What was he supposed to say? Whitworth slept occasionally. This was the one day he decided to get an hour of shuteye. Now he was sitting opposite to a woman who clearly would not have stood to book an appointment. Elaine was old, but wiry, and fit poorly in a suit, though some semblance of professionalism was called for despite the circumstances.
“I would like to thank you for your discretion,” she said.
Whitworth glanced at the men by her sides, each armed with those new submachine guns that have been circulating through the city.
“Well I suppose it’s the least I could do,” Whitworth said.
Elaine smiled thinly. “We both know none of these people are a threat to you. I was thanking you for not simply putting all of us to sleep.”
Even if your friends are holding my students hostage? The Director wanted to say. But these matters were nuanced beyond belief. Belief in heroes were at the lowest they’ve been in years. Despite the Langshir Awakening—the media had taken to calling it—being isolated to one city, the world had proverbially taken up arms. Most eager of all to spread these news stories was China, of course, who did not employ hero institutions that did not report directly to the Red Parliament.
Whitworth’s power flexed, but did not leave the confines of his skull. He could do it, tired as he was. These ungifted had minimal psychic defenses. He could stop this before a single finger pulled a trigger.
“What would you like to talk about?” He asked.
“I’ve lost a lot of friends and family over the years,” Elaine said. “Young people have enjoyed the terms ‘hero’ and ‘villain’, the self-perpetuating dichotomy. I- We use the words crime fighter and criminal. That’s all they were to begin with. Heroes need to be held accountable, Mr. Whitworth. We applaud your work, and our civilized world would surely perish without heroism, but the actions of hero and villain alike kill both ungifted and low category gifted.”
“I know,” Whitworth said.
“I know this incident was not the fault of heroic action-”
“But the lack of it.”
“Right.” Elaine took a deep breath. “I represent a number of normal, powerless people who want better assurance that we are going to survive the next few years. We will have your answer.”
The worst part was they were right. Heroes were loud and boisterous, colorful and godlike. The Awakening exposed a key flaw in the system; it didn’t perform well against actors with quiet, dangerous plans. If only they had been allowed to instate that drone network he had proposed. But how much freedom could a society trade for security until it wasn’t worth it?
“I’ve explored many options,” Whitworth said. “It’s not me you should be speaking with.”
“Those are the constraints of your problem,” Elaine said. “And our lives on the line.”
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Whitworth sighed. “I understand,” he said. “I really do. And I care. I wouldn’t be the head of this operation if I didn’t. We are devoting every resource we have to finding those responsible and plugging this gap in our defenses.”
“There’s talk that perhaps you would have found it already if so much excess wasn’t wasted on frivolous games and tournaments.”
Whitworth appeared to think, and Elaine’s lips stretched with satisfaction at the apposite point. Though to a more attentive eye, it seemed as though the Director’s attention was elsewhere.
--
“Get it off her!” Steven shouted. The gun was trembling in his hands. Fear threatened to curl his finger around the trigger. The enormity of the idea held it back. The decision was made for him.
All the weapons flew out of the ungifted citizens’ hands, converging in a haphazard pile. The ball of metal was then tossed in a nearby bush.
“Lyssa?” Carrie asked. She took a step back, threatened by the vertigo of the uncanny valley. Lyssa’s appearance did not change, but her demeanor had become inhumanly flat.
“…Yes,” Lyssa replied.
Over by the cars, the radio man began to speak quickly. He fiddled with his mic in frustration.
“Get back in your cars,” Lyssa said.
The older man stood firm. “Or what?” He said.
“We’re going to die!” Steven shouted in a panic. “I told you we should’ve-”
“Or we will have to call the police,” Lyssa said. She turned her head. “We should check on the other hostages.”
With a barely audible clink, several coins were relieved from the pockets of the students. Two hovered a foot above the pavement. Lyssa stepped on top of the faces and rose into the air. The rest of the metal orbited around her waist.
With the firearms gone, the other students subdued the trespassers, encountering resistance from only one member. The fight had vanished from them, what little there was to begin with. Lyssa understood the impetus that fear had on people. And on her Selves. Though the order of things had switched somewhat for now.
A fluttering sound followed her in flight over the various campus halls and buildings. Her roommates had followed her. Penny rode on Amelia’s back, while Carrie manipulated streams of water beneath her feet.
“Lyssa, wait. What’s happened to you?” Carrie asked.
“Nothing at all,” Lyssa said. She wondered for a moment how best to convey that she was fine. Or at the very least par for the course. The device on her head kept her streams of consciousness distinct. But it was clearly not designed for someone with her unique mental condition. If she were a different person, she might have questioned why the Director gave her such a thing. As she was now, she couldn’t care less.
There. She saw another group of students below. The trespassers had them pinned against the wall. Both peoples, so radically different down to their cellular level, yet driven by fear of what might happen.
Bildungsroman had said this to her once. Ungifted could not stop once they start, because they see themselves in gifted. Because if they were the ones who were struck, they would not hesitate to retaliate. For just a glimpse of a moment, Lyssa felt less alone. She was not the only one who fought herself.
She brought herself to a hover above the trespassers. When she drew close enough she tore the weapons out of their grip. Penny leapt off Amelia’s back to bind their hands.
“You idiot!” A student shouted. “They’ll tell the others they’re being attacked!”
Sure enough the radio operator was trying. The buttons made hollow clicks. They glanced at them in a panic.
“I am aware,” Lyssa said. She began to rise again. “I counted more cars than two. Let’s go.”
“Lyssa.”
Why was she doing this? She couldn’t care less. Maybe it was out of respect for her.
“Lyssa.”
If she made all the right choices, what kind of world would she be able to lead them to? She was the slightest bit curious to know. Maybe that was reason enough.
“Lyssa!”
She realized she was being addressed.
“Yes,” she said.
“You’re not her, are you?” Carrie asked.
Lyssa stopped in her tracks. Their other roommates looked between them, confused, but silent.