“As we previously covered in the few weeks we had before the asinine games started. Gifts! Where does that energy come from? Oxidative reduction certainly can’t give you the strength to throw cars. And there isn’t enough phosphocreatine in a tanker to give Victory enough energy to punch a hole through a half-mile piece of flaming rock.

“The answer is the key to life itself. The fifth fundamental force that we know of in the universe. Anybody remember what that is? … No? The Shaper force. The youngest force in the universe, rising into existence when the first complex molecules were allowed to exist in that hot, primordial soup of our cosmos. Life itself is an abstract state of matter with varying degrees of conductance with the Shaper field, creating the disparity you see between an ungifted and someone as magnificent and perfect as Vi-”

Someone cleared their throat.

“Anyways, here’s a review of a simple formula we covered last week.”

Lyssa frowned as Dr. Rajamani began to scrawl something Greek on the chalkboard. It took nearly half a minute.

“Real simple, see? Now if we rearrange this expression…”

The formulas must affect time as well, because this class always seemed to take the most of it. It begged to ask why bother learning theory if heroism was about applying powers, not understanding how they worked on the molecular scale.

“Weren’t you just wondering how gifts worked?” Carrie asked as they walked out of the hall at the end of a grueling ninety minute session.

“Yeah, but, as a point of curiosity, not scholarly intention.”

“Ah you’re the kind of person science magazines make cute infographics for.”

“Must be why I only remember the Bill Nye videos from middle school science.” Lyssa thought about it for a moment. “And the word ‘colloid’.”

“What’s a colloid?”

“No idea.”

They exited the building, one of many on the labyrinthine grounds of M.A.G.E. She squinted as hard rays of light poured down from a blue sky. The climate needed a reminder that it was the fall season. Although come winter, it would get very cold indeed. Some changes were inexorable, superheroism notwithstanding.

“So where are you headed?” Carrie asked.

“Nearbrook’s.”

“Oh. Alright. I’ll see you later.”

“You can come too, if you like.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Or maybe it’d be kinda weird-”

“No! No it isn’t. I’ll come.”

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

It was a weekday. Not a busy time. Despite the heat, Lyssa could count on the wrought iron arches to give her a chill when she walked through them. Metal had been hammered into a sans serif font on top of the arch, reading ‘Nearbrook Remembrance’. That was what people were supposed to do here, after all. Remember. She stood before the stones that had her last name on them, and remembered the ceremony. She had been alone. People she had never seen before had showed up to watch the boxes be lowered into the ground. Not many, maybe ten or so in total. A few even glanced in her direction, contemplating, pitying, but ultimately they had left her there. Because at the end of the day most people wanted to be kind, but not if it came at the expense of their peace of mind. No one wanted to harbor a damaged orphan.

A hand touched her shoulder, and Lyssa thought of the service lady that had set her up with her own place to live. But it was not her. Carrie said nothing. She simply waited. When Lyssa was done they returned back to their dorms.

Lyssa wondered why she still came back to the graves every so often. She was compelled to. If she didn’t, the feeling of neglect needled her. She needed to see those stones, to run her eyes along the words carved in them. ‘Husband’ and ‘wife’. Not much else was known about them, after all. Being immersed in the world of nascent heroes had shown her that there was a whole group of people who lived thinking they were the protagonist of the world. After all, it took nothing less than wanton idealism to think your life’s goal was to save other people. As if all of life’s troubles could be punched, or burned, or frozen. Instead, the world was filled with folks like her parents. Nobodies. Less-than-decent people who bemoaned paying taxes, but readily spent hundreds on heroic entertainment watching people like her flip Humvees.

“People are worth saving, right?” Lyssa said suddenly as they hung on the straps of the crowded transit bus.

Carrie glanced around them to see if anyone had heard that.

“What is this, all of a sudden?” She whispered.

“Just a dumb question.”

“Hm…”

“It’s paradoxical,” Lyssa said. “We have courses designed to teach us ethics, morals, procedures to make us the best of humanity.”

“So we can be an example for others.”

The bus entered a main road. The greys and browns of old buildings was overpowered by a splash of color. They were passing a large billboard with a costumed hero’s face on it, advocating for a cereal brand.

“But normal people don’t take those courses,” Lyssa said. “Only heroes need to learn ethics and morals?”

“I think society at large is expecting those sorts of things to be taught at… home.” Carrie trailed off.

“I don’t think parents are the greatest teachers,” Lyssa said. “Don’t get me wrong. I have never wanted to be a hero more after that first game. But if they ever put me in front of a camera again I think I’m going to say something honest.”

“What’s the worst that can happen? You don’t get breakfast sugar sponsorships?” Carrie said.

Lyssa smiled. All of a sudden, it didn’t feel like she had just come back from the cemetery.

“I’ll settle for salary.”

They came back home to the sound of oil hissing and ventilation fans. The sounds of Amelia’s cooking nearly drowned out the television. Penny watched the TV from one of four places on the table.

“We almost didn’t make your guys’ portions,” she said.

“‘We’?” Amelia said.

“Look!” Penny ignored her. She pointed at the TV. “They caught some illegal operation streaming the games. Apparently, the drones with compromised software were used to help with that attempted bank robbery yesterday.”

“How could a group of people be so well-prepared and so stupid?” Amelia remarked, watching over her shoulder. “A bank robbery. In this city. Mind-boggling.”

“They had help.” Lyssa almost reacted to the voice.

“Director?” She mentally sounded the response.

“We think the bank robbery was a front for something bigger. I could use a second opinion.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You are a potent telepath. I need someone comparable riding shotgun."

“I don’t think I’m comparable to you.”

“I was being generous. Come.”

“After dinner,” Lyssa thought, firmly, but politely.

She closed off her mind and pulled up a chair.