I woke some minutes after dawn, unable to recall what I’d dreamed of. Darkness hung like a thick veil over my head. The silence in the room bothered me—a state worsened by the lack of windows. I rolled around in bed, struggling to grasp the flitting hands of sleep.
I failed.
Sighing, I shuffled to the bathroom. A circular mirror hung above the sink, glinting with the harsh glow of the lamp. I peered at mirror-me, ignoring the way the latter’s eyes burned deep in his face. The cuts on my palms didn't hurt as much anymore, but they might as well, seeing the lines that marred my brow.
It was now one week since I’d joined the Pacesetters. One week since I'd started the Council’s rigorous training regimen. I’d never had much baby fat to begin with, but changes were starting to emerge. I looked leaner now—sharper, more defined. I lifted an arm and flexed my muscles. Okay . . . so, maybe the changes were all in my head. Nothing had changed, externally at least. Not that it mattered. I didn't want to strut around looking like Toye either.
The cool base air hit me as I stepped out into the corridor, dressed in comfortable gym gear. Soft jazz music emanated from Toye's room—good music, ill-suited for a mule like him. Alewo’s room stood next to mine, and I tiptoed past it, right until the sounds of sobbing reached me.
Oh no.
Toye had hinted at Alewo’s sensitivity, but I’d underestimated how hard the events of yesterday had hit him. I didn’t want to intrude, but I could make out the time to talk to him later in the day.
The roster indicated that Obong was responsible for today’s kitchen duty, and she’d lain out her ingredients sometime during the night. I grabbed some bananas and a bottle of water, and then I hit the gym, intent on chasing off the remnants of sleep.
The barbells looked tempting, but I had no one to spot me. Treadmill it was, then. I prepped for a few minutes and hit a stride, losing myself in the routine.
“Catherine descending now,” AV announced an hour later.
Catherine made her way to me, taking the path through the conference room.
“Working hard, I see,” she purred in an accent like honey. She adjusted the belt on her dress, a crisp skirt suit stripped red and grey. A large duffel bag hung from her arm.
I stopped the machine. “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you too, Chetachi.” She nodded appreciatively. “I’m glad you don't need cajoling to keep your fitness levels up. Now, if only you could convince Alewo to do same.”
“Try telling him that,” I said with a snort. “He’d just reply that you’re missing the entire point of piloting mecha.”
“To save him from physical exertion?”
“You get.”
Catherine chuckled, retrieving a cardboard box from her bag. “Playing it rather cool today, are we?”
I swallowed. “Is that . . .?”
“Yes. Your costume.”
I must have looked silly, grinning as wide as I did. “That was fast.”
“We are the CAH, kiddo. Fast is what we do. Plus, as I said, it was not even a complex design.”
“Ouch.”
“That's a good thing.” She pressed the package into my arms. “Go try it on and tell me what you think.”
“Oh. I need to shower first and—”
“That's fine. I also have a package for Miss Dominic. Just beep me when you are done.”
I raced for my room. The shower wasn't hot yet, but who cared about that? In three minutes, I was out, dripping water all over the floor. I tore through the package and liberated the cloth trapped within.
My costume. Mine. It was finally here.
The sleeveless top went over my head first, followed by the pair of black arm sleeves. The pants were next, and I nearly moaned at the ease with which they slid up my thighs. I dove into the leather boots, fixed the belt, and pulled the neck gaiter down over my face.
The bandolier was the last item in the box, and its many pouches were filled with gear. Just like she'd promised, Catherine had supplied me with ammunition. Cylindrical plastic shells, half as wide as my palm and rounded at one end, were stuffed into the sheaths. I couldn’t hurt Supers like No Light with this kind of ammunition, but the Council’s intentions came from the right place. My powers were lethal enough already. Having a less-lethal option to engage was a plus.
I swaggered around my room for a while, bandolier strapped over my chest. I stopped by the mirror and struck a pose. My costume—all black, save for the dull green top—snickered at me. It was nowhere near as eye-catching as Toye's. But it was mine.
A grin ran across my face. “Chetachi, out. Volley, in.”
Catherine waited on the catwalk connecting both wings. She appraised me as I approached. “How do you like it?”
“It's awesome.”
“I’m glad to hear. We had our best designers bleed over it. If there will be no adjustments, I can have two spares ready for you sometime during the week.”
“What's it made of?” I said, stretching my arms. “It feels so warm, yet light.”
“A couple of materials,” Catherine said, slipping into lecture mode. “Outer layer is made from genetically-engineered silk. Beneath that is a layer of Panzer treated with a dilatant.”
I cocked my head. “Since I don't feel like a tank, I take it you mean something else? Like PsuDerm?”
Catherine smiled. “Correct. Panzer is the reason we don't have as many Supers dropping left and right these days. Gun control is stronger, true. But guns still change fights whenever they appear.” She mimed a gunshot. “With Panzer padding, you should survive a few hits. It won't stop all of the trauma, and sustained fire will overwhelm your costume, but it is much better than the alternative.”
“What's the alternative?”
“That you stop using treadmills and build your own mecha.”
“Haha,” I said, drily.
Catherine's expression suddenly went neutral. “You look real jovial considering what you went through yesterday.”
This again?
“I'm not,” I said, shrugging. “But it's not like I can do anything about it.”
“Hmm.”
Besides, I'd seen worse, hadn't I?
The image of the crushed family of four flashed through my mind. Okay, scratch that. I hadn't seen worse. But it was pointless to worry over something I couldn't alter. I could defend the living. In contrast, what could I do for the dead?
If Catherine had noticed me warring with myself, she didn't point it out. “You know you can talk to me if you have any problems, yes?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded. “If you have no further questions, get changed so we can commence our main activity for the day.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What's that?”
Catherine met my gaze. “It's about your sister. We believe we've found a place for her.”
The Old Integrated Layout was still as ruinous as I remembered, which was silly because it certainly couldn’t change within a week. We stopped in front of the red gate, and the driver, a young man in a simple jacket, honked twice.
Catherine alighted, coming over to the passenger window. I wound down as she approached.
“Remember, Chetachi,” she said. “You ought to be in Lagos this very moment. I brought you along because I thought you might appreciate it. Which means, you are only here to watch. For all intents and purposes, you are neck-deep in camp activities.”
“Got it.”
“If you get it, roll this back up. And make sure it doesn't come down till I say so.”
“Yes, ma.”
She left me with the driver. The man focused on his phone, seemingly unbothered by the goings-on around him. He didn't look much older than Catherine, but he must have been someone special to be trusted with a job like this. The combat suits weren't privy to our secret identities, yet this driver somehow drove me up to my home.
I drummed my fingers against the armrest.
Wariness of the CAH had never even crossed my mind, but what if a member of their staff suddenly went rogue? What measures did they have in place to preserve secrecy amongst their employees? Telepathy? Control chip to the brain? Hah. Who was I kidding?
Two figures emerged from the gate. Mom had picked her best skirt and blouse combo, a head-tie in place on her head. She cradled a handbag in one arm and held Nenye in place with the other. Nenye stared at her feet, a blank expression on her face. Her hair had been brushed down, and her sequined pinafore sparkled in the sunlight.
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My eyes teared at the sight. That was my family. Right there. All I wanted to do was rush out and sweep them in a hug.
Catherine led mom and Nenye to the backseats of the van. She rapped the partition and the driver abandoned his phone, firing the engine. Catherine had brought me along as a favor. But sitting there, unable to speak, one plastic board away from my family, the favor looked mighty malevolent.
Mom said something, muffled by the partition's padding. Catherine replied and their conversation blurred into a series of murmurs. I could imagine what mom was asking. About me. About my health. About how I'd settled in.
I grabbed my phone and looked up the facility that was our destination. The Mumini Institute of Wellbeing boasted a hospital and school that specialized in behavioral and neurological conditions. It had garnered substantial accolades in its eight-year life span and had only just branched out into Newtown two years ago.
The name sounded familiar. A couple of Nenye's doctors had mentioned it at some point. However, looking at the grounds on the map, I understood why mom had never bothered. This was a facility for the elite.
It was situated high in Main Newtown, in the northern part of the independent city where the dream project had really kicked off. I'd never been this far up. Mom had no business in Main-town, and well, dad lived there with his new family. I thought nothing good of the place.
Within thirty minutes, it became apparent that Main-town thought nothing good of me too. The buildings here towered over even the tallest in Lagos, and well-maintained ornamentals beautified the spaces between them. Sprawling roads with automated billboards opened into tidy streets, flanked by rows of magnificent-looking houses. I almost fell out of my seat as we passed skaters plying well-ordered cycling lanes.
Main-town was nothing like Out-town where dilapidated areas like Sagidi and the Old Layout existed. This was a place for the politicians, the high-earning white-collar workers, the celebrities. It was also the best possible place to move my family. But could I afford it? Three hundred and fifty thousand monthly had to count for something, right?
I shook my head. This wasn’t the time to entertain dreams. For now, Nenye’s well-being was paramount.
The Mumini Institute was bigger than it had looked in the pictures, with grounds rivaling those of the CAH. Two multi-storied buildings stood beyond the gates, conjoined by a squat central unit, and shaped like a horseshoe. Around those buildings, smooth avenues curved, interspersed by polished fountains and lawns of vivid green. Were it not for the bold signage, the institute would have passed for a lush holiday getaway.
Security waved us through the gates. The stoic driver dropped off Catherine and my family at the entrance to the facility. He rounded the buildings after that, stopping at a parking lot.
“I'm free to look around?” I asked him.
He didn’t so much as glance at me, so I jumped out and stretched my limbs.
‘I'm going sightseeing,’ I texted Catherine. ‘Notify me when you are about to return.’
It took her a minute to reply, but I could almost hear the exasperation in her words. ‘I don't want you running into your mom. Be careful.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ I pulled on my flat cap and a face mask then struck out toward the grounds.
The Mumini Institute deserved every single one of its accolades. There was nary a patch of peeling paint in sight or a blade of grass trimmed out of position. Caregivers and their clients roamed the grounds, some in wheelchairs, others walking unaided. Two separate groups of teenagers occupied the lawns, enjoying an outdoor lesson.
It was plain to see that treatment options here ran into the seven figures. Just how much were the CAH willing to spend on my behalf? If they went to such lengths to honor their contracts, what would they do to parties that broke them? Dia Mater didn’t strike me as malicious. But Pro-now . . .?
Okay, I had nothing on him.
What about Ardent then? The hulking man prowled about like someone who had taken lives and would only hesitate for all of one second if asked to do it again. Was he the one I had to fear? Or was I looking at the situation the wrong way? Dia Mater had hinted that funding came from Lagos. Did the CAH sic the Twelve on erring Heroes? Was I overthinking things?
I stopped at the squat building in the horseshoe. It opened up to an ordinary-looking reception, manned by attendants and security. Wayfinding signage dangled from the ceiling. They identified one wing as the hospital and the other as services.
“Hi,” I said, approaching a receptionist.
Her lips split into a smile. It was a good smile. Brilliant enough to even rival Dia Mater's. The tension in my shoulders fled.
“Good day,” she said. “How may I help you?”
“I was wondering if I could get a tour?”
Her smile dropped a little at the corners. “Oh? Are you looking to enroll someone in our facility?”
“Yes.”
“Our tours are usually pre-scheduled,” she said, glancing at her colleagues. “You fill out a form, and we assign you to the next available date on the waiting list.”
“Oh, that won't be necessary,” I replied.
“My apologies, sir,” she said, “but the process is a mandatory requirement for participation in any of our tours.” Her smile widened again. “We maintain strict protocol here to avoid alarming the patients. There is a visitor's area to your right where you can ask more in-depth questions if you are unsatisfied?”
I sighed. “No. Sorry to bother. I'll just come by another time.”
“You can have our pamphlet if you’d like,” she said. “It offers some insight on our layout and operations.”
“That will do. Thanks.”
I exited the building, keeping my eyes glued to the leaflet. It didn't tell me everything I needed to know, but it was enough to dispell my reservations.
The Mumini Institute called itself a national leader in the fields of psychiatry and neurosurgery. It was primarily a mental health hospital, with a focus on the reintegration of its clients. The therapeutic school was as important as the hospital and catered to students with intellectual disabilities. A splash page depicted pictures of neat dormitories with catchy lettering notifying the availability of day and boarding options.
I found a spot on a bench beside a fountain that offered an ample view of the grounds. The bench held one other occupant: a person with albinism, judging by the color of their skin. Said person hid their features behind a thick, dark hoodie. Delicate fingers peeked out from within the sleeves.
“Nice place, huh?” I said, wincing right as the words left me. Talk about cringe.
The stranger cocked their head at me and pulled an earbud from their ear. An eternity passed, during which I doubted I’d even spoken in the first place. Then, they said in a soft voice, “Yeah, I guess.”
Ass.
“Are you a student here?” I asked. “Or do you know anyone that is? I have someone who might be joining, and I’d love to hear a second opinion.”
The boy shifted in his seat. I was certain that he was male now, but he seemed much younger than me if the slightness of his physique was anything to go by.
“I don't know any students here,” he said, “but I’m a patient myself.”
“Oh.”
We lapsed into an uneasy silence.
Okay, this was getting ridiculous. I’d never been good at initiating conversations, but the quiet boy was in a league of his own. He sat there, earbud in hand, body language blasé as a rock.
I was just about to make a break for it when an older teen approached us from down the lane. He stood over six feet tall, lithe and drawn like a spring. A rock-jawed face sat beneath a widow’s peak befitting of many septuagenarians. He leveled a curious gaze at me, then turned to the boy.
“Ready?” he asked.
My bench partner nodded. The boy slid to the ground, movements almost wraith-like.
They left without another word.
Sheesh.
I returned to my seat in the van and waited for Catherine.
She arrived thirty minutes later, engaged in an intense discussion with my mom. Nenye followed behind them, looking from one adult to the other. They climbed into the van, and driver Stoic McTaciturn gripped the wheel. We pulled out of the Institute.
‘How did it go?’ I texted Catherine.
‘Your mom likes it,’ she replied. ‘We'll discuss specifics later.’
‘Great.’
I hadn’t had much in the way of hope that the Council was serious about helping Nenye. Despite that, they’d kept their end of the deal in the span of a week. Things looked to be falling in place a few steps at a time.
Small mercies, eh?
Catherine invited me to the backseat once we dropped my family off.
“Yes,” she said, raising a manicured finger. “I know you have questions. Your mom did too. But give me a tiny breather. It's been a busy day.” She massaged her scalp.
I sat on the row opposite her. “You look tired.”
“Consequences of the job.” She loosened the scarf around her neck. “The main team has been out at Sagidi all morning. The rest of us need to pick up the slack.”
“They’re still over there? Why didn't they take us with them?”
“You know why.”
Annoyance flared in me at the realization. “Because we need to be coddled. If so, they shouldn't have brought us along in the first place.”
Catherine gave me a strange look. “They brought you along precisely because you don't need to be coddled.”
“So, why the one-eighty?” I asked. An odd heat flared up in my chest. “The least they could do was ask if we wanted to help.”
“Dia Mater thought it best to allow your team to rest.”
Dia Mater had also thought it best to disregard the lives that had remained trapped within the rubble. I hated how that fact continued to dismay me.
Catherine’s eyes turned thoughtful. “You think this is a one-time deal, Chetachi? That bad things happen, and you just get them over and done with?” She shook her head. “Death and disaster are longtime companions of superheroism. Everyone hits their saturation point in time. The best we can hope to achieve is to control your rate of exposure while you are still new at this.”
“Like a drip-feed of morbidity?” I laughed. “How wonderful.”
Catherine frowned.
Crap. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “That was uncalled for.”
She nodded. “You might be itching to get back in the fray, Chetachi. But can you say the same for your teammates? What kind of pressure do you think your volunteering will put on them?”
I couldn’t contest that. Alewo for one should never be allowed to return there.
Catherine relaxed her posture. “I think I understand some of what you are feeling. It's frustrating. You want to help. You feel you can do more. But the options within your reach are pretty limited.”
She spoke with her usual poise, but a sea of emotion roiled beneath her gaze. Her words weren't for me. They were for her.
“There is nothing wrong,” she continued, “in desiring to do what you can to better the lives of others. But you must shield yourself from burnout in the process. Fail to do so, and you would find yourself wanting when you are needed the most.”
A short pause followed.
“Enjoy your break, Chetachi,” Catherine said, crossing her legs. “There's a lot yet to you have to experience.”
I looked outside the window. The untarred streets of the Old Layout faded away, opening up to the smooth asphalt of the carriageway’s service lane.
“Is the Mumini Institute another of our affiliates?” I asked.
“Oh no,” Catherine said, draping her scarf over her knees. “Even implying as much is as good as any declaration of war. The Institute's Founder, Dr. Abdul, hates the Council with a passion. He owes our leadership some favors though, and he will cut deals when we ask, albeit grudgingly.”
A nasty thought occurred to me. “We have Heroes among their clients, don't we?”
“In this line of work, I'd be surprised if we didn't.”
I dropped the topic before I could pursue it to its logical conclusion with questions like: How many Heroes retired in one piece?
I wouldn’t like the answer.
“What's the final decision regarding my sister?” I asked.
“She’s been scheduled for regular visits starting tomorrow,” Catherine answered. “The doctors will use the whole of this week and the next to run tests. If those prove satisfactory, an action plan for therapy would be drawn.”
“Will you convey her to the hospital for these visits?”
“That is, unfortunately, not our cost to bear. Your mother has noted her ability to handle it.”
“I’d like to go with them tomorrow then.”
Catherine pursed her lips. “Do not misunderstand, Chetachi. We do what we can to help, but our contributions hinge on the fact that you do your job. You are with the Council, first and foremost, and that's where the majority of your focus should lie.” She smiled after that, the gesture both apologetic and firm. “I'm sorry, but those are the rules.”
The van lurched as it slipped into the traffic lane.
“What happens when I can't keep doing my job?” I said, wetting my lips. “You hinted at one risk inherent in our line of duty. Well, what happens when I am unable to continue being Volley?”
“You'd lose some benefits,” Catherine said with a straight face. “But rest assured, if our insurance or retirement plans were terrible, we wouldn't have any members. Death or injury doesn't mean a termination of our welfare packages, for you or your family. It also doesn’t reduce you to destitution. A small number of Supers are current beneficiaries of our retirement plans, and they are more than happy.”
“I see.” I couldn’t imagine being more than happy if I lost the one thing I wished to get better at. The mood in the vehicle had darkened a little, so I cracked a smile. “Odd how we always have these discussions while traveling in the van.”
Catherine laughed. “You are a curious mind. That's a good thing.” Her phone beeped at that moment and she let out a groan.
“Not going to look at it?”
“I dare not.” Her expression changed soon after she read the message.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
She stared at her phone, forehead creased. “It's the team at Sagidi. A small mob has gathered at the blast zone. They want the Heroes out.”