I drove until we were outside Ineria on a fairly empty rural road. Here, I taught the kids the basics of driving a car, to a moderate degree of success.

As I leaned on a tree that protected me from the sun to watch the fools stalling their car, I couldn’t help but to contemplate.

It’s ironic, really.

At first, I worried that Eric would be a bad influence on Abigail. How could I not, when the boy's appearance and mannerism screamed red flags when we first met? He had hungry and desperate eyes, and even for a homeless child, his appearance was far too unkempt.

In retrospect, he couldn’t have expected a likely abused brother looking for his sister to be any less desperate.

However, now I see that the bad influence is none other than Abigail and that Eric is the one being led astray by her. The boy was obviously the kinder one.

Not that I believed, even for a second, that Abigail was not a problematic child. She was a dangerous kid long before she gained powers. The girl was always angry—no, furious—and she resorted to violence, physical or otherwise, at the slightest threat.

They are not there anymore, but before, the girl’s scars and attitude reminded me immediately of a convict from my guard days—one who learned that violence and madness were the best ways to hold a safe position in a prison hierarchy. And one that definitively stayed a bit too much of their time in a solitary cell.

I can easily imagine what happened. She is a smart girl; her parents were proud, at least until her hallucinations started; then she was confined to an asylum, became increasingly aggressive in the hostile environment, and ended up wherever Eric was. Eventually, the duo became friends and planned their getaway.

If that’s what really happened, and if so, how Eric got together with the girl, I have no idea. But I reckon to not be too far from the truth.

Perhaps it could be argued that Abigail is naturally violent, but I doubted that. I know that despite everything, she was a very, very sweet and respectful girl, provided that you are one of a few selected people.

And speaking of her:

“Stop stalling the car, girl. Feel the motor trembling when you need to go down a gear.” Abigail was having more difficulty with the white van than Eric, surprisingly; the boy just had a fast grasp on vehicles, it seemed; he’s almost good enough already.

“Yeah, Abby. Please stop being a stupid driver and be gentle with Vanessa’s motor; unlike you, she’s a frail girl that needs love and care.” Eric said as he hugged and caressed the car. “Isn’t that right, my baby girl?”

“You are disgusting, and I will forever be ashamed of being your friend.”

“You are just envious that I love Vanessa more than you. And you should; it’s your fault that you are not as cute as her.”

Abigail turned the car on, and just to annoy the boy, she accelerated it without releasing the handbrake. Even I flinched at the loud noise.

“Oh no, silly me.”

“Abby! You can’t do this; my baby girl is an old lady!”

I could feel the teenage girl rolling her eyes.

“It’s just a car, stupid.”

Well, at least that didn’t change after she became an Empowered. May the Lord free me from the day that Abigail and Eric stop pricking at each other. It will certainly be a preface that the final days are coming, the announcer of doom. Or the end of their friendship, which I would rather not see happening. Not that I believed it to be probable anyway; they are very attached to each other.

When our eyes met, we both agreed to not talk about the elephant in the room. He then sat on the ground, leaning his back on another side of the tree. He looked calm these days—nothing like when they first saw each other—and there was clearly more meat in his bones; he was gaining mass faster than the girl.

Still, these fools. Becoming criminals…

But they won’t listen, and I will only scream. Useless.

We just stood there for a few minutes, feeling the wind gently caress our skin. Until he spoke.

“Hey Uncle.” He hesitated for a second before continuing. “It’s far worse since she gained her powers—the talking alone thing.”

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

“How much worse?”

“She talks to it almost every day, multiple times a day. It was not like that with you, right?”

That was not good.

“No. It was perhaps once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less.”

“She still tries to not talk alone when I am close to her, but she is becoming less and less discrete. It’s damn weird; she used to feel shame and never reply to the voices when someone was close. Now she only stays silent because she knows that I dislike it, or when she is otherwise too busy.” He paused. “I am also sure that she is now seeing it, not only listening.”

That was definitely not good.

“And do the... subjects of her conversations remain in the same tone?”

“Yeah.”

Fuck.

“So not only is she more unhinged, but she is also crazier. Great, just what the girl needed.”

The boy sighed. “Yeah. Empathy is worse, too.”

I let myself sit on the ground and cross my legs. Getting old is a pain.

If it weren’t for that horrible day, even Abigail's disease was getting better; she was less aggressive, and the two idiots were living with me.

From my pocket, I removed my ID and stared at it. I haven’t told them, and now I never will, but I had a plan in the works to remove the two from the streets. I was ready to even adopt the two if needed.

I sighed and put the ID down. It was all for nothing. Abigail will not stop committing crimes, not when she believes that she can deal with the consequences, and not when it grants them a better material life. And morality was never a strong argument with her; I am almost sure that she has not learned much of it before, if the confusion on her face every time that I taught her was an indication.

This is why education is so important—not to teach someone some random chemistry formula, but to teach them how to think, philosophy, and real-life skills. If she had that, she would at least have formulated her own codes of morality that were more ingrained than someone saying, ‘Because I said so’.

No, I am just making excuses. Eric did not have anything like this, and he is a fine boy. Perhaps the girl was born crueler than most—not evil, never evil; no one is born evil.

“Eric. Abigail will be grand and great. But having in mind what you two are doing with your lives, be aware to not let her be too grand, too great, in things that no one should be.” I moved my left arm to pat the boy’s head. “You're a kind man, Eric; be sure to not lose all of it. As much as you will be able, anyway.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I wouldn't bother asking Abigail to remain kind. She would, for Eric and others, but for no one that she considered an enemy or a threat.

Whoever raised her made sure of this.

- | -

“More heroes continue to come forward; it appears like every big city has at least one these days, not only in the United States but in every country on this planet. Spain has reported at least-”

The man pressed the remote’s button, interrupting the man’s speech and going straight to the next channel. Where a man and woman were reclining on a couch.

“The protests in New York City have mobilized ten thousand people already. They claim that special measures should be taken to control these new categories of humans.”

“People are afraid; they want the government to give them a sense of safety.”

Stupid.

He rehashed his action, boredom bleeding from his posture. Two other channels came and went, until the man found himself listening to another of these tables's discussions.

“I think that we should be thankful that, so far, the majority of these Empowered are trying to stop crime. However, the data shows that Empowereds have a particular tendency toward violence.”

“Not necessarily, to both of your assertions. It’s perfectly reasonable to expect most of the Empowered to hide their abilities, and that the ones that are hiding them will utilize their newfound abilities to improve their lives. Likely, in a secretive, and perhaps illegal, way.”

Oh my, someone with brains on a television. How daring.

“Of course, but that’s mere speculation, a reasonable and probable one, I will admit, but not the most empirical observation of the data presented, skewed as it may be. Which leads to the question: What should we, as in this nation and the rest of the world, do about these peoples? We all agree that Miami City cannot happen again, but the Senate has yet to come up with new legislation.”

“The problem is, what can we do? Empowered are no different from the rest of us, and even if we could identify them, it is undeniable that many of them are law-abiding good citizens.”

“Indeed.” Said a third voice. “That’s why the government had not announced any emergency measures, because the vast majority of the Empowered are undetectable, and to ostracize them, especially with their growing numbers, is to instigate civilian rebellion and unfairness, not compliance with the founding fathers. In other words, no one has any idea what to do.”

"Or, to be even more precise, the only solution that we can think of to combat something like the Miami tragedy or future Empowered crime is a localized, fast-response, trained shock team." An entire new branch for this country's military, which will cost tens of billions. Hence, no one wants to propose the idea, much less vote in favor of it.”

Our time of absolute freedom is running out, which was to be expected. I wonder…

With no particular purpose on his mind, the man jumped from channel to channel. He did this once a week to get some general idea of what was going on around the world. Every man should, after all, know not only the past but the contemporaneity of his civilization; otherwise, they will be at a disadvantage.

Then he watched for 20 more minutes, listening briefly to the most important discussions, but the man found himself blinking at the localized news in front of him.

“Our loved hero, Sir Elwes, has finished his surgery and is expected to have a complete recuperation. Information about the criminal Empowered who brutally mauled Ineria’s hero is scarce, but the police reported that they were a teenager, and likely a girl, who had shoulder-length black hair and red eyes. If you have any information about the criminal, please apply it to the nearest police station. A reward was instituted for confirmed information.”

Oh~

He smiled, vulpine-like grim in his handsome face, and stood from his leather couch. The man turned off his television and walked to his door, where a dark brown overcoat and a white fedora waited for him.

Appropriately dressed, he exited his home. The skies were clouded, and the city was colder than most days, but no rain was to come.

“Oh, going for a walk?”

He addressed his elderly female neighbor with a smile, gently waving at her. “Indeed. I am afraid that I am not taking as much care of my body as I should.”

“Take care of yourself, young man, and when will you marry? You need to grant grandchildren to your mother!” Her tone was playful, not totally joking, but not too serious about it.

“Regretfully, the girl that I am infatuated with does not see me. But what can a man do but to try to open her eyes?”

“There is a girl? That’s new; when will we meet her?”

“That is for her to decide. But don’t expect it anytime soon. I need to go, ma’am; it was a pleasure.”

“Bye, may God shine your way.”

As he said it, he continued to march to his unknown destination. And his ears captured the last of her conversation.

“The poor man.” She said this to another elderly woman. “What kind of girl would reject a perfect gentleman like him?”

It was baffling to the man how people believed anything. Not that he was completely lying; of course, it wouldn’t do to create so many lies that he would risk mixing them up.

He continued to walk, greeting most people that he found in his way with the image of a gentleman, his suit reinforcing the image to which he aspired, and his perfect teeth embellishing his smile.

Fifteen minutes of walking later, and now equipped with a newspaper pressed under his armpit, he entered an empty barber shop. Made in rustic architecture, it was dimly illuminated and had a floor made of old wood. In the walls, you could see paintings and pictures of many different white men, most of them dressed in suits.

“Good morning, my friend. I hope that you are free to shave now.”

The barber, a thirty-something-year-old brown-haired white man, spoke. “I shaved you two days ago.”

“Indeed. But shouldn’t a man always know to be at his best?”

“Of course, of course. Sit down.” As he said that, the brown-haired man changed the shop sign to close.

Removing his undercoat and putting the newspaper on a couch, the younger man sat down at the chair and closed his eyes, and words only flew from his mouth after the barber applied the shaving cream. “What do you know about my little kitty? I heard that she injured the ugly bull.”

“The girl is working for Mister Garcia; she was protecting his fighting club.” The barber's voice became a slow whisper, and his mouth approximated the other man's ear. “Some birds are singing that he tipped the police himself, knowing that your ‘kitty’ was strong enough to get rid of the black man.”

“I see. And is she his underling now?”

"Apparently, it is a temporary contract. Mister Garcia truly is loved by the Lord.”

“Hm. Perhaps. But in my humble opinion, God will not protect him forever.”

“Oh?” A blade shaved a left cheek, cream following its path. “Do you think that the girl or the police will off him?”

“My, my, always trying to fish, aren’t we? Who am I to know such a thing?”

“I value your opinion very much; I will grant you a discount.”

The younger man smiled again. “Instead of a discount, I will rather maintain our amicable relations, my friend. After all, I would not dare to hurt your means of sustenance.”

“A extension? I see. My muse will remain mute about your uttermost private hobbies. And stop smiling; I need a neutral face for the shaving.”

“And that’s why you are my favorite!” As he replied, the man let his smile die. “To put it simply, the ugly bull will discover who was paying the girl. And smart he may be, but we are entering a new age, my friend, the age of Empowered, where mere mortals like us are destined to be a footnote. What will Garcia do when the girl eventually decides to plunder his assets and help the ugly bull dismantle his operations?”

“And how can you be sure that the little girl will do it? And that he will have no countermeasures?”

“How can he prepare adequate countermeasures when he doesn’t know all that she can do? And as for why she will do it?” He stood from the chair and gathered the towel on the barber’s hand. “Let just say that someone will push his kitty in the right direction.”

The barber shook his head. “You always play dangerous games. I have no idea how you are still alive.”

“It’s my talent to always prosper, my friend.” He equipped his overcoat again and removed two ten-dollar bills. “An extra for my favorite Italian.”

“It was a pleasure, Signor.”

“Please, the pleasure is always mine.”

Fedora in his hand and money on the barber’s, he turned and left the barber shop. His mind was not thinking about the newspaper with the real payment left inside, but instead it was blooming with thoughts of schemes and power.

Most importantly, of how to anonymously propose his ideas for his kind, that was both too suspicious and too trustful. And he needed to, for otherwise he could not guarantee his prosperity in the years to come. But there was no worry; he still has time—years of time—and things were progressing even better than he could have hoped for.