

In this circumstance, I was more than happy to be a freak.

“Genius, Level 2,” Salieri said quietly.

That was the same power as Doctor Lazarus. I wondered if Geniuses tended more toward villainy than heroism.

“My power is Level 2 Iron Manipulation,” Forgemaster said. “If something has iron in it, I can control it. I made the keys we used to break out.”

“And I can control ghosts,” Shaman said with obvious pride. “My power can’t be measured, so they never gave me a Level. Last up is you, new guy.”

“Hold on,” I said. “Falcon and Ryan haven’t explained their powers yet.”

“Eh, we all already know Lockpick’s power, and Falcon’s power won’t help us break out of this prison.”

“Fine, Level 2 Telekinesis,” I lied. “There’s not really anything else to say.”

“Perfect,” Shaman said. “Here’s the plan, then. I’ll draw the attention of the guns, and you’ll take them out.”

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“Hold on,” I said, blinking.

Ignoring me, Shaman continued talking, “Those guns aren’t protected by the Mandeville Limit. Any Level 2 telekinetic can tear them out of their sockets with a thought. You can do it, right? You weren’t lying, were you?”

I paused for a long second, glaring at Shaman. I still didn’t know Falcon’s power, and there was a chance that he posed a serious danger to me. Plus, Salieri’s map gave me pause. I couldn’t just tear my way out of the Chateau like I had originally planned. If I accidentally destroyed the wrong wall, everyone in this cell block could drown.

What would happen if I stopped the prison break and then returned to my cell like a good inmate? Would they just let me out? Considering that I was put in a prison with a bomb around my neck because I tried to stop criminals, I seriously doubted that they would appreciate my vigilantism.

I couldn’t be a hero if I was stuck in prison for the next few months, so I altered my plan somewhat. I would wait until I was free from the Chateau before arresting the criminals. The police could arrest them while I flew away to freedom.

“Yeah, I can do that,” I said quietly.

Our ragtag group of ne’er-do-wells moved into position while Shaman sat cross-legged on the ground and clasped his hands together in prayer. He began to hum a single note, and ghostly apparitions began to appear out of thin air. While the rest of us hid in cover, the open area in the cell block slowly filled with dozens of shimmering humanoid figures. Most wore prison uniforms, and some wore the uniforms of prison wardens. Each ghost bore the evidence of a violent death.

There was a thick red line twenty feet back from the cell block’s exit. The specters resolved and gained physical form a moment before they began shambling toward the line of machine guns. A moment after one of the zombies stepped past the red line, a deafening chorus of gunfire filled the cell block.

I peeked out of cover, standing well behind the red line, and saw that all four of the machine guns were firing. Stepping out of cover, I protected my body with one hand and used the other to strike the automated turrets. The gunfire was punctuated by four resounding booms as I easily flattened the turrets against the concrete on which they were mounted.

When the ringing in my ears stopped, I could hear the sound of men cheering. A smile turned my mouth upward as the sound of approval hit my ears, and Forgemaster smacked my shoulder in excitement. The feeling of a room cheering for me made me happier than I would care to admit, and I was only able to wipe the smile off my face by reminding myself that they were all criminals.

“Let’s go!” Ganymede shouted, and the prisoners rushed toward the exit.

The exit was much heavier than the cell doors, and a heavy lock prevented entry. I didn’t even slow my stride as I punched the four-ton door off its hinges with a giant invisible fist.

“Macro!” Forgemaster called out in celebration.

The other prisoners began to chant my name like a group of football fans cheering for their favorite team, “Macro! Macro! Macro! Macro!”

Beyond the door, there was a thin hallway that took a harsh ninety-degree turn to the right after fifteen feet. Just as Ganymede stepped through the door into the bent hallway, a thick mist rained down from above.

“Mandeville Mist!” Salieri shouted. “Get back!”

Ganymede was not fast enough. He took a step back, and a machine gun popped out of a small hatch in the ceiling. With the efficiency of robotic automation, the gun began firing as soon as its barrel was aimed at the unsuspecting prisoner.

I just had enough time to put up a barrier between Ganymede and the turret, but something was wrong. Usually, I felt a pressure in my hand when I projected a telekinetic hand outward. This time, that feeling wasn’t present.

A hail of bullets flew forward, ignoring my attempts to stop them. The bullets struck Ganymede’s body, tearing through the fragile organs contained therein. I knew that, as soon as Ganymede fell, there was nothing stopping the bullets from hitting me.