I watched the Unveiling from the comfort of my room.

In the med bay.

With a Sarmiento brace on.

Which wasn't comfortable at all, now that I thought it through.

The Council had decorated the outer grounds for the event, and colorful ornaments gleamed between fabric canopies. An assortment of guests sat beneath the canopies in plastic chairs facing a long stage. They bore the insignias of the city office and other affiliate groups. A few reporters and their corresponding cameramen milled around them, buzzing like flies.

The affair seemed a bit regimented, with more security than there were visitors. However, for someone like me, who had only experienced Heroic fanfare via second-hand reports on The Bastion, it was an awe-inspiring sight.

Pro-now addressed the audience from a podium at the front of the stage. Behind him, the Council Heroes fanned out, presenting themselves for the audience's appraisal. Their costumes gleamed, pressed to perfection, and accoutered with accessories created for the event.

The camera panned to each Hero in turn, and I chuckled at my teammates doing their darnedest to look unfazed. Two new faces stood out among the adult team, and I toggled the volume button as Pro-now began the introductions.

The first newbie was Ballboss. A rotund guy with long arms who probably wrestled lions for fun. His black skintight suit featured red stripes around the throat, reminiscent of a bowling pin. His facial angles looked weird, suggesting modification with Psuderm, and his eyes darted around the grounds, doing their utmost to avoid contact with the cameras.

The second newbie was his antithesis in comparison. She stood at a moderate height with a side cap nestled on her head. A buttoned-up coat fell to her knees, hugging her near-perfect form. Her costume glowed an immaculate white—not the most practical—offset by an armband and face mask in red. She waved whenever the cameras turned her way and struck a flamboyant pose, earning a mechanical glower from Odim next to her.

Elixir, Pro-now had called her. Elixir and Ballboss. The CAH's most recent recruits.

I took a sip from the water bottle on my bedside table, unable to stem my disgruntlement as the introductions moved on to the Pacesetters.

Activity stood in the lead, pose rigid, arms clasped behind his back. He wore a curious expression: some kind of cross between an ogre's and a gremlin's. He distinguished himself as the only Hero in the group who didn't bother with a disguise—and the one who needed it the most. An ugly scowl curved across his face, promising to bottom our ratings.

In contrast, Harvest’s features set the heart aflutter . . . if she didn't outdo Ballboss at the camera dodging game. She ducked when Pro-now gestured to her, reddening from her neck to the tips of her ears.

Neviecha came next, bearing an uneasy grin. He’d opted for goggles and a combat suit, but his gear drew the biggest attention. He'd assembled a new mech, some kind of walker with stout digitigrade legs and arms tipped with claws. He punched a button on his dashboard, sending sparkles into the air.

Bazaar frowned at the display. The quilted vest with the hood up was a nice choice. The image painted on the vest—a cross-eyed emoji with a slack tongue—was not as nice. No way Catherine had endorsed that.

Bazaar’s identity was protected the classic way, hidden behind a silver domino mask. The mask didn't hide her disinterest, however, and she yawned as the cameras rolled her way. The collar shifted on her neck, blinking a series of colors.

AV cleared his throat. “You are dissatisfied.”

I glanced at my new phone which showed a call in progress. AV had offered his companionship for the duration of the event. But he'd been so quiet, I'd forgotten he was there.

“A little,” I said. “A tenth of the city is watching this. More across the nation too. Would have been a great way to jumpstart my Hero career.”

“I do not see any advantages this could confer.”

“Of course, you don't,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Think about it for a moment. The biggest Heroes in the country: Saver, Messenger, and Dia Mater, all have great PR. If I want to reach their level, I need to care about my public image.”

AV clattered away in the background. “Unnecessary. In this line of work, you gain more advantages by staying out of the public eye. What do you need the popularity for?”

“Recognition, I guess? No point starting a new career path if I don't commit to it.”

“A Hero career is remarkably short with a high turnover rate caused by death and—”

“Anyway,” I interjected, “More clout would always come good. I could head a Council base someday or a foreign organization could approach me for my services. Not a bad deal now that I think of it.”

AV paused his typing. “You know that's a problem we deal with, yes? Foreign organizations tempt local Supers with hefty salaries and a chance at a better life.”

“Oof. I suppose that makes sense.”

“It does.” He wrestled a cough. “Nations within the tropics record more Emergents than nations in other regions. About eighty percent of the global superhuman population are born within this zone. Poaching is something of a necessity for the temperate world powers. It's the only way they have to keep their superhuman numbers up.”

“I would have thought most governments would want to keep Supers out, not in.”

“It’s a bit of both. Most nations won’t tolerate the equivalents of WMDs walking unfettered within their borders. But they also want to increase their superhuman numbers in order to counter enemy states. A lot of foreign nations have laws restricting the travel of superhumans. Yet, they finance special immigration programs that encourage applications from all over the world.”

I snorted. “All over the world? Or just the parts that aren't on their blacklists?”

“All over. Being a Super is a desirable quality. In the UK, for example, potential superhuman immigrants are encouraged to migrate with their entire families.”

“Why am I sensing a but?”

“Because there is one. Any immigrant who completes the process gets placed on the equivalent of a leash. Still, for Supers fleeing conflict zones, such Delphic deals are better than nothing. You wouldn’t want to live in the regions worst hit by superhuman crisis. Had the CAH not won the war, you wouldn’t want to live here either.”

“True. Can’t argue with that.”

On the TV, Harvest stepped forward to deliver a speech on behalf of the Pacesetters. She stammered the entire way through, cowering behind her tangle of curls. The Heroes grimaced behind her, though Bazaar openly snickered, and Dia Mater wore a pained smile that threatened to shear off her face.

“How are things looking on your end?” I asked AV, averting my eyes from the disaster on screen.

“Worrisome,” he said. “I have drones on the lookout, but the early warning systems haven't caught anything suspicious yet.”

“You say it like the CAH is expecting an attack.”

“Unlikelier things have happened.”

I took another sip of water. The cannula tugged at my wrist. “How much are you allowed to tell me, AV?”

“. . . I am guessing this is not related to what we were discussing?”

“It isn't. Kabash shared some information with me after the Evans' mission.”

AV got my meaning in a heartbeat. “You are referring to the mole.”

I nodded, even though he couldn't see, and raised the phone to my ear. “I’ve turned off the loudspeaker. Mind sharing some of what you know?”

“You don't have the required level of clearance.”

“Then answer this for me: Can I trust the Pacesetters?”

“. . .”

“AV?”

“You don't have clearance for that answer.”

“Why was I told about the mole in the first place?”

“Because you are safe.”

“And the CAH knows this how?”

“By way of extensive background checks,” AV said. “Also, by analyzing your psychological profile. Pro-now concluded that you are too deeply entrenched in the CAH to defect. None of your current privileges were awarded on blind faith.”

Too deeply entrenched?

He means my family. A sea of emotion rose within me. Could the Council do that? Use my family against me?

“Chetachi?” AV said.

I swallowed my distress. “What do you mean by extensive background checks?”

“Exactly what I said. We conducted investigations right from the moment Rabidor tossed you into the cell. The Council is meticulous, Chetachi. They won't act unguarded around a volatile unknown without first confirming he posed no threat.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

I hadn't considered that. Pro-now and Dia Mater had been rather understanding back in that container over three weeks ago. It made sense that they would vet my records before inviting me to the team. However, how much had they learned about me?

AV muffled a cough. “I am sure you have some questions—”

“I don't.”

He fumbled. “Oh. W-well then. I can assure you, the situation with the mole is under control. You don’t need to—”

A siren blared over the phone. AV cursed.

“Trouble?” I asked.

“Worse.” He punched audibly on a keyboard. “My sensors are picking up a lot of movement headed this way.” He sucked in a breath. “The SRA.”

“What? Why?”

“I'll get back to you, Chetachi. I need to inform the brass.”

The Unveiling ended abruptly. Whatever AV told Pro-now was enough to get him to terminate the proceedings.

I killed the TV and looked outside the window, but it wasn’t wide enough to offer a good view of the grounds. AV didn't return the call, and I wasn't due another visit from the nurses for a few more hours.

I gripped the hospital gown, willing myself to relax. A moment later, I moved to the opposite end of the bed. The seconds ticked by in agony, and I held up my phone, waiting for some kind of signal.

A faint warble came through the wall. A vehicle screeched outside my window. Tension ratcheted up my spine, until—unable to endure it—I snarled and swung out of bed.

“Volley,” Dia Mater called. “Are you decent?”

I'd made a habit of being so since the last fiasco, so I croaked, “Yeah.”

Dia Mater swept into the room. Her dark tresses clung to the side of her face, framing a sweaty forehead.

“What's going on?” I asked.

“The SRA is being idiotic,” she said. She peeled a duffel bag open and tossed my neck gaiter at me. “Put that on. You have a visitor.”

I did as she asked, managing with a single hand.

Dia Mater turned to the door. “You may come in now, Elixir.”

Elixir strode into the room. Her boots clacked on the floor. She stopped at the foot of my bed and raised a delicate eyebrow. “Hi, Volley.”

“Err, hi?”

“I am Elixir, the newest member of the team. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Elixir glanced at Dia Mater. “So, how are we doing this?”

“Anyhow you think best,” Dia Mater said. “He fractured his humerus, much like Odim. The other injuries he sustained have been resolved.”

“That sounds simple enough,” Elixir said. She unbuttoned her coat and placed a small red purse on the bed.

“What's going on?” I asked.

Elixir winked at me. “You're getting express treatment. You see, I'm something of a medic.” She opened the purse, revealing eight vials of a dark, red fluid.

“Elixir is a Rook,” Dia Mater expanded, sensing my confusion. “Her blood confers healing properties on those who ingest it.”

Oh, hell no. “I'm going to drink that?” I squeaked, eyeing the vials.

“Or be injected with it,” Elixir said, affecting an air of nonchalance. “I hear it tastes like blackcurrant. But I suppose if you find either route unfavorable, we can try using it as an enema.” Her eyes danced with mirth above her red face mask.

Dia Mater sighed. “Volley has every right to be wary, Elixir.”

“True.” She glanced at me. “You are not one of those religious people, are you? The kind with an aversion to blood? If so, I can totally understand.”

“I’m not,” I said.

“Then what are you worried about? I've treated hundreds in similar conditions.”

Dia Mater touched my shoulder. “She’s not lying. Elixir earned renown for her spontaneous visits to hospitals in rural communities. We’ve vetted her processes. She’s safe.”

“In summary,” Elixir said, shrugging, “I heal difficult injuries.”

That got my attention. How difficult was she talking?

“Alright,” I conceded. “Hit me with it. It's still kind of icky though.”

“Just you wait,” Elixir said, “If we ever work together in the field, a time might come where I slit my wrists and bleed into your mouth.” She chuckled at the face I made and shoved a vial into my hand. “Be sure to keep most of it under your tongue as long as possible. Let me know if you feel weird.”

I eyed the fluid slurring within the bottle for all of one second, then I adjusted the neck gaiter and knocked it into my mouth. It actually tasted like blackcurrant . . . if the blackcurrant was mixed with dog urine and blended with wormwood. The sharp tang of copper clung to my gums and throat. My eyes watered as I fought down the urge to gag.

“How are you feeling?” Elixir asked.

“I don't feel any—” Oh wait. I did.

Heat bubbled up from my skin, traveling in waves from my toes to the top of my head. My bones popped, and the flesh of my left arm sizzled. Night fell over my sight.

The world righted itself the next second. I came to, flat on my back. I detached the strips on the Sarmiento brace and whipped my arm over my head. It didn’t burn in response. What the heck?

The dull throb in my ribs—a semi-permanent fixture ever since Rabidor kicked me in the chest—had also disappeared. I felt lighter than I had been in years. Jeez.

I grinned and flopped back on the bed.

“Volley?” Dia Mater’s worried voice said.

“I'm fine,” I said. Laughter surged up my throat.

“It's nothing out of the ordinary,” Elixir said. “Mild euphoria, like all the others before him. It would pass.”

It did. The fog that ensnared me cleared a few minutes later. I blinked at the Heroes and gathered my wits. “I'm healed.”

“You are.” Elixir collected her belongings.

“Wait!” I reached for her arm. “I have a sister. She's been living with traumatic brain injury for years. If you could just—”

“It won't work, Volley,” Dia Mater said.

Elixir glared at my fingers. She formed a rebuke, then stopped herself and brushed my hand off instead.

“I wish I could help you, Volley,” she said, expression stern behind her face mask. “However, my power has some very hard limits. It has no effect on the dead and works on the living but with caveats. Wound healing, organ repair, heck, even limb regrowth—I can do it all. Sadly, all of these hinges on your body retaining what I like to call a memory of itself in optimum condition. For this reason, I do not work well with diseases. I can reverse any ills sustained within the first week or three. Four is pushing it. And anything greater than thirty days is as good as permanent.”

“You can't know until you try,” I stammered.

“Except I have,” Elixir said, and her tone softened. “I have tried. Don't go down the same route others did. I can create miracles, but I am no messiah.” She turned to Dia Mater. “If we are done here . . .”

“We are,” Dia Mater said.

Elixir took her leave.

“That must have been hard for you, Volley,” Dia Mater said. “But don’t lose faith. I'm sure there are other solutions we could try.”

I turned away, focusing on the sheets. An ache settled in my chest. “N-Nah. It's fine. I should be thanking you. I was getting fed up with being stuck in bed.” I poked at my healed arm, then detached the cannula from the other. “So, we have a healer now.”

“We do,” she answered, sliding the sharps bin toward me with her foot. “Easily our greatest asset here in Newtown. I didn't think we would succeed, but we somehow managed to snag her before anyone else could.”

“You faced competition for her signature?”

“In a sense. Elixir has operated on her terms for years. Her activities drew the attention of the Federal Government and several foreign parties. They’ve all been combing the country for her.” She leaned closer to me. “Between you and me though, I don’t think she joined us out of love for the CAH. She probably realized she couldn’t keep running away forever. That or something spooked her bad enough. Either way, who are we to complain?”

I could imagine. Elixir's ability bordered on immortality. She had done well surviving this long on her own. “And the situation with the SRA?”

Dia Mater furrowed her brows. “It's probably best if you see it for yourself.”

Dia Mater handed me the rest of my costume. I slipped into it and followed her onto the grounds. The costume smelled brand new, complete with fresh ammunition lining the sheaths of the bandolier. I ran my fingers along the plastic shells, smiling at the sensation.

“Put that on,” Dia Mater said, gesturing at the radio fastened to my bandolier. “It is set to the Pacesetter-specific channel. We are hoping for a peaceful resolution, but chances are high things might get ugly.”

I switched the radio on and tucked the earpiece into my ear. The fabric canopies had been dismantled. Staff members scurried past us, carting chairs and other paraphernalia to the side of the building. Combat suits herded visitors toward the northern gates, but down in the south, a troublesome situation brewed.

A convoy of military vehicles had tried to force their way into the premises. The gates had been barred on them, and men in grey urban camouflage stood opposite the Combat suits, barking and hurling insults. They brandished guns that looked nothing like our electroshock weapons: short, dreadful carbines that promised death and dismemberment.

If the Combat suits were fazed, they didn't show it. Their ballistic shields gleamed in the sun, and a separate line of shooters stood beside the shield bearers, pointing their electroshock rifles at the gates. Three trucks mounted with crowd control weapons towered behind the Combat suits. Two of the vehicles bore larger versions of Neviecha’s vortex ring cannon. The third held what seemed to be a laser-generating device.

The Heroes made up the last line of defense. Dia Mater and I joined them, splitting off toward our respective teams. Neviecha’s mechanized walker swiveled as I approached.

“Volley!” he said from within the open cockpit. His eyes widened behind his goggles. “You're back.”

The rest of my teammates turned at his call. Activity shot me a black look.

“Back and better,” I said, stopping beside Bazaar. “What’s happening here?”

“We're measuring dicks, that's what,” Bazaar grumbled. “Can they start shooting already?”

Neviecha nudged joysticks on the mech’s arms to control it. “Where’s your brace? No way! You’re all fine now?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Courtesy of Elixir.”

“Who's that?” Bazaar asked.

“You weren't paying attention?” Neviecha said. “She's one of the new Supers. The hot lady in the white coat.”

“Ooh. I remember seeing a hot lady I wanted to coat.”

Neviecha rolled his eyes. “You'd remember that. She wandered off early on though. I guess fighting isn't her thing. Still, if you got help from her, Volley, why didn't she heal you before the ceremony?”

Why indeed? That was actually a valid question.

“Can you stop yapping?” Activity said. “We are drawing looks.”

“You should be thankful then,” Bazaar retorted. “This is about the only time anyone would willingly look at your mug.”

“Stop saying trash,” Harvest hissed.

“Stop dating trash,” Bazaar fired.

The muscles on Activity’s jaw bulged. “You are pushing it, Dominic.”

“Pacesetters!” Pro-now barked.

The Hero had climbed atop the laser truck and looked back at us—livid, if the way his chest rose and fell was any indication. Just about every Hero and Combat suit in the vicinity glanced at us.

I winced.

“I see you are back on your feet, Volley,” Pro-now said, anger evident even through the respirator. “This will not repeat itself.”

Why was he singling me out?

“What’s the commotion over there about?” a voice called from the other side of the gates. “Trouble in the ranks?”

A stout man in military fatigues, with a head so clean-shaven it reflected sunlight, stepped in front of the soldiers.

“Mr. Oluloye,” Pro-now said, sitting on the roof of the truck, “the only trouble you'll find here is the one you are looking for. Once again, I recommend you withdraw your people and end this farce.”

“General Oluloye to you,” the man spat, eyes brimming with hate. “You have no right to deny the SRA entrance to your grounds. This is in violation of your charter.”

“I will deny you entrance as long as your weapons remain with you.”

General Oluloye bared his teeth. “The SRA has jurisdiction over the CAH, including a right to inspect its grounds with or without forewarning. Such inspections can be performed fully armed if the Council has given the commanding officer reason enough to ware.” His head gleamed. “I am the commanding officer here, Pro-now. The longer you prolong this, the greater the consequences. I have shed Hero blood for less.”

Rabidor growled at that, taking a single step forward. Kabash and Ballboss tensed.

Pro-now drummed his fingers against the roof of the truck. “Unfortunate though it may be, Mr. Oluloye, we do not intend to allow the SRA into our premises. You see, we are in the middle of enforcing a lockdown. It is to my understanding that in the case when the Hero Council is dealing with a threat of indeterminable nature, certain protocols between our groups can be . . . suspended.”

A goose egg bulged on the General's head. “You cannot enforce a lockdown the instant the SRA comes calling. This constitutes an attempt to bar the Agency from inspecting your grounds. There will be sanctions.”

“An unfounded accusation,” Pro-now drawled. “If you had taken the time to contact your headquarters, you will find that we sent a message notifying the brigade of our lockdown about”—he paused to check a non-existent watch—“ten minutes before your arrival. Regular protocols are suspended. Force the issue, and we will respond out of all proportion.”

General Oluloye marched back to his troops. “Bring down the gate.”

Two soldiers brandished explosive cartridges.

“I strongly advise against that course of action, sir,” a new voice announced from the direction of the military trucks.

A woman in urban camouflage walked to the front of the troops. Hawkish eyes peered out from beneath heavy brows, gifting icy glares to everyone she passed. She raised one slim hand to her patrol cap and halted a few inches from the gate.

“Pro-now, Newtown Council,” she greeted. “I am Colonel Fara Tijani. Commanding officer of the 716 Special Forces Battalion. This is not the inspection I had planned. But I must insist because we have terrible news to discuss.”