=== CURT ===

I had worked with Tierra for hours to ensure we would probably not die. Cindi didn’t help at all. She wasn’t really the planning type. Not for things like this, at least. She very much lived by the old adage. No battle survives first contact. And she was right. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t do some prep to make it a little easier. I snapped over to the workshop I was renting. My arrival was a little off. I frowned. I diversified the GPS networks I connected to prevent Bion from just shutting me down.

  But he had the best satellites in the world. And I wasn’t incredibly comfortable with the change. I considered trying to hack into the government satellites I was using and refining their software myself. I don’t think I could do that without leaving a trail. Then again, I’m already a terrorist. And it’d still be a better use of government resources than those gamers that kept leaking military docs for their war sims. Less funny, though.

  I unlocked the door and walked into the small room. It was cramped, and half-finished projects were strewn everywhere. I hadn’t had a lot of time to finish anything. The rail gun was the biggest thing. It would function for a single shot, but I hadn’t had time to make it stable enough to last more than that. And I don’t even know if it’ll be sufficient to take Kari down. I shuddered at the thought. I thought about the dinner we’d shared a few weeks ago. Kari had been busy since then, and I hadn’t scheduled anything with Doctor Berry. I hadn’t felt up to it, honestly. I collected the poppers in a box and teleported back to Des’ apartment. I set them down in front of Tierra and texted her a link.

  “What’s this?” She asked.

  “Popp. The app that controls where you go. Choose a spot, grab one, press the button, and you’re there. Within about two meters or so. So, try to choose an open space where no one is.”

  “What happens if I don’t?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “If it’s a wall, it’ll shear off whatever is in the wall,” Des added. Tierra looked disgusted and frightened. I glared at Des, and they responded simply, “Informed consent. It’s important.”

  “And what happens if I teleport inside of someone.”

  “I’ve never done it. I’ve always made sure not to after I fucked up the first time and lost like twenty percent of my arm.”

  “You lost twenty percent of your arm? And you expect me to use these? Hell nah. I’m out. You can keep them.”

  “That was years ago. I’ve come a long way since then. And I told you exactly how to avoid any accidents.”

  “How many years ago?”

  “How long have we been friends?” I asked Des.

  “An eternity.”

  “You’re just saying that because you’re old.”

  “So are you.”

=== CHUCK ===

I saw Kari on the news dealing with the fallout of the bridge collapse. The media is blaming her for not saving more people. Ridiculous, I thought. I wanted to be there for her. I knew she must be having a hard time, but I had my own hard time to deal with. I arrived at Bellemere Penitentiary and Sanitarium again. This time, I was disguised as Chuck Berry, Psy.D. I was walking down the hall in a tweed jacket and bow tie, hunching my shoulders. I wore my hair differently. As Professor Mind, I combed it back. As a civilian, I wore it down. It was a little shaggy, just enough to have a little leeway here. Between these small changes and the fact that I’m not levitating off the ground and in a glowing blue leotard is more than enough for people to not recognize me. A guard with a name tag that read Jenkins stopped me at a security checkpoint. “How can I help you today?”

  “Hi, I’m Doctor Berry. I’m here to check in on some of the patients here.” I kept my voice even. This was a risk. If I screwed up, my identity could get out. I didn’t want that. But I also couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do something to help Blanca and Scott. The man’s suspicion started to flare up, and I psychically reached out and quelled it. I pushed on his apathy. Security guards spend most of their time bored and lethargic. I located it in the man immediately. I pressed a little deeper and modified his memory a little. To the security cameras recording us, it’d just look like we were talking. But I changed the conversation and showed him my ID, making it look like whatever documents were necessary in his mind’s eye. He let me through, and I made my way through the twisting corridors.

  The mental patients were kept separate from the general populace for self-evident reasons. And metas were also kept separate. But I reached out and found my friends. Are they still your friends? You haven’t seen them in years. You left them here to rot. I chided myself. Then I took a few moments to reorient myself. There was no reason to spiral. I made a mistake. The only thing to do now is to try and fix it and make amends. I stood outside the cell of Blanca White. The door was locked, and I didn’t have a key or the means to enter the cell. Truth be told, I didn’t have to. I could have done this from out there. But someone might ask questions. The locks were electronic, so I couldn’t exactly just make a psychic key. I didn’t think this through enough. I could go back and get a key. A thought occurred to me, and I had to pause and laugh. It was so off-the-wall. Esvanir would actually be a perfect partner for this. He could get me in and out easily. I wouldn’t have needed to Jedi Mind Trick the guard, either.

  I’d just have to make this quick. I looked through the window to see the patient. Blanca was on the far wall, isolated. She was thin, and her dark skin had become sallow. Her hair was greasy. When she met my eyes, they looked glassy. I frowned and reached out with my senses. All of her emotions were muted. Everything was depressed, literally. But she still jumped at the psychic contact. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she mouthed a word. “Chuck?”

  I entered her mind. I hadn’t been here for a decade and a half. Maybe more. I remember it well. Everyone’s mind palace is a little different. She used to have huge piles of books and ethereal strings going from one book tower to the next. Entering it now, the books were still there. But they weren’t in piles. They were toppled over. A heavy, gray film of dust lay over everything. The lines were gone. It was still Blanca. But her mind had been thrown about. She could rebuild herself. But she’d need to want to. And she’d need to have help. And no one here wants to help her. She’s a meta. Not only that, but she’s a violent one. I stopped myself from reorganizing her mind palace. The metaphysical nature of the transference would last for a little while. She’d probably become fully lucid again. It might even allow her to rebuild herself some. Create a foundation to decide who she wanted to be. But it would take time. And I didn’t even know if it was the right thing to do. A photo floated down from somewhere. I caught it. It was the three of us. Scott with his arm around Blanca. And me standing slightly to the side. We were all smiling. We were all happy. They were so beautiful. Youthful. Strong. Capable. I felt tears slide down my cheeks back in my body.

  I returned to myself. Blanca was crying. She had lost so much of her life. And it’s your fault, a voice accused in the back of my mind. She rushed up to the door and leaned up. She was too short to see through the window; I levitated myself a little so she could see me clearly. “Chuck. It’s really you. You . . . You’ve changed. You’re old.”

  “Yeah. I am,” I mumbled. “B, I’m sorry. I . . . I didn’t know you were here.”

  She looked around for a moment, her eyes glazing over. But she focused on me again for a moment. “How’s Scott? Is he . . . is he still . . .”

  The question hung heavy in the air. I sensed Blanca’s desperation through whatever emotional depressant the doctors had her on. She wanted him to be okay. She needed him to be okay. I swallowed. “I don’t know. Not really. I’m checking on him next.”

  “W-will you come to see me again?” She asked. Her voice cracked. I didn’t need to be an empath to know what she was feeling.

  “Yeah. Officially. I’ll pull some strings. I . . . We’ll get you better.”

  “Better?” She asked. Then she smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Pain and anger, and sadness washed out from her. “Of course, Chucky. We’ll make it happen.”

  “I-” I froze for a moment, trying to process her lie. I shook my head. “I’ll visit really soon. I’m not supposed to be here. But I’ll be back. I promise.”

  I left. I had to. I couldn’t stand to look at my friend anymore. It hurt so much. And I had spent a long time there. I rushed over to Scott. He was basically catatonic. But I had spent so much time around him that I could pick out his brain wave patterns from anywhere. I got to his cell. He was on a feeding tube and a bunch of monitors. He was so thin, and his skin was so waxy. I pushed away the guilt and the self-loathing. I could process that later. I didn’t have the time to do that now. I could sense his dreams. He was stuck in a constant nightmare.

  From outside his cell, I stepped into his mind, into his dream. His mind palace was the last thing he had ever done. Kind of, I thought. It was distorted. The weather had been clear, and it had been a nice, temperate day when we had killed that terrorist. But in the dream, it was raining hard, overcast. Thunder rumbled overhead. The buildings were different too. They were the remains of the first bombing we had helped with. Dead bodies were strewn about. There were ambulances and sirens and rubble. But no one was alive. Then something came crashing down to a building not too far off. I shifted there. Space was mutable in dreams. The body of the terrorist had landed. He was dead. But shrill, haunting laughter spilled out of his corpse along with his blood. Scott landed on him and started pounding him. And the body laughed. From above, a laser shot down and incinerated his head. But the laughter never went away.

  I looked up. Blanca was there in a distorted version of her photon armor. Her Light Knight costume was a white Renaissance fair knight’s armor. But in this, she looked like a glowing version of Sauron. She laughed in the terrorist’s voice. I was there too. The old me. The young me. But I was also distorted. I was the fat kid Scott had first met me as. Crying and weak. Unable to do anything. But the sounds of my crying were also the same maniacal laugh.

  “This is wrong,” I said. Me-me. The laughter stopped. Cannon Punch, young and athletic, spun on a heel and looked at me.

  “Who the hell are you?” He demanded. Rage and pain flooded off of him. Anguish had been eating away at his psyche for so long.

  “This isn’t how it happened,” I replied. Then I asserted my will. As I stated, dreams are mutable, and I am the strongest telepath and empath in the world. The dream flickered before me. The scene swapped back and forth between the nightmare and what I remembered. I steeled my will and reasserted my changes. The rainy sky and the wrong skyline shattered. A blue sky floated overhead. The memory version of me changed to the lean, healthier version that was closer to the truth. Light Knight wore her original armor.

  Scott looked around, eyes wide. Then down at the dead terrorist. Then down at his own bloody knuckles. The nightmare tried to reestablish itself, but it couldn’t. Not while I was here. I walked forward and put my hands on Dream Scott’s shoulders. “Scott, what happened isn’t your fault. We made a mistake. But it was my fault.”

  “Wh-who are you?”

  “It’s Chuck, Scott.”

  “Chuck?” His eyes widened, and the dream collapsed entirely. I was back in my body. And Scott was seizing in the room. His heartbeat was erratic, and he was shuddering. I shook away the dizziness and ripped the door open, dashing into the room. Putting my hands on his temples, I pressed into his mind palace. There wasn’t much there. It had waned since he hadn’t had a mind, not really, for so many years. His eyes shot open, and he started choking. I tugged at the feeding tube and pulled it out. The man before me coughed, sputtered, and then collapsed to the bed, breathing heavily. Scott looked over to me and whispered in a hoarse voice, “Chuck.”

  He passed out after that. There was an alarm going off. I hesitated. What should I do? That was too sudden. Stupid! That was stupid! I took a moment to collect my thoughts. I heard stomps coming from down the hall. I ran out, sending a psychic wave to befuddle anyone for a moment before thundering down the stairs. Note to self: On the next heist, bring your thief acquaintances. They know what they’re doing. They’ll probably agree with what you’re doing. Gods . . . I got down to the ground floor, and the door separating the two halves of the prison was closed. I reached out psychically and felt around. I found the lock and pried it back with all the force I could. By the time I was in front of the door, I had wrenched the mechanism back and threw open the door. I dashed out into the hall towards the exit. The sirens still wailed, and I assumed the building was locked down. I tested the doors in front of me and found them locked.

  Frowning, I just tugged on the internal mechanism. This was closer to a standard office door and thus much more poorly protected. I threw it open and continued on my way. I blasted up into the sky, my clothes fading away and transforming into a darker variant of my normal supersuit. Much like Scott’s dream, it was overcast out, and I figured this would be harder to see. I blasted off towards Avalare.

=== CURT ===

“Have fun storming the castle,” was the last thing Des said to us before I snapped, and the world shifted. Cindi, Des, and I had spent the last hour talking Tierra into the job. We were on the top floor of a large office building. These modern terrorists were using a social media presence and needed the internet and access to clean water. They were glamper terrorists, not willing to sacrifice their creature comforts. Not that I’d ask them to. The only thing I wanted them to stop doing was killing people. We started forward, and while we sneaked, Tierra asked, “Why do you snap to teleport?”

  “He thinks it looks cool,” Cherry responded absently.

  “That can’t really be the reason.”

  “Really? Now!?” I whispered angrily. Both of the women looked at me with raised brows. I rolled my eyes. “Initially, my rig required a physical motion to initiate it so I wouldn’t accidentally do it. At this point, it’s just a holdover from that. A habit I can’t seem to drop.”

  “But why a snap?” Tierra asked.

  “Because,” my wife insisted. “He thinks it looks cool.”

  “It had to be a simple and replicable motion but one that’s hard to do on accident.” Cindi was about to open her mouth again, but I cut her off. “A-and I think it’s cool. It’s dramatic. It’s literally snappy.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Thank you!” Cherry said, pushing me playfully. There were a couple of guards wandering around. They were all armed with automatic rifles of some sort. I wasn’t overly familiar with guns. Mostly because I never needed to be.

  “You’re up,” I said, nodding to Tierra. She rolled her eyes and held out her hand. The guards sagged, and I made my way forward, pushing them to a set of chairs. We sat them down and took their guns, and hid them. We also took their radios. It was midday, and the place was basically abandoned. They hadn’t been taking great care of the area. Which made sense. They were squatters. They weren’t paying for anything here on the books. They were stealing the internet and the power.

  “How’d you find out where these guys were, anyway?” Tierra asked. I felt like I was at a job interview.

  “Wasn’t that hard. Once I tracked down one of the original videos, I found this IP address. They could’ve been bouncing it or misdirecting me somehow, so I cross-confirmed it by descrambling their voice changer and checking the area. This is the only abandoned building in the area with a decent amount of power draw. Satellite photos revealed people coming in and out constantly. It was the only thing that made sense.”

  “It was so much more interesting before you explained it,” Cindi whined. I snorted. This is nice. Just like being on a normal heist. Kind of. We continued forward, avoiding more of the Acolytes when we could. Some were drinking coffee and scrolling on their phones, waiting for the next event. Most of them were armed, but they were sloppy. Their guns hung loosely at their sides or were left on tables within arm’s reach, but they weren’t paying attention. We mostly avoided them, making our way to the most significant room on this floor. Occasionally, I would slip someone through a portal somewhere so they couldn’t bother anyone. Sometimes, Tierra would push on their lethargy, and they’d fall asleep, and then we’d stash them in a closet, or if they were sitting, we’d let them rest there. Occasionally, Cindi would waltz over to one, take their gun and zap them. They’d go down. It is pretty hard to remain standing when your nerves are fading in and out of existence.

  We stalked forward, trying to remain unseen. Tierra was amazing. Her footsteps were catlike. I don’t think she ever made a sound. She didn’t intend to. Cindi was floating, so she was also silent. I was less than quiet. Which was part of the problem. I took a few steps forward, and I heard someone call out. “Esvanir!”

  I froze and took a breath. Cindi and Tierra both turned and looked at the man who had called out. I prepared to open a portal to throw him in as I turned. He was young. Really young. The early twenties at the most, with messy brown hair and baggy clothes. Tierra threw out a hand to stop him, but somehow he shook off her emotional push. I frowned at her. Buck Cherry began to float forward to intercept him, and he stopped before her. “Buck Cherry! Wow! This is so cool! A real honor. C-could I get a photo? With both of you.”

  This honestly short-circuited my brain for a moment. I forgot to open the portal. Cindi landed and grinned. “Essy, we have a fan here.”

  That brought me back to reality. Of course, Cin is going to agree to a picture with a supposed fan while on a fucking job. I murmured to Tierra, “Why didn’t your powers work?”

  “He was too excited. He’s meeting his hero,” she muttered back.

  “Her-” I began, gaping at her. She smirked at me. “I’m not anyone’s. . . Shut up.”

  I walked forward and tried to put on an affable smile. The young man actually squealed as I stepped forward. We had sidestepped or indisposed almost everyone else on the floor. And the one that we hadn’t was a literal squealing fan. I’d rather be shot at, I thought bitterly. “Mister Esvanir, what are you doing here?”

  “I . . . I came to dissolve your organization,” I said, my fake smile fading. The man frowned at this.

  “You want to stop the Acolytes? B-but we’re just doing what needs to be done. Like you.”

  “I don’t kill people needlessly. I don’t blow up buildings.”

  “It’s not needless,” the young man insisted. “Mister Crowley says it’s the only way to make sure the world takes us seriously.”

Jeff Crowley, I thought. He’s the man who I managed to identify from the voice descrambler. Their leader. There were plenty of voice clips on the internet to place him with. He’s been an activist most of his life, primarily for failed projects. In the 90’s, he was a part of some eco-terrorist groups; in the late oughts, he tried to leverage the Occupy movement for substantial change. He was arrested and put into prison when some of his plans leaked to the public. And had just been released. I sighed and shook my head. “He’s wrong. There are better ways. Ways that don’t involve endangering innocents.”

  The Acolyte looked unsure, but I decided to take a risk. If he views me as a hero, maybe Crowley does too. I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. “What’s your name?”

  “Bill Walders,” he responded.

  “Alright, Bill. Look. I’m just here to . . . See if we can’t direct you guys a little more surgically. You . . . I don’t like the methods you’ve been employing, but maybe we can push for real change. Uh . . . Together.” He smiled at this, and a pang of guilt spread out in my stomach. I’m not lying. If Crowley can be reasoned with, maybe we could create a network. Distribution. I pushed the flood of thoughts countering this line of thinking away. “We were trying to get in here quietly, so . . . we knocked out a few of the other guys. Could you check on them and make sure they’re okay? We’re going to talk to . . . Mister Crowley.”

  “Yeah, I can do that,” he said, then frowned at me, considering. “If you were here to push us to change our tactics, why’d you attack us?”

  “No offense, Bill. But you’re terrorists known for blowing up buildings. Most people here, yourself included, are armed, and I didn’t know how trustworthy you are.” He considered my words and nodded slowly. I don’t think that was entirely convincing, I thought. Another voice in my head countered, You’ve always been a shit liar. We turned away and started walking away.

  “Wait!” Bill shouted. I froze and turned to him again. This time I was prepared to throw him through a portal if need be. He held out his phone. “C-can I get that picture? With you and Miss Buck Cherry?”

  “Uh . . .” I began.

  “Of course you can, Billy,” Cindi said, grinning from ear to ear, as she took the man’s phone and tossed it to Tierra, who caught it effortlessly. My wife pulled me over to our fan, and I tried my best to smile. Tierra rolled her eyes and took the picture.

  “Hell yeah! Thanks, Buck Cherry! Esvanir. Uh . . . I’m sorry, miss. I don’t know who you are.”

  “I don’t have a title. Unlike these two, I keep my face and name out of the papers,” Tierra responded smugly.

  “I tried to do that,” I muttered bitterly. Tierra’s smug grin only grew more prominent. Billy walked the other way, and we went to the biggest office on the floor.

=== KARI ===

I spent a little more time at Suiren’s. She and I sparred; she was wielding Lady Blade’s sword. I was still shocked that she could get into a stance with it at all. Smoke trailed off of the blade. Her grandmother gave us the signal, and Suiren blasted into emotion, spinning on one foot. She used the momentum to slice at me. I twisted out of the way. I didn’t go far, preparing for a counter-attack. But I hadn’t anticipated the burst of green flame engulfing me. My cape caught on fire, and I stopped to stomp it out. Suiren, ever over-competitive, took this opportunity to attack me again. She brought the sword down on me when my back was turned. I didn’t have the wherewithal to dodge and raised an arm to block. And the sword slashed into my flesh. I cried out and jumped away, holding my arm. Blood leaked down my fingers. I stared at the wound for a moment, then at Suiren, who hesitated for a moment. She took a deep breath and steadied herself again. “The sword doesn’t seem that much weaker in your hands than in Lady Blade’s.”

  “There are two parts to its magic,” Suiren’s grandmother put in, her eyes following Suiren, who circled around me slowly. “What are they, Suiren?”

  The young girl groaned in annoyance, not putting the sword down. “According to legend, it was forged in Samadhi flames. These flames are supposed to be hotter than anything on earth and capable of burning anything.”

  “And?” The older woman asked.

  “And,” Suiren replied, deflating. “In some Buddhist thought, Samadhi is one-pointedness. Complete focus.”

  “I’m confused. Is this metaphorical or literal?”

  “In this case, it’s both,” her grandmother said. “Or neither.”

  “That doesn’t really help,” I retorted, turning to her. Suiren used this as an opportunity to charge at me again. She swept the blade at my feet. I still hadn’t seen it coming, but with my perception and reaction time, it didn’t matter. I grabbed her wrist before the swing got going, grabbed her by her belt, and tossed her overhead. Not hard. Suiren spun in the air and landed effortlessly on her feet. It’s almost like a dance routine, I thought. I sped forward and slammed a fist into her chest. It was less than a love tap, but Suiren was also nine. She coughed up all the air in her lungs and stumbled back, dropping her sword. I picked it up and swung it a few times while she caught her breath.

  I held it in both hands and tried to summon fire. It smoked a little, but nothing came out. Suiren sat down and watched me. “You have to focus, Kari.”

  “On what?”

  “Whatever drives you the most. Maybe your sense of justice?” She asked. I closed my eyes, and I thought about helping people. Saving them. Fighting bad guys. The sound, smell, and heat from a fire overtook my senses. I opened my eyes and watched the violently pink flame. My favorite color. I am here to save people, I thought. But another voice echoed in my head. Curt’s voice. You’re so sloppy because you never have to try! My hands shook, and the fire sputtered out. You’ve made yourself judge, jury, and executioner. Doc Oak’s crumpled form flashed before my eyes. No! I was doing the right thing! I- my thoughts were cut off, and the pink fire burst up violently as I tried to reassure myself. Go ruin someone else’s life! Curt’s words echoed through my mind. No! I’m a hero! I pushed my will forward, trying to reclaim my stability. But more accusations flooded up from my subconscious. You went too far again, Kari. Chuck’s words were there too. Kari, don’t. It’s over.

Why didn’t you save more people? Every doubt, every fear I’d ever had about being a hero, being Smash Gal, and being me overtook me, and I tried to handle it. I wanted to push them away, but they wouldn’t go. The fire was erratic and uncontrolled and burst out. I was thrown back, and the sword clattered to the ground. I landed heavily, tears leaking down my cheeks. “Kari!”

  I felt my teacher and her teacher walk, hovering over me. I didn’t open my eyes. Suiren’s voice was strained. “What happened?

  “Her doubt defeated her.”

  “Doubt?” Suiren asked. She sounded skeptical. “She’s always so sure of herself.”

  “That’s what she wants people to see.” I felt someone’s hands on my head and opened my eyes. My face felt hot like I had sunburned. My tears were stinging the raw flesh, and my vision was blurry. The old woman was there, trying to comfort me. Suiren was staring at the sword, her lip trembling.

=== DON ===

I stepped out of the interrogation room that was holding Johnny Rolls, Marcelli’s second in command. He’d lawyered up immediately, Not that I’m surprised by that. Scum always tries to hide from justice. After a few minutes, his lawyer stepped out of the room and walked past me. I glanced in at Rawlins, who was still sitting, cuffed to the table. I was about to go in and try to talk him into getting a message to Marcelli, but my phone rang. I rubbed my face and looked at the caller ID. Jenkins, I thought. This boy is getting too familiar. I’ll have to discourage that. I hesitated before answering. He was a good soldier. Loyal and capable enough. But he’s becoming an issue. Calling me at all hours to deal with problems. I flicked the accept icon and spoke tersely, “Jenkins, what is it?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you again, sir. But this is important.”

  “I’m sure,” I replied dryly. He either didn’t pick up on it or ignored my derision.

  “Sir, there was a break-in here at Bellemere.”

  “A break-in?” I asked, my irritation fading. “Not a break-out?”

  “No, sir. I think you should come down here. See the security tape for yourself.”

  “Boy, I don’t have time for that. I’m a bu-”

  “Sir!” He cut me off. “I know you’re busy. But this is worth it. The Curatio can use this information.”

  “Jenkins,” I began, sighing, but before I could continue, he continued.

  “Sir, Please, trust me. This is too valuable to say over an unsecured line. This might be the most important thing I’ve ever done for the cause.”

So, I drove down to Bellemere. It was hours out of town. When I got there, Jenkins greeted me. “Thank you, Mister Lawin. I really appreciate you coming down here.”

  “Jenkins, this better be as important as you said.”

  “It is,” he started down the corridor, and I followed him. The prison itself was dark and gloomy but sanitary. While we were walking, he continued. “I didn’t recognize the meta at first, but it clicked for me after he escaped. I’d met him before. At this prison.”

  “What are you talking about, Jenkins?” I asked. We arrived at the security desk, and he brought up a security recording.

  “That’s Professor Mind,” Jenkins said, pointing at the screen, a proud smirk spreading across his face. I leaned down and looked a little closer. There was a man with dark hair on the monitor. I frowned. He looked like any college professor.

  “How do you know?”

  “He did something to my brain. But when he did, he revealed his name. Chuck Berry. He’s a shrink in the city.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I looked him up.” He brought up another website; it was a doctor’s profile. I read over it. The security footage was a little grainy, and hard to make anything out clearly, but they could’ve been the same person.

  “And how do you know it’s Professor Mind?”

  “He came here less than a week ago. And the patients he visited.” Jenkins navigated through a few screens to more security footage. The man in the jacket was standing in front of a room. “That’s Blanca White’s room. Light Knight. She was a teenage hero. Got her brain scrambled by Kid Mind. He also visited Scott Spring, Cannon Punch.”

It’d been years since I had heard those names. I matched Jenkins’ grin. There were a lot of heroes that hid behind secret identities. Some didn’t, like Kari Stewart and Harold Bien-Amie. Those heroes were more culpable for their destruction and public degeneracy. Professor Mind was a famous hero. People liked his soft touch. The fools. They didn’t see what he was doing. Manipulating the public. Lulling them into a false sense of security. He could destroy people’s lives, just like any of them. I looked down at him. “This is good work, Jenkins. The more of them we can flush out, the better.”

  “There’s more,” he said. “The doctors usually keep him heavily sedated, in a vegetative state, to stop his night terrors. Berry did something to Cannon Punch. He’s awake. He’s not screaming. He’s lucid.”

  “Why would he do that after all of these years?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “He’s planning something. He’s got to be. They were a team years ago. Maybe he’s trying to start a new super team. Bring those degenerates back.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Bury it, for now.”

  “But we could have him arrested. He broke into the prison,” Jenkins protested.

  “He did, but he could just psychically manipulate any judge or jury into letting him go, any guard into letting him out. So, Curatio will deal with him. Permanently.”