His hospital gown flapping, Malik charged Max with a knife.

Max hastily backpedaled, sensing the shadow of the door behind him. He’d shadow hop to safety.

Before he could, the doctor acted.

Doctor Asclepius raised his right gauntlet, its silver surface flickering with a myriad of tiny lights. A shimmering, translucent beam shot from the device, enveloping Malik in a glowing cocoon of light. Malik’s charge halted mid-stride, his body frozen in an eerie stillness. The knife he was armed with hung suspended, clenched in Malik’s immobile hand.

“Mr. Blackwood, what did I say about this not being a wrestling ring?” Dr. Asclepius asked calmly.

“Don’t tell me,” Max gasped, pointing. “Tell him! I’m not the one with the knife.”

“Hmm. An excellent point.”

The doctor went to Malik’s frozen body. He pried his fingers apart, liberating the knife. Then he punched lights on his gauntlet, and the stasis field around Malik shifted, flipping him to the horizontal. Malik floated in midair like a magician’s assistant. Gesturing as if he were conducting an orchestra, Asclepius guided Malik’s suspended form back toward his high-tech medical bed. Malik wafted through the air, still immobilized, and was gently deposited into bed.

The doctor activated a series of controls on the side of the bed. Metallic cuffs emerged from the bed frame, clinking shut around Malik’s wrists and ankles. Once Malik was secured, the doctor deactivated his stasis field.

Malik stirred, as if an unpause button had been pushed on his body. He blinked in confusion, tried to rise, then realized he was held down by the restraints. He tried to pull himself out of them, but they didn’t move as much as a millimeter despite his big muscles bunching like anacondas in a bag. “What the hell?” he demanded.

“As I previously informed Mr. Blackwood,” Dr. Asclepius primly said to him, “this is a place of healing, not the Thunderdome. If you want to kill one of your fellows, Mr. Washington, you have the entire rest of the school for that. But the infirmary is a no-hostilities zone.” He tapped Malik’s chest with his knife. “The only person who belongs to the Slice Students Open Workers’ Union is yours truly. What are you, some kind of job-stealing scab?”

“You don’t understand, doc!” Malik cried. He glared at Max. “This is the guy who tried to kill me. He’s here to finish the job.”

“No, I didn’t!” Max protested. “No, I’m not!”

Malik and Max began arguing about who did what to whom when. Dr. Asclepius let them squabble, then finally waved them quiet.

“I’m not interested in playing a lively game of who shot John. I’m a doctor, not a judge. Mr. Washington, Mr. Blackwood here tells me he just wants to converse with you. I’m inclined to believe him. I won’t force you to listen to him, but take it from an old Villain—it’s better to have allies than enemies. The former are less likely to rub food in your hair while you’re lying vulnerable, chained to a hospital bed. Or to slit your throat in your sleep. But it’s your choice. If you’re not interested in hearing Mr. Blackwood out, I’ll tell him to hit the bricks.”

Malik eyed Max with suspicion. But also, curiosity.

“Fine,” he spat. “I’ll listen to what the twerp has to say.”

“I’m not a twerp, you muscle-bound goon!”

The doctor beamed at them. “Excellent! We’ve already downshifted from attempted murder to name-calling. Before we know it, you two will be necking. Now, if you’ll excuse me, an ongoing experiment requires my attention. I trust I can leave you two alone without one of you painting the walls with the blood of the other. Mr. Washington, I’d admonish you that those shackles dampen your Unreal powers. Attempting to summon one of your creatures will be quite painful. And messy, akin to when that creature burst from John Hurt’s stomach in Alien.

“As for you, Mr. Blackwood,” the doctor suddenly loomed over Max, “if Mr. Washington gets so much as a paper cut in my absence, I will hold you personally responsible. Yours will be the brain I scoop out to test my theories on Unreal aggression.”

Max gulped. Dr. Asclepius’ eccentric demeanor was gone, replaced by one radiating menace. “Keep Malik away from paper. Got it. I swore the nasty stuff off years ago. I’m strictly an email guy, myself. Better for the environment.”

“Humph!”

After putting the knife down on the table next to Malik’s bed, Dr. Asclepius swept out of the room, leaving the two students alone.

Malik’s dark eyes were sullen and suspicious. Max cautiously approached the larger student’s bed.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Malik, my name’s Max.”

“I know what your name is.” Malik jerked his chin toward the door. “The retards out there can’t stop talking about you and your friends. Those idiots think you’re legends.”

“Sorry I called you a goon.”

“I’ve been called worse by better.”

“Look man, things got way out of hand in the Dining Hall. I’m sorry you got hurt,” Max said earnestly. “I’m here to see if we can squash any beef between us. I don’t want us looking over our shoulders during our time at Prometheus, waiting for the other to settle the score. From what I’ve seen, we’ll have plenty other things to worry about. How about we just bury the hatchet? You and your guys got your licks in, and me and mine got in ours. Let’s call it even.”

Malik’s expression softened, surprising Max.

“Bury the hatchet, huh?” Malik mused. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’ve got no problem with you. You don’t mess with me and my friends, and I won’t mess with you.”

Malik thought it over. Finally, he nodded.

“I can do that. I’d shake on it, but, well . . .” Malik rattled his restraints ruefully.

Max grinned. This was easier than he thought it would be. Maybe Prometheus and its students weren’t so bad, after all. The temptation to stick around to find out what more the school could teach him grew stronger. “Doctor Asclepius is strange, but he certainly is competent. At both doctoring and . . .” Max gestured vaguely at Malik’s restraints.

Malik grinned back at him. Like Damian, Malik had perfect teeth. Was there some sort of special Villains’ whitening toothpaste Max didn’t know about? Maybe the powers that be would let Max in on the dental secret the first day of class.

“I’m sorry I came at you with that knife,” Malik said. “I really did think you were going to attack me. Get, or get got. That’s how it is back home.”

“Don’t worry about it. I would’ve done the same,” Max lied.

Malik relaxed, the tension visibly leaving his body. He sighed, closing his eyes.

“Glad we got that settled. Reminds me of a time back in my neighborhood. There was this guy, we used to be at each other’s throats.”

“Yeah?” Max said.

“Yeah. Funny thing, I don’t even remember his name. That’s how silly most beefs are. Like you and me, that guy and I finally decided to end our feud. Shook hands on it. Even hung out a few times after that. It felt good, you know, turning an enemy into a friend.”

Max nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I feel that way now.”

His eyes still closed, Malik tilted his head back on the pillow. His voice turned distant.

“Yeah, but you know, life is funny. Couple of months later, my new friend was found in an alley. Heart attack, they said. He was only eighteen.”

Max’s relief faltered. There was a curious undercurrent to Malik’s tone.

“Weird, don’t you think?” the Anarchy Division student continued. “Having a heart attack so young. Then again, they say stress can kill at any age. Sometimes I wonder if the stress of our former beef contributed to that guy’s death. If I was responsible, somehow. Responsible for the stress, I mean. Makes you wonder if grudges ever really die, or if they just . . . oh, I don’t know . . . simmer under the surface, out of sight, silent, but about to become lethal.”

Malik opened his eyes, locking them on Max. His eyes were black and soulless as a bottomless pit. A chill ran down Max’s spine. Suddenly, Mirrorkin’s words rang in his mind: I always feel a little dirty when I slot someone into the Anarchy Division. Half of them are insane. And I’m being charitable when I just say half.

“I guess what I'm saying is,” Malik said, “bad things happen all the time. Having a heart attack, falling and breaking your neck, getting food poisoning . . . who knows what might take you out? And sooner than you’d ever think. Especially at a place as dangerous as Prometheus Academy. All sorts of accidents happen here. I guess all you can do is enjoy the time you have before fate comes along and snuffs your candle. Yours, and your two friends in the Dining Hall. You know what I’m saying?”

Max’s mouth was dry. “I think I do.”

“Good.”

His black eyes still locked on Max’s, Malik shook his head.

“The thing that bothers me the most is I still can’t remember that guy’s name. The heart attack guy. Dude died like that, and my mind tossed his name clean out of my mind. Like it was just so much trash. Speaking of which, remind me of your name again.”

“Max.”

“Max . . . Max . . . Max.” Malik rolled the name in his mouth like a wine connoisseur sampling a new vintage, deciding its worth. “I’ll try to remember it, but I make no promises. I forget things, sometimes.

“Anyway, I’ve got lots of thinking to do. Plans to make—you know how it is. If you’ll excuse me. See you around, my new friend.”

Malik turned his head to stare at the ceiling. He ignored Max like he no longer existed.

Max just stood there and looked at him, his mind racing.

The big guy was restrained, his powers dampened. Max found his eyes wandering to where Malik’s knife lay on the table.

Finally tearing his eyes off the knife, Max backed out of the room. He slumped against the wall as soon as he was out of Malik’s sight.

Malik hadn’t been kidding around, or trying to scare him. Max knew it in his bones. Malik intended to kill him. Damian and Gene, too. All over getting the better of him and his goons in a stupid fight.

Prometheus Academy was literally an insane asylum.

Malik’s threat was a wake-up call. Max couldn’t believe the allure of learning to use his powers had made him forget whom he was dealing with: Villains.

Regardless of the pleasant interactions he’d had with Damian and Double Infinity, this school was still a nest of vipers. Max had to escape this place before he was bitten, whether by Malik, Mrs. Rottingham, Stiletto, that powerful presence in the shadow realm, or by some future threat.

Just as important, he had to escape this place before he himself was corrupted. For, when he had eyed Malik’s knife, it had been with the temptation to pick it up and use it. To plunge it into Malik’s heart before he could do to Max what Malik had tacitly promised to do.

Get, or get got.

Max’s initial instincts during the helicopter ride to Villains Island had been spot-on: he needed to get out of this place, and fast. Every moment spent here was a moment too long.

His resolve newly hardened, Max pushed himself off the wall. He strode to Tomlinson’s room, closing the door behind him. The speedster handcuffed to his bed eyed him with wary curiosity as Max approached, close enough to whisper.

“My name is Max,” he said. “Maybe you remember me from the beach. Like you, I was kidnapped here. You and I are going to figure out how to escape.”