With a bowl of the usual cafeteria slop down the hatch, which had somehow tasted vastly better than I remembered, my attention turned to the cafeteria itself. The initial impression of a prison rather than a school building was only reinforced by the second, less cursory evaluation. Gone were the walls of white plaster and black graffiti, the suspicious smudges of dubious origin, the black spots left by chewing gum target practice, even that line of footprints on the ceiling absolutely nobody knew how had been made or by whom.

Well over half the cafeteria's internal surfaces other the floor had been covered by layers of crisscrossing rebar thicker than my thumb with barely enough space to shove a fist through the gaps between bars... for the first layer that was. Each subsequent layer had the bars crossing over the gaps in the prior one, combining to block the masonry underneath entirely. What appeared to be a half-finished steel box built inside the cafeteria was four inches - and thus rebar layers - thick in most places and already covered every wall and support column to the height of seven feet, with thick metal strips arching above every five feet or so. There had to be as much metal in this construction as the whole rest of the school put together and making it normally would have taken weeks... which meant it had been made via powers.

Despite the new construction's obvious purpose, most of the survivors slowly going through their meals seemed to feel... less than safe. A couple of freshmen huddling together looked so scrunched up, drawn in on themselves while throwing around the occasional terrified glance that under happier times someone might have looked into whether they were being bullied. A senior girl I'd once bought some class notes from was kicking out like a metronome while chewing on the same spoonful of food for several minutes. The servings were watery vegetable stew; it didn't need chewing in the first place... and her long black hair was actually dipping into the bowl without her noticing. Ben, on the track team and in my year, had gulped down his own stew almost as quickly as I had and had been staring at a blank spot in the wall since, one free of metal bars, as if it were a bomb. And that table everyone else gave a wide berth to, the one with the school's youngest Debate Team member, Jerry's math-loving occasionally goth boyfriend - which relationship both of them vehemently denied still - and a pair of perky brunettes with too-cute faces that looked familiar yet complete strangers was so full of nervous energy it was a wonder they hadn't exploded.

It was an understandable sentiment, fear. Yet the more I looked, the more weirded out I got from what I saw. Abject terror I had expected. Complete exhaustion and despairing looks being exchanged, too. But the room was too silent, too tense, with none of the excitement both Jerry and I had felt upon gaining superpowers. Even Mandy, shrinking violet that she often was, had gaped in awe at the first bit of flame she'd conjured despite the horrors of multiple zombie fights. Yet here a bunch of fellow survivors were and everything was all doom and gloom, black clouds with zero shining lines around. Then there were the other discrepancies.

Maybe it was natural curiosity, perhaps it was more well-earned cynicism or maybe it just was the boredom of having no immediate goal until the next "excitement" reared its ugly head, but I approached my target immediately after washing away the taste of onions with a bit of somewhat stale orange juice. Where did they even get actual orange juice, during the zombie apocalypse no less? The cafeteria usually served watered down sugary swill.

"Hey, Dr. Beth," I greeted the old man after taking a seat at his table. "I forgot to say thanks for-"

"Don't waste your breath, girl," he cut me off drily. "Ten years doing this job, no teenage delinquent ever thanked me."

"...really?" I looked back through memories of past visits, frowning when his words appeared to be true at least for me. "Not even once?" I cocked an eyebrow in question. He sounded so very sure, which struck me as odd.

"Indeed. A colleague and I had a discussion over the nature of teenagers the first year after my transfer, which ended in a bet." He shrugged, then wiped his thin, dry lips and jaw with a napkin. "She died before your time with no evidence of teenage gratitude forthcoming, thus I won by default." He folded the napkin, set it aside on the table with his spoon on top, steepled his fingers and returned my inquisitive look. "Now that the ice breaking is concluded shall we proceed to what you really want from me?"

"Merely idle wondering," I replied, looking around our table to find at least half the students present very carefully not looking in our direction. "How many students did you save just as you did me?"

"None. I did mention your survival was rather miraculous, didn't I?" He chuckled and it annoyed me. Perhaps also chuckled because it would annoy me; Dr. Beth seemed the type. "As for injuries in general? Nothing major. I just gave everyone a healing potion as a pick me up. They're easy enough to make now. Why?" I made to answer but he cut me off with a raised hand. "The actual reason, if you will. The number of teenagers interested in other teenagers' health issues is insignificant, relatively speaking."

"Well, this looks like a very safe, fortified place. With everyone having powers waiting behind a thick, presumably easily built wall to take out monsters, a working kitchen, your infirmary and the old bathrooms around the corner it looks almost perfect for us survivors." All true so far. "But have you seen those zombie movies where always someone gets bit and they always seem to hide it from their fellow survivors, and it always screws things up for everyone?"

"Things already are very far beyond merely 'screwed up', Miss Wennefer, and if you were a bit older you'd have already noticed." What was that supposed to mean? "But no, nobody is hiding zombie bites here. I was quite a few decades too old not to have noticed even before gaining relevant powers. The situation didn't even come up for anyone here."

"Right." He was totally asking for an old people joke and given his self-satisfied smirk and challenging eyebrow-raising certainly knew it. Joke was on him, the whole bite scare was a red herring. I was more interested in why everyone's clothes were a bit dirty but intact and not really dirty enough. "So what's the next step, Doc? Shelter, food, water, do we wait for rescue now?" I was leaning towards 'no' and if my suspicions were correct...

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"Whyever would I know? I'm a Doctor, not some heroic leader out of some B-rated film." Probably because he'd really, really suck at it and we'd all die if he did try to take charge, I managed not to mention. He made it so hard, you know? "Why not ask Mr. Kuroda when he gets back from his usual excursion?"

Oh, I would. But first, note to self; don't play poker with the good Doctor - ever. Not only had he answered the questions I hadn't asked without a single word on those subjects, he kept giving me that condescending smirk through the entire conversation.

The only thing missing was the lollypop.

xxxx xxxx

"So which one of you is working on fortifying the place?" was the first thing I said as I joined the table with Debate Girl, Goth Boyfriend and the Brunette Twins. There had to be a reason everybody else was giving those four a wide berth and it wasn't because of the nerd quotient. The few minutes of observation before approaching them made me pretty confident in my guess, too.

Silence met my question, which grew in awkwardness every passing second I looked around bright-eyed and bushy-tailed until Debate Girl sighed, raised her right hand and turned a page on her book with the other.

"Don't mind Liz, she just thinks raising a steel wall to keep us safe from monsters is some hideous chore," the brunette twins said in unison. No, they didn't speak at the same time. They said a word each in turn, so perfectly coordinated they sounded like a single person... which was when I realized they weren't twins at all. Also why they looked so familiar.

"No, that's the only cool part," the now named Liz countered, not looking up from her book. It was blue, with what looked like a map on the front and the title "Architecture 101" in bolded white font. No, not a map; a blueprint. Better than the color vomit that was the French textbook, I guess. "It's everything else about it that's a chore." She pulled at her short braid, snuck a glance at me over the textbook and returned to her reading. "Like how everyone keeps telling me it's cool, or wanting to talk about it, or keeping away and giving me stares when they think I'm not looking."

"They're o-only s-scared," Goth Boyfriend piped in, trying to swallow a stammer, failing, then blushing and looking away from both Liz and me. OK, maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn't Jerry's boyfriend. Or he could just be bi.

"Nah. They're just jealous we're awesome and they aren't," Julia the Double Brunette said with two voices, because of course she did. "Also, hi there May. What's your superpower? I wanna see if it's cooler than mine." She was also checking me out from two angles and being obvious about it. "Gotta say, I love the new looks."

"Down, girl." Because Julia was that girl. Confident enough to try and be a cheerleader despite mediocre looks. Good enough at the tryouts and in taking advantage of regulations she got the position. Then halfway through the season when replacing her would tank the team, she used it to get out of the closet very publicly, as she'd always intended. "Speaking of looks, I see you traded up. Something wrong with your old ones?" Because that tiny waist, broad hips, D-cups, model-pretty face and delicate fingers with perfectly manicured nails were less stat boost and more like a mail-to order body change... made by a teenage boy. So much for looks not mattering if one had the skills.

"You like? It's something I'm trying out," she giggled and I very nearly gaped. She'd never giggled before. "Maybe we could try it to-"

"Pass." Like that was gonna happen. "No need to ask what your power is," because of course it would be duplication, the two-faced hypocrite. I turned to Goth Boyfriend. "What about you? Anything cool?" I wanted to talk about awesome powers with someone that wasn't annoying, was that too much to ask.

"It's-"

"No," Julia cut him off. "Maya got to know Liz's, it's now her turn to spill. Newcomers don't get to know everything just because they ask," She told me with the same sudden viciousness she'd told the team we couldn't kick her out for her stupid stunt because public opinion would crucify us even if regulations didn't. "We use our powers for the good of the group, no exceptions. It's the only way we survived and that means knowing the powers of new members." There were reluctant nods from the other two, from one or two of the observers from the other tables I was increasingly certain had no powers whatsoever, but also worried, almost fearful looks being traded and lots of people looking away from me.

"...fair." I got off my seat, walked up to a nearby wall, up to where the half-completed reinforcement started extending towards the ceiling in a still loose mesh. Then I grabbed a rebar and pulled. With a tortured scream and a series of clangs the rebar bent, twisted and tore off the rest. It was actually quite hard, at the upper limit of what I could do with both Force Adjustment and Poximakinesis working together, but thanks to Forced Acceleration making everything go much faster and Regeneration working on muscle strain and fatigue it would look far, far easier to an outside observer. "I can physically boost myself a lot further than just my stats allow," I told her, because play stupid games, win stupid prices. Also, never reveal everything, especially to potential rivals or enemies. "Do I get to see the rest of your powers now?"

"That's admittedly impressive," Julia said and even managed not to sound grudging. "I guess Tommy won't be raiding solo, or maybe you could play home guard instead?" She shrugged as if she didn't really care. "Tim?"

Goth Boyfriend, whose name was apparently Tim, took out a pen and a notebook. Ripping a bit of paper out of the last page, he wrote on it, folded it into a tiny paper airplane, then threw it. It didn't go very far, maybe halfway to the next table before touching down. Then it lit up in green, very familiar fire, sizzling against the ground until nothing of it was left but ash... and a palm-wide crater into concrete.

"I c-can write magic words," he stammered, but less so than before, picking up speed and confidence as he talked. "Nothing much, just one word like 'glow' or 'burn' or 'fly', small stuff only, then set a trigger. Trigger happens, the effect goes off." He looked up for once, not at me but at Julia, and she smiled encouragingly. I mean, it was fake, but an easily distracted, socially awkward boy couldn't tell the difference and encouragement was encouragement.

"Which means I'm still queen of the castle," she laughed then patted Tim in the back. "Don't worry, you'll improve in time." Yeah, as if magical traps and bombs weren't already extremely versatile. How could being her own twin compare to- oh, I'd been an idiot. Or Julia had gotten better at fooling everyone because the half-finished bowl of food on one twin's left hand? An identical copy of it appeared in the other twin's right hand, bowl, spoon, and stew.

Suddenly quite a few odd things about this group of survivors started making sense.