Calgary Zoo
The tiger paced relentlessly. His head swung from side to side, amber eyes piercing and intense. He reached the corner of the enclosure and rotated on his back paws, turning to head back down the long fence line.
El sat on the metal bleachers next to the large enclosure, forearms resting upon his knees as he studied the contained predator. A light day pack sat at his feet next to his sketchpad and pencil. He had taken the light rail train from the university after the day’s training. Fortunately, the train was not too busy late in the day. He knew that if he had tried to get on during the after-business rush of commuters the train would have been a formidable obstacle for his anxiety.
The cycle of training, resting, and classes at the Academy was already forming a rigid routine in the lives of the students. Early morning cardio and strength training, combat training with the different instructors according to a student’s specialty, a shared lunch for the class at a cafeteria built to hold many more students than were currently enrolled, followed by lectures on metahuman theory and abilities, followed up by more physical training in the early evening.
The only non-training days the students had were Wednesdays, but even those were filled with university classes for those enrolled or community volunteering for those not. Apparently, not even weekends were safe from training, as Instructor MacDonald had stated bluntly that training would frequently and with no announcement bleed over into Saturdays and Sundays.
El checked the time on his cell phone, sighed and gathered his things together. Shouldering his day pack with a last glance at the pacing tiger El headed to the zoo's main gates to catch a train back to the university.
Olympic Oval
University of Calgary
Sharon leaned forward, pushing back with her skates enjoying the shooshing the blades made as they glided across the ice. She tilted her weight to the right, altering her course and snapped her hockey stick out toward a puck and pulled it back to her. A lean to the left changed her direction, bringing her in line with the empty goalie net. With practiced ease she pushed off her back skate, driving her body weight behind the swing of her stick, slapping the puck into the net. Her path curved around the net and she snatched another idle puck with her stick as she slid back out toward the centre of the rink.
Sharon had long loved the quiet times she could spend alone on the ice. No coaches, parents, or older brother. Just her, a stick, and the ice. The soft sound of skates on the clear ice mixed with the occasional sharp crack of sticks hitting pucks or each other. Across the rink, several boys her age worked on passing and shooting into the other net.
Tomorrow was supposed to be a big day, they had been instructed to rest and ready themselves. Sharon would allow herself another twenty minutes on the ice before heading back to the apartment. A quick shower and a protein shake, then bed to get at least six hours of sleep. She knew her body needed more to rest and repair from the day's training adequately, but she had been too restless. Time on the ice was the surest way to calm herself.
Main Hall
The Academy
Friday morning
The aspiring heroes sat engaging in a variety of quiet, nervous activities: some clustered together talking, more than a few sat quietly listening to music on headphones, and about a dozen sat with eyes closed as though in meditation. One of the main doors banged open and a wave of silence washed over the class as Instructor MacDonald strode through and onto the stage. As he reached the podium to the side he clicked a remote that activated the large projector, showing a plain slide with the letters FTX.
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“Full-immersion Tactical Exercise, or FTX. Today marks the completion of your first four weeks in the program and your first graded FTX. I am going to be giving you a great deal of information in a short period of time, keep up and hold questions for the end.” Slides began to change behind MacDonald as he spoke.
“FTXs are held in Training Hall One, also called the Variable Environment Simulator. You are all somewhat familiar with Hall One from your first day here, it was where you engaged the masked combatant in a recreation of a small town. Hall One is able to recreate almost any environment you can think of, and will most often be partitioned into separate training areas for each of your teams to work in. The safeguards that exist in the sparring cells to eliminate the potential of critical or fatal injuries are not present in Hall One, but the actors you will interact with will be limited in the damage they can do to you. To discuss those actors I will temporarily yield for Professor Eldritch.”
At the mention of his name, the class turned to the rear of the room to see the rotund wizard enter. He was followed by the other instructors and a clay statue of a featureless man that floated through the air. Eldritch continued to the front of the lecture hall while the instructors broke off and stood along the back wall. At the podium, which MacDonald had yielded to stand off to the side, Eldritch faced the students and the statue settled to the ground standing motionless and inert.
The Professor’s eyes lit up and he rubbed his hands together in apparent glee. “Good morning ladies and gents, I have been waiting to introduce you to my friends,” he indicated. “Any training environment the techies create is inherently limited. What will be the great unknown, the x-factor in your missions as heroes? Other people,” he continued without waiting for any responses. “With this in mind, I have, with the help of a Sephardic friend of mine, created a large group of golems to act as roleplayers you will interact with during an FTX. Golems are also limited in their ability to mimic people effectively. This is where another friend comes into play. Ok, Rhiannon, show them.”
Before Eldritch had finished his sentence a faint golden hue came over the clay golem and it began to change. Within seconds the featureless lump of dry clay had morphed into a young woman with fiery red hair cascading over her right shoulder and breathtaking beauty. A light green robe clung to her figure. Professor Eldritch cleared his throat to regain the attention of his audience. “Rhiannon is one of the Daoine Maithe from Ireland. You would more commonly know her people as fae or fairies. Her clan will temporarily animate the golems and play assigned roles during an FTX.”
“And we do so love to play,” Rhiannon’s voice was light, lyrical and definitively Irish accented.
“Hum, yes, behave please” Eldritch’s comment caused the fae to giggle and several in the audience to blush or shift in their seats. “The golems will be able to mimic metahuman and non-powered people within the confines of the hall."
The golem Rhiannon was animating again shifted, its dimensions features and clothing flowing until a woman of middle years with heavy hips and a smouldering cigarette hanging from chapped lips stood before them. "Now don't none of ya'll worry none about my kin during these drills," Rhiannon's soft Irish accent had been replaced with a thick southern US drawl. "My kin love ta play and the good prof here has just invited us ta play with y'all. One thing y'all should know is that these bodies don't feel no pain, so y'all can play nice and rough with us. Shoot, some of my kinfolks love ta play rough."
Instructor MacDonald strode back to the centre of the stage and spoke in his standard clear firm tone that demanded to be listened to. "Just because you can go all out when facing these fae-animated golems does not mean that you should. Part of the training here is to learn control of yourself and your abilities. In fact, using too much force will result in a lower score on your FTX. Out in the real world heroes in Canada are sworn RCMP constables, operating in the public and accountable to the same." As MacDonald spoke, Eldritch, Rhiannon, and the other instructors left the lecture hall through the double doors that led into Training Hall One.
“As we discussed in yesterday's lecture, those of you who graduate here will be assigned as members of Critical Incident Response Teams. CIRT units respond to any calls that involve metahumans and will often be called to support local law enforcement in the apprehension of dangerous non-powered individuals. Your first FTX will cover a fairly common CIRT mission: the serving of an arrest warrant.”
Again the projected image on the large screen changed, this time showing a man in his late twenties with scraggly blond hair, a thin face, and skin that was littered with a variety of sores and scabs. His eyes had a manic sheen and a smile that gave a glimpse of rotting teeth.
"Say hello to Jaxon Stewart. Mr. Stewart is wanted on counts of stolen property, possession of stolen property, and possession of controlled substances. Your teams will each enter into separate chambers in Hall One that have identical replicas of Stewart's street and will serve the warrant for his arrest. Stewart is a strongman metahuman with a Fujita rating of 2 and a Coulson rating of 1, thus he is termed to have an Enhanced Fujita Rating of 2-1. He is known to be violent and should not be underestimated."
"The staff knows that you have not been trained on serving warrants or clearing houses. Part of these early FTXs will be seeing your instincts. As you progress in training you will undergo simulations that will cover situations you have been trained for. Those will be graded evolutions. Each team will now enter Hall One and meet with an individual instructor who will escort you to your FTX and answer any questions."