Alan and Peter shared a shrug—not exactly a wild endorsement, but they weren’t shutting it down either. Katie was mouthing the name over and over again, as if repeating it in her head to see how she liked the sound.
Tristan, on the other hand, immediately took on a disappointed expression.
“Feed Wichita? That…that doesn’t follow any of the common naming conventions I’ve ever heard of! It doesn’t have Team or Force in it…or anything! Not even a ‘The’ in the front to provide some gravitas. What about Operation Feed Wichita? Oh, oh, oh! The Feed Wichita Experience—no, The Feed Wichita Operation!” He looked around with a pleased smile that quickly turned down in a frown.
“It’s too wordy,” Katie replied. “I kinda like just Feed Wichita.”
Flore nodded, turning to Terry. “It’s perfect.”
He felt a flush of pride. Even though he didn’t truly care what they called themselves, considering they were supposed to remain a secret, he still was pleased to see that the others were starting to agree with each other.
Except Tristan, whose face was turning red with indignation.
“But it completely bucks fifty years of tradition. No, more! Even pre-Call comic books and superhero shows understood the value of injecting some oomph into their team names!”
“What about Batman and Robin?” Alan fired back. “They didn’t even have a team name!”
Tristan waved away the comment dismissively. “Batman was in the Justice League. That was his team.” His eyes widened. “Oooh, league is a powerful one. The League for Feeding Wichita.” He shook his head, discarding it immediately. “The Feed Wichita Project? No, the Supers Against Starving Wichita…ns? Wichitans? Wichitians? Wiches? Wichitanese? What’s the word—”
“I think Feed Wichita is perfect,” Flore said gently, affecting a soft smile to ease Tristan’s resigned look. “It encapsulates our mission and takes the focus off us. We’re not doing this for us, remember? This isn’t to be famous or have our names known—”
“I’d like to be famous,” Alan interrupted, looking around. He adopted a sheepish look as Katie glared at him. “What? I do…”
“Sorry, everyone,” Terry said. “But this needs to be a secret. No one can know what we’re doing or they’ll storm the warehouse and clean us out.”
Alan and Tristan shared a dejected look, obviously disappointed at the news. Flore, however, pursed her lips thoughtfully.
“What about the Emperor?” she asked, unable to hide the worry on her face.
How do I navigate this? If I tell them the Emperor isn’t in on this, they might get cold feet. I have to lie, he realized.
His palms slicked with sweat, his heart suddenly racing. “The Emperor…” He trailed off, his thoughts jumbled, hitting dead ends as he tried to come up with a convincing lie.
Silver spoke up from behind him. “I’ll be reporting directly to the Emperor.”
Terry turned in surprise, mouthing a quick thank you before looking back to gauge if they believed the lie. Flore seemed to accept it, nodding slowly. Tristan just looked dejected, like he was disappointed he couldn’t meet the Emperor. Alan and Peter were the exact opposite, sharing a relieved glance.
Across the warehouse, Vladimir paused in building the metal racks, his ears perked up. He cast narrowed eyes over, then quickly looked away when Terry met his gaze.
“That’s…probably for the best,” Flore eventually said. She looked around, taking in the others. “Feed Wichita, then?”
Tristan opened his mouth to interject, but Silver cut across him.
“The prince has a pressing appointment and needs to be going.”
Flore nodded toward the S-ranker, then put her hand forward.
“Feed Wichita on three?” Her tone was hopeful, but her neck flushed with obvious embarrassment.
Alan and Peter exchanged a skeptical look, so Terry reached forward, placing his hand on top of hers.
“Feed Wichita on three,” he confirmed.
She flashed him a thankful smile. Katie shrugged, stepping forward to put her hand on top of Terry’s. The three of them looked expectantly toward Peter, Alan, and Tristan. Alan chuckled at the silliness of it, joining his hand with theirs. Peter followed suit, his large hand eclipsing those beneath.
Tristan eyed the pile of hands wearily, letting the moment draw out for a handful of beats. Then, Silver let out a low growl and the boy’s face blanched. In a rush, he stepped forward, his small hand pressed on top of Peter’s.
The pile of hands poised there for a moment, then Flore looked to Terry expectantly. It took him a moment to realize she was waiting for him to lead them.
“Feed Wichita on Three,” Terry said. “One, two, three!”
Their timing was out of sync, the cadence off-kilter, but their voices echoed loudly across the warehouse.
“Feed Wichita!”
Vladimir glanced over, a shocked expression on his face, quickly replaced with a scowl. He shook his head and turned away, slamming more metal pieces together in an obvious attempt to detract from the moment.
But none of them paid him a moment’s attention as the six of them devolved into embarrassed laughs. Terry looked over to see Silver hiding a rueful smile, arching a single brow.
“You ready?” he asked.
Terry nodded, looking back toward Flore. “Can you get things rolling while I’m gone?”
She nodded confidently. “Can do, Terry.”
He turned back to Silver. “Ready when you are.”
His grandpa’s aura shifted, reaching out to encompass Terry. That gut-wrenching sensation that he was starting to become familiar with ripped at his insides. He suppressed his Analysis Skill as it tickled at the back of his mind, focusing simply on bracing himself.
But he couldn’t help but notice the differences in the way Silver’s teleport worked compared to what he’d picked up from Marlon. There was no finesse to it, nor a science. It was as if his grandpa simply projected his will on to the very fabric of space and though space fought back, it couldn’t win.
In comparison to Marlon’s exacting method that had resulted in an Upgradeable Skill, Silver’s seemed based on pure power. Which did make a sort of sense, since the man was simply using his connection with the Singularity to mimic a Traveler’s power rather than the real thing. All the same, Terry wondered what his grandpa could achieve if he employed some of the principles Marlon had imparted.
That line of thought was interrupted as Terry’s new location came into focus. The air wasn’t as dusty as he remembered, though the linen sheets had been thrown back over the furniture and the drapes were pulled tight once more.
It felt strange to see Silver in his father’s room—like a clash of two worlds. Though, now that he spotted his father reclining on the sole uncovered couch, that clash was replaced with a feeling of safety and familiarity.
James was half-risen from his seat in surprise, his face easing a moment later when he recognized them.
“By the Underworld, Silver. Give a man some warning before you do that!”
“I did.”
James scoffed. “You certainly did not.”
Silver shrugged half-heartedly. “Said we were on our way, didn’t I?”
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Terry’s father rolled his eyes before rising. He eyed Terry with a cryptic look for a moment, then his lips set. “Will you excuse us?” His eyes cut back, filled with a serious intent.
Silver looked between the two of them, seeming to sense the unsaid words between father and son. Something Terry now knew he was intimately familiar with.
“Of course,” he replied. “Take your time. I have some catching up to do with T-Bone.” He flashed a wink toward Terry, who couldn’t suppress the answering grin on his face. Then, space screamed as it was rent from the inside out and Silver was gone a moment later.
Leaving father and son and the looming guillotine that they both knew was inevitable.
“I’m guessing your father is sending you to Topeka now?” Terry offered, studying the carpet to avoid the reaction he knew must be playing there.
A moment turned into three, and Terry eventually glanced up to see his father’s back facing him, his hand propped against the couch’s armrest.
The imagery struck him so powerfully, the memory of that moment six months past in his bedroom, his father openly weeping, propped against his desk as his body trembled. His hand reaching out to comfort the man, but never quite making it; the shock too large for a younger Terry to bridge that divide.
But he wasn’t that boy anymore. He was still a boy. Still inexperienced. Still naive. Still out of his depth in almost every way. Still no closer to finding the truth of his mother’s disappearance.
But he wasn’t that boy. Not anymore.
He quick-stepped forward, placing a trembling hand on his father’s shoulder. A choking cry shuddered from the man. Flipping around, Terry saw the tears threatening to break free. James threw his arms around him suddenly, wrapping him up in a grip tight enough to shock his senses.
His body stiffened on instinct, then loosened, seemingly one muscle at a time, until he felt as if he were melting into his father’s embrace.
“I love you, son.” James voice was low, shaky with emotion. “But if I don’t go, Topeka falls. And with it, Wichita.”
“I understand.” He managed to fight the words through a tight throat. “I understand.”
He didn’t want to say them; he wanted to beg his father to stay, continue repairing what had only just begun to mend. Maybe the younger Terry would have. But this Terry understood better than maybe even his father what was at stake.
He hadn’t required further motivation, but if growing his new indoor farm helped speed up his father’s return, then that was just one more reason to make sure Feed Wichita was a success.
Their embrace lasted a few more beats before James pulled back, his hands on Terry’s arms.
“You’ve grown so much from the Terry I remember. I’m proud of you, son.” His chin dipped, his eyes boring into Terry’s. “I want you to know that. I respect how you’ve begun to forge your own path.” A soft half-smile touched his lips. “And I can’t wait to see what you accomplish with your powers.”
Terry returned his smile, a slight flush of embarrassment touching his cheeks. “Thanks, dad.” Then something about his father’s words struck him. “Speaking of powers…we never did get to do another body tempering session.” A touch of disappointment tinged his father’s face. “I know you’re leaving soon, but I need to keep getting stronger. I…” He looked off, hating that he couldn’t lay everything at his father’s feet—the Quests, the terrifying Waker that was his System, the three paths he’d been forced to choose from, and so much more. But the truth of it struck him in that moment. He had been called on to do good—no, more than that. He felt compelled to do good and in order to do that, he needed to become powerful. He needed to become strong enough to fight the draugr’s, the War Crimes, the Dancers of the world. And in order to do that, his body needed to become strong. Filled with the realization of that purpose, his eyes cut back—and for once, he had no trouble looking his father steadily and directly in the eyes. “I’m going to become powerful. Not for me, but for the powerless. I refuse to stand by in the face of evil, dad. Which means I need to be strong like you, Whipvine…like Silver.”
His heart was beating rapidly and he didn’t know why. Maybe he feared his father wouldn’t approve, would try to hold him back or delay his growth. And for a moment, the look of trepidation on his father’s face convinced him his fears were grounded. But then a sad smile marred James’ face and he nodded knowingly.
“You are your mother’s son.” Terry searched for any note of sarcasm, but his father’s tone was more sad than anything. “She also had a compulsion to help others. It was one of the reasons I loved her so much.” James pursed his lips in thought, then nodded to himself. “I’ll tell you what. I miss my son and I want to spend time with him. Let’s hold off on body tempering for tonight—” He held out a hand to forestall Terry’s protest. “—and in the morning, I’ll…chat with Silver about helping you through your sessions—if he’s willing, that is.”
Terry’s initial reaction was disappointment. He had already been feeling as if he had lost too much time in upping his Physical Attributes—not to mention his mastery of his new portal Skill was so lacking as to be useless. But that disappointment melted away as he realized two things. One, he had a confidante in Silver—both a powerful ally and someone he could trust implicitly.
But the second thing that struck him—what really excited him—was that he had the rare opportunity to spend time with his father that wasn’t predicated on expanding his powers or delving into the gnawing hole that was his mother’s absence.
He could actually have quality time with the man.
“That sounds like a plan, dad. What did you have in mind?”
James actually flushed in apparent nervousness, an abashed smile on his face. “Well, I-I was thinking we could play some boardgames, maybe paint some of your figurines together. Wh-whatever you wanted, really.”
Terry’s smile stretched ear-to-ear.
“That actually sounds…really nice.”
----------------------------------------
Space was unyielding here, protected by a Traveler Artifact that locked it down tight.
Or, it did its best.
Against the holder of the fully-digested Physical Singularity, Silver simply needed to flex that particular connection to affect the stubborn physics.
Still, out of politeness, he exited his portal outside the room where he sensed T-Bone, rather than right inside—though he would have surely enjoyed the look of pure shock and annoyance on his old friend’s face were he to appear directly over his shoulder.
But somehow, despite what he considered fairly good manners, the two hulking, rot-smelling undead guarding the chamber door seemed less than amicable about his unexpected arrival. As one, they approached with obvious ill will, angling to either side in order to flank. Silver took the much appreciated space they’d granted him, activating Chrono Boost to speed up his perception of time temporarily. Speed was never his problem. His Chronoception Attribute, however, wasn’t high enough to allow him to operate at full capacity safely—not without his Skill that was.
Time—which was already distorted to his enhanced senses—seemed to slow even further. The shambling patches moved as if in molasses, their large bodies appearing to defy gravity as they prepared to attack.
Rather than kill another of T-Bone’s powerful thralls, he simply raced past them, opening the chamber doors and slipping through before shutting them. His perception picked up every salient detail of the room in an instant. The circular table in the center, the upholstery of the chairs, the dark murals gracing the walls.
The five revenants and their master, each reacting to his entry in various ways and on a spectrum of speed that was superhuman, but might as well have been mundane to him.
T-Bone reacted first, air splitting as his scythe and bone mask materialized from some nearby realm where they were stored when not in use. Whipvine moved next, reacting more to his master’s action than anything, given his back was to the door. Then, the one with the disgusting name and even more disgusting past, War Crimes.
A whip snapped out toward him, shot out on pure instinct while Whipvine simultaneously flipped out of his chair and onto the table to better face Silver. Thought the whip came in fast and hard, Silver’s Chrono Boost was powerful enough to make even the sound barrier appear slow. He caught the whip in his hand and held fast.
A fraction of a fraction of a second passed and a bullet left War Crimes pistol and even Silver was impressed with the speed of the man’s draw. Rather than catch the bullet—which he suspected he could—he stepped to the side and held up his hands in peace.
Whipvine recognized Silver before the Professor or the Iron Maiden could even process what had happened. T-Bone dismissed his scythe and bone mask with a growl. But to Silver’s surprise, another bullet slashed through the air, coming straight for Silver’s head.
Space screamed for the third time in as many minutes and Silver appeared behind War Crimes, both hands placed menacingly on the revenant’s shoulders.
“Here I am, boy. You get one more. Three strikes—” He squeezed, feeling the bones gnash under his hands. “—and you’re out.”
War Crimes tensed, his finger clutched dangerously tight on the trigger as he considered taking that third shot—only, this time above and behind him.
But he couldn’t. Silver’s connection to the Emperor was too strong, too noticeable. His first two shots had been gut reactions from a lifetime of conditioning. The third shot—the one he was considering now—was far more premeditated.
But his compulsion towards the Emperor made it almost impossible to pull the trigger now unless Silver made some further overt action.
Swallowing a gulp, War Crimes holstered his pistol and looked up to see Silver behind him.
“Muscle memory,” the man said with an abashed grin. “Sorry about that.”
Bullshit, Silver grumbled in his head. But he simply gave the man one more bone-crushing squeeze before letting him go.
The Iron Maiden was on her feet now, her aura flaring as if rearing to fight. A hand from the Emperor had her settling back into her seat with a frown. The Professor simply shifted her glasses and Silver couldn’t help but feel her subtle probing attempts at his aura. But they were more annoying than dangerous. With a flex of will, he swatted her aura away from his, snapping it back into her person. Her eyes blinked slowly, as if confused about what had happened.
Only the Hypnotist hadn’t reacted, his aura and body language suggesting that he was not surprised in the least by Silver’s arrival.
“Gunny, what the hell are you doin—” T-Bone cut off as the doors burst open a second time, the patches he’d left behind finally catching up. They paused at the doorway as they saw that no one was fighting, their too-small transplant eyes blinking ponderously. A flash of aura from the Emperor sent them back into the hallway, their auras returning to a placid indifference. He turned back to Silver, his eyes burning green. “Well?”
Silver approached the table as Whipvine hopped down with a chagrined expression and returned to his seat. Seeing no chairs, Silver frowned.
“One second.” The chair beneath War Crimes suddenly seemed to seep into the floor, eliciting a strangled cry from the man as he fell back. A second chair flashed into existence—no, the same chair, portaled from beneath War Crimes’ butt and directly behind Silver. He sat with a contented sigh. “Ah, that’s better.”
War Crimes scowled, his eyes sharp as knives, before smoothing out. He affected a casual shrug and moved to lean against a pillar.
Silver eyed the man with interest, making a note to find out more about his past. But that would be for later. His eyes flicked back toward T-Bone, the humor draining from his voice suddenly.
“So…how are you planning to handle Dancer?”