“Samson and Santos,” William said, his smile only getting wider. “I thought you two were dead.”
“We thought the same about you,” Santos said. He was shorter than Will, at about 5 feet, 9 inches tall. His dark brown hair was disheveled and had a slight curl to it. Wearing a white muscle shirt and blue jeans, Santos had some muscle sticking out, but he was tiny in comparison to Samson.
Samson looked like he spent every waking moment at the gym. With muscles writhing and moving with every small movement, the black man’s arms were the size of Will’s thighs. Samson now sported a shaved head. He wore a black muscle shirt and jeans that struggled to hold in his thick leg muscles.
William had spent a few days with them after their camp was destroyed by the Goons. Samson Daniels was Santos Rodriguez's half brother. They had the same mom, who had disappeared on them before the Anarchist War. They didn't talk much about her because they had more important things going on back then.
“When did we see you last?” Samson asked. The big man was 6 feet, 3 inches tall now. Still taller than Will. “Was it that warehouse with the gang?”
“No, that was after,” Santos corrected. “I think it was that street when the Goons corned us. He went left, and we went right.”
“Oh yeah,” Samson said. Will nodded, recalling the event. The last thing anyone wanted back then was to be approached by the Goons. The sight of their trucks prompted everyone to flee. Unfortunately, Will picked the wrong direction, pushing him to try and thus fail at going at the end of the world solo.
“So you made it. Good” Samson said. Samson frowned, but was back to smiling. His bright white teeth shining in the dim light. “You made it; that’s all that matters. We can be orphans together.”
“No one wants to hear that,” Santos chided. “You make it sound like it’s a badge of honor.”
"Oh, it is,” Samson said with a laugh. “We lived through what killed our folks. That means we are stronger than them. Thus, better off.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s always about death with you,” Santos grumbled.
“So what have you two been up to?” Will inquired, his mood gradually improving. “You’re what, 20 now?”
Samson nodded. “He’s 19,” he thumbed at Santos.
“Why does it matter so much to you who is the older brother?” Santos asked.
“Don’t know. I just want people to remember who's in charge,” Samson said with a shrug. Santos and Will shared a look. Will smiled wide. Back then, most people kept quiet to avoid being noticed. Samson and Santos would often engage in conversations that primarily involved arguments. They were always fighting over everything, from who got the bigger ration of food to who scouted a building.
"What have we been doing?" Santos inquired. Santos asked. He and Samson shared a look. “Not really anything to be proud of.”
“Staying out of sight,” Samson said. “Which brought us here. He surveyed the crowd as another individual entered through the front doors. William also recognized this person from his school. The smaller man nodded and waved at him. Instead of pretending to not seeing Will, the newcomer walked up.
“Hey Zach,” Will said. Over the years, they had shared a few classes in high school. Zach was white, about a head shorter than Will and the brothers, he wore glasses that made him look nerdy. He had bleach blonde hair on his head; the other once-high schooler looked as confused as Will.
“What are you doing here?” Zach asked.
“Same as you I supposed. I don’t really know, my uncle just dropped me off out of the blue.”
"Yeah, my sister did the same to me,” Zach said. “Any idea what’s going on here? I’m still reeling from graduation.”
“So you didn’t take the Goon’s offer?” Will asked.
“Nope, you?”
“No,” Will said.
“What’s up?” Samson asked. Stiffening with the mention of Goons.
“Oh right. Samson, Santos, this is Zach. We graduated high school…today actually. During the ceremony, the Goons showed up-” Will refrained from revealing his identity as an Arc.
“Goons? What did they want?”
“We uh-” Zach said, unwilling to admit it as well, but stopped as more lights in the school turned on. The large group of people turned to see someone that most everyone in the city knew. The mayor of Chicago, Corey Simon.
During the start of the Anarchist War the looting and riots started the floodgates of chaos. Instead of trying to stop the looting, a local grocery store owner opened his doors to the people. Corey Simon received praise for his heroism as he distributed his food stock at all of his store locations. Running his own survivor camp, the legend of his generosity only soared. He took the first mayorship vote by a landslide and worked for the city.
Corey was an older man, likely in his late 50s or early 60s. He was black, and he had a short layer of gray hair on his head. Wearing a business suit, he walked toward the large group with a grim smile on his face. The crowd hushed as he spoke.
“Thank you all for coming here. I'm sure you're confused, and that's precisely the point. In either case, everything will become clear shortly. Follow me, please,” Corey said. Will didn't have a reason not to follow him as the city's highest authority. As the old man turned around and headed down a hallway, Samson and Santos shared a glance and followed him. Will joined them as Zach walked next to him.
The school itself was in the same bad shape as the exterior. There were cracks in the tile; a section of the roof had caved in; and the ceiling tiles were more stained by water damage than white. Will kept expecting to see rats running by, but he didn’t. The confused people continued down the hall. Corey walking to a nondescript door. He headed inside and turned on the interior lights. Another auditorium revealed to William, the seats affixed to the floor had been cleared out. Instead folding chairs were set up in front of the stage for the people.
“Please sit,” Corey said. Pointing to the gray metal folding chairs, Samson stepped up and took the closest one to the door. Santos was right behind him. Will made the decision to remain close to the brothers, with the hope of catching up with them after the incident. The chairs in front of Samson filled up quickly and quietly. Zach placed himself beside Will, and the shorter man leaned over.
“I’m not sure how this day could get more messed up,” he said.
“Right?” Will asked. He was about to lean back to talk to Samson, but Corey walked up the few steps to the stage. Instead of standing behind a podium, he talked in a normal tone as he addressed the small crowd.
“Again, thank you for showing up,” Corey said, his eyes meeting everyone’s one by one. Will guessed there were about 30 people sitting in the chairs.
We've been discussing this small gathering for months, but we weren't sure when it would take place. I’m sorry for the sudden request for your presence here,” Corey added. William frowned, confused at how something could be planned for months but be brought together so shoddily.
“To help you understand a little better, I’ll leave this part to the chief of the local police department, Carl Matthews,” Corey said. Clapping loudly, he turned to the side of the stage, and Will’s uncle stepped out. Most people didn’t clap for the old man, but a few did. Carl and Corey shook hands, and the mayor moved off the stage as Carl faced the crowd.
“You’re all Arcs,” Carl said without hesitation. Evidently, Carl disregarded the uncomfortable aspects of a conversation from the start. A fact Will hadn’t much noticed. But as the people in the seats began to shift uncomfortably, Will guessed it was true.
“Each and every one of you has a special power I cannot fathom,” Carl said. "The Goons currently have a monopoly on Arcs. At least a monopoly on organized Arcs. There are still thousands out there that look like everyday, normal people.” Carl let out a sigh. His voice booming in the large auditorium. “Some of these Arcs choose to use those powers in unlawful ways.”
Will wasn’t too surprised by that news. Carl had whined about it enough. Carl was constantly complaining about the various Arcs they faced. When the Goons took control, they banned firearms, which often resulted in the police resorting to less effective methods to deal with Arcs. One of the many reasons Will never came out as an Arc.
“In bigger cities on the coasts, there is a larger presence of Goons to take care of such issues. Here in Chicago and other cities, we don’t have that luxury. I’m sure most everyone prefers to not have Goons in their backyard. So instead of asking them for help, we decided we should start our own Arc-manned police unit. Which is why you’re here.”
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
That was news to everyone there. The admission caught William off guard. In all his talks about Arcs in the city, Carl had never mentioned starting a police force with them. A part of him thought it made sense. Fight fire with fire. But this was all so out of the blue; he felt like they could have prepared better for this new unit. Why were they brought here? Would everyone here become an officer? How would they train? All of these thoughts raced through his mind as Carl continued.
“This would be a small elite unit. After a short training period, you would assist the police in handling any and all Arc-related crimes in the city and surrounding area,” Carl said. He let the words hang there for a moment, letting them sink in, then continued, “The instructor that the mayor and I hoped to hire for this job came into town just this morning. He has agreed to train a few of you if you can pass a test,” Carl said. Glancing sideways, another elderly man emerged from the side stage.
The hair on William's skin stood on end as he appeared. Goosebumps were running along his skin. Will believed that Katarina possessed a presence that was truly remarkable. This new stranger was on a whole higher level. Will could practically feel the power the old man held.
He was taller than Carl, probably a little taller than Samson. His gray hair had patches of black in it. In his 60s, the old man wore jeans, a brown shirt, and a green cloak. At first, Will thought it was a cape, but there was a hood on the back. Like some ancient man on an adventure, he wore a cloth cloak around his neck. Hanging on his back it was only the second-most interesting part of him. As the new man scanned the crowd, he locked eyes with William. The supposed teacher’s eyes were a deep ice blue. Near white, they bored into Will as they shared a look.
When the old man tore his eyes away to stare at someone else, Will noticed he had been holding his breath. Unsure if the man had used his powers on him or not, a shiver moved up his back, as if the temperature in the room had dropped 10 degrees.
“Thank you, Carl,” the old man said. “You can all call me Maven.” He pronounced the name Mav-en rather than May-ven. His voice low it traveled easily through the room, as if his voice itself had power. He continued to scan the group, then turned back. “Thanks, Carl. I’ll take it from here.” Uncle Carl nodded and walked off stage. Maven gave us another quick glance, inhaled deeply, and let out a sigh.
“Sorry, I didn’t expect to be here today. I've heard none of you expected to be here either. So let’s make the best of it.” His eyes scanned the crowd. “All of you are Arcs, good for you. I too am an Arc. Unlike you, I practice my ability. I have been doing so for a long time. Your attitude towards your abilities, in my opinion, is as foolish as not using your left hand when your right hand can perform the task more effectively. Why not utilize a god-given power that is beyond the reach of ordinary people?
Will never really thought of it like that. Maven continued on as he began to slowly pace at the front of the stage. “What I expect to do over the next few months is train a select few of you to use those abilities, as well as, if not better than, the Goons themselves.” He stopped in his tracks. “How many of you have received offers from the Goons before?”
Will looked around, and a few slowly raised their hands. Zach and Will joining them. Samson and Santos, behind him, did not raise their hands. “If I were you, I’d take it,” Maven said. The room was still quiet as people lowered their hands. “The Dragoons have all the power in this country. Arcs—every single one of them. They will welcome you with open arms into their ranks. I’m sure you have misgivings about the Goons. We all saw the atrocities they committed during the Anarchist War. But I can tell you with full confidence that the majority of their ranks are just like you. Average people that disregard their abilities. You would be provided free healthcare, a nice cushy job, as much money as you could spend, and you would be surrounded by others like us. Other Arcs would refrain from judging you based on a power that is beyond your control."
Maven let the words sink in. William was surprised that the man was openly pushing the people away from joining up, whatever this Arc police unit was. Luckily, Samson was there. The big man didn’t mind asking the real question. “Why aren’t you with the Goons?” He asked.
“Who says I’m not?” Maven asked, making a few stiffen. Maven and Samson locked eyes for a time. Slowly, a smile split the older man’s face. “I’m not, but I’ve been tempted to join their ranks in the past. Before they became the Dragoons, they were a simple gathering of Arcs. Like minded individuals that had hopes and dreams. Something you should understand about this world is the Goons aren’t rare. Arcs tend to find one another. There are dozens of Arc groups all over the world. However, the Dragoons emerged as the strongest. So it’s up to you whether you want to join them or not. I recommend going to them. They have the budget and resources to assist you. They can make your life so much easier.”
William looked around again. No one got up or moved. There was an air of defiance in the wide, open room. Joining the Goons seemed like the last option for anyone. Everyone had their own history with the Goons, and what Will had seen of them had not left the best impression.
“Last chance,” Maven said slowly, eyeing each of them. “Going, going, gone. Fine, be stubborn. We will see how long that lasts.” He turned away from the crowd, running his hand through his gray hair for a moment. When he turned around, he had a more serious look on his face.
"Do you all believe you have the power to change the world? Maybe you just want to learn about your abilities without the assistance of the Dragoons, fine. I can teach you how to become truly strong. I can show you the world you have only dreamed of,” Maven said grimly. “But rather than wasting my breath on those that won’t make it past the first stage, let’s widdle this number down a little.”
Wringing his hands together, the old man nodded as the air in the room became thick with heat. William expected some kind of physical test for this group. Instead, Maven said, “The first test will be for you to walk onto the stage.”
The room was dead silent for a moment, and people looked around confused. “It’s harder than that, of course. But if you have the willpower to stand up and make it to this top step,” he said, referring to the short steps that led up from the sitting area to the stage. There were only four steps to the stage. “Step there, and you pass the first test.”
Will looked to his side as someone stood up and then sat back down. “Gah!” The person yelled.
“It's not as easy as it looks,” Maven said. “You have 10 minutes. Make it count.” He crossed his arms and left it at that. Will directed his gaze towards another individual who attempted to stand. They got up, then shot back as if shocked. Sitting back down in an instant, as the first person did. Will looked around the room, trying to see what force or power the old man was using to affect the people. There was nothing.
Samson groaned behind William. Turning, the black man had a pained look on his face. With beads of sweat trickling down his face, Samson managed to rise to his feet. Further than the others heads. With his teeth clenched, he steadily moved away from the seats. His eyes focused on Maven, and he began to slowly walk toward the stage. Step after step appeared to take great effort, as if the gravity had increased.
Will watched, unsure what exactly was going on. Samson paused at the stairs, inhaling deeply while maintaining his focus on Maven. He got to the first step, going up it with great effort. The entire room was focused on him. Watching and waiting to see what would happen. Each step took longer than the last, and when he got to the last step, he fell forward.
At first, Will suspected he had passed out, but Samson slowly pushed himself up. Wiping his bald head, he sat cross legged as he faced Maven. “Wh-what was that?” He asked.
“Your first test,” Maven said with a smile. “Any other takers?” Santos stood up behind Will, prompting more people to try their luck. Most were forced to sit back down, but many took steps toward the stage. Will decided to try his luck. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but his attitude was slowly changing toward accepting his ability. There were so many people offering to teach him; maybe it wasn’t as useless as he always assumed.
His hands on his knees. Will pushed himself up as if he would feel a great weight, but as he stood, he felt what the others were going through: intense pressure. As soon as his legs were fully extended, it was like he was staring straight into the oven with the door open. The air almost shimmered as an otherworldly power cascaded off of Maven.
Will struggled to stand, as if he were staring into the sun itself. His stomach was clenching in fear, and sweat broke out on his face as he took steady breaths. All the while, Maven locked eyes with him. The old man's icy eyes bore into him as Will only felt the pressure increase.
He could almost see a shimmer in the air as the old man released whatever he was using on the other people in the auditorium. His mouth dry, Will took his first step. It wasn’t so hard; the pressure was still there, so he forced himself to ignore Maven. He cast that aside, however, as he advanced towards the stage. The power being released by the man redoubled.
William felt as if he was going to puke. His hands and legs were shaking; it took all he had to stand there. A girl in front of him took a step toward him and toppled over, dazed by the sheer power in front of them.
This only made Will want to be there more. This was so much more real than what he had discussed with Katarina. She had mentioned a strength that he could only imagine, and here it was. An ordinary-looking old man was practically bringing Will to his knees with a simple glance. He gritted his teeth and took another step. The pressure was rising once more, and he desperately wanted to sprint up there, but every part of him warned against it.
Each and every step took an intense amount of focus. Trying to ignore the elephant in the room, he slowly made his way to the stairs. The closer he got, the more William thought he would die. But he was growing increasingly certain that this was what he wanted. He desired to exert this influence on others. This is what he wanted. He longed to be free from the fear of others. He aspired to become the individual whom others feared. If the Dragoons were the strongest in the world, he wanted to become stronger. He wanted whatever the old man was selling. He would do whatever it took.
Will took his first step up, and the power doubled again. Grunting, he forced himself upright. With tears in his eyes, he took quick, short breaths. As if he would forget to breathe if he didn’t force himself to do it. Another step was taken, and the power increased, but he was getting used to it. He swiftly ascended the final three steps, and with the stage acting as the finish line, he crossed it, releasing the pressure.
Taking in deep, ragged breaths, Will moved out of the way as Zach made it up the stairs. “What the hell?” Will mumbled as the feeling passed. He looked up at Maven; the old man gave him a small nod, but he focused on the others.
“2 minutes left,” Maven said. Will sat down out of the way of the stairs. Many people were lying on the floor. Either passed out or having given up, he wasn’t sure. Two were near the bottom of the stairs, but they were stuck there. Time continued on, and the seconds ticked away until Maven announced, “That’s it. Those who failed to make it should consider joining the Goons. If not, at least start practicing your abilities. Who knows, they might save your life someday.”
Those below moaned or exhaled in relief as the pressure seemingly subsided. William looked around at those who made it. Only 10 of them had. “Very good,” Maven said. “Those of you who made it, follow me. We have another test to go through.”
Will looked to Samson, who got to his feet. Maven turned around and walked out of the auditorium. Slowly, people got up, eyeing one another, until the first person followed behind Maven. Will wasn’t sure where they were going; either way, he hoped there was a restroom. After that shock, he really needed to take a leak.