Abigail started again, her voice the calm, focused hum of a well-oiled lie-detector that probably also made toast. “I said, Crystal was wrong, and she was also right.”

  “I heard what you said. My ears, while not super-powered, are fully functional. Now, what the fuck do you mean?” I almost growled. Yeah, I was well over her. Sure. Everybody breaks furniture and contemplates orbital strikes when talking casually about their exes. A perfectly normal and sane response. I bet Kellar Academy had trauma counselors who would blow a gasket—or at least a nut—to dig into the glorious landfill fire that was my head. They’d probably bill it as an archeological expedition.

  “She was wrong, you were not always going to be a powerless freak that thinks he’s better than he is. You already proved that through rigorous and well-documented testing. I especially liked Glacier’s fight, since that was some awesome action. But she was right about the money.”

  I leaned back, the cheap cafeteria chair groaning under the weight of my cynicism. “Enlighten me. What part of her short, shitty explanation about robbing me blind, torching my future, using my heart for target practice, and then sneering at me like I was something she’d scraped off her boot was right? Was it the font she used on the legal documents? Very persuasive, Helvetica.”

  Abigail sighed, a practiced, sympathetic sound that probably came with a user manual. “Well, bear in mind, I am not a seer or anything—my powers are more ‘delete your browser history’ than ‘see the future’—but based on your activity logs, you were going to destroy his company. You didn’t have the training or knowledge or even willpower to keep it afloat.”

  “If she hadn’t trapped your voting stock, the company would have sunk. At least it still exists, and both of your cousins and her sister still have their jobs. James was VERY much instrumental in stripping your voting rights and then leveraging your stock, because he knew what would happen if he let you blow it.”

  She offered me a small, hopefully hopeful smile. It was a good act. “Crystal was a cold-ass, ruthless bitch, but she had very good reasons for doing what she did, even if it hurt you. According to her own telephone conversations, she even liked you and felt a little guilty about what she did.”

  I nodded slowly, the motion feeling alien and robotic. “Fantastic. A guilt-ridden corporate raider. My heart is doing backflips. Still won’t forgive her, and if I ever get into a fight with her, I am going to kill her.” The lie tasted familiar, like cheap coffee and regret.

  Abigail shook her head, her non-prescription glasses glinting. “You don’t believe that. I don’t believe that. You would beat her black and blue, but know what?”

  “What? That she’d enjoy it? That’s not the selling point you think it is.”

  “I bet if you do that, she will feel vindicated, like you really deserved what she did, or maybe like she paid the price for her sins or something. You WILL be seeing her again, it’s a small world for the super-powered and terminally awful… but you’d probably get a lot better revenge by just looking at her like you can’t even remember her name. Or like, Crystal Who? Wait, I ate you out, didn’t I? I remember the smell. Oh, right, you ripped me off. No big deal, I made more on my last bounty than the company is worth. Now shoo, I’m busy. If I want to see you again, I’ll check out your OnlySimps page.”

  I barked a laugh, the sound harsh and surprising even to me. “Ouch. That’s… disturbingly specific. You really think I can make that much on bounties? Because my current financial plan involves mostly ramen and begging.”

  She shook her head, all business. “No. Doyle Routing, as a company, is worth about two hundred million. Bounties cap out at a million. Secondary income can be a lot higher, but I think that if you tried, by next year, you could successfully take over Doyle Routing even in a hostile acquisition. That is, if you wanted to.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  I shook my head, the very idea exhausting. “No, I don’t want to. And honestly, I don’t want to brutalize Crystal. She was right, I just wish I never had to look at her again. Preferably from another continent.”

  Abigail chuckled, a soft, knowing sound. “That’s what masks are for. A little armor, a voice changer, a holomask, and she will never even know she’s talking to you. It’s the superhero version of blocking someone on social media, but with more spandex.”

  I looked at her searchingly, my paranoia doing a quick systems check. “So you know my powers?” Of course she does. She probably knows my shoe size and my preferred brand of underwear.

  She shrugged, a masterpiece of casual indifference. “I know your research history, what’s been displayed while you were fighting, and what you have recorded. From that, I could draw some conclusions. I also had a few ideas, like the nanoweave, that you might not have considered.”

  “So hit me,” I said, tilting the steel chair back on two legs and propping my feet up on the table. At this point, I wasn’t particularly worried about my secret identity; it felt like trying to hide a fire alarm in a burning building. So I was wearing a nice pair of beige hiking boots with clean soles, Levi's stonewashed, and a Gold’s Gym tank top that was a little too tight for me at Mindy’s insistence. She said that it would keep anyone who was too aggressive off-balance, but I was pretty sure an air shield would work better. And be less humiliating.

  Abigail shrugged again, as if listing the ingredients to my soul was a trivial matter. “I know that your microcontrol goes down a lot deeper than just the molecular level, since you wouldn’t be able to adapt kinetic forces otherwise, and that you seem to have control over… speed? Acceleration? And that, unlike most of us, you can draw your energy from the atmosphere rather than just being restricted to whatever your max draw is. You’re not a battery; you’re a siphon.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You act like that’s a good thing. Most people see ‘unlimited potential for catastrophic failure’ and run for the hills.”

  She smiled a little, a real flicker of something sharp behind the librarian facade. “Isn’t it? You have already figured out how to increase your draw, and based on what you have done in training, you also figured out how to expand your maximum. There are better methods, but I don’t think most of them would work for most alphas, since our basic energy method is determined when we are awakened. We are restricted to our full energy pool each day… our energy pool slowly improves, but never by much.”

  “You figured out how to double your pool in just a few weeks using basic instructions from amateurs. Guesswork. How high can it go? You already doubled your power strength, too. What happens when you hit the next plateau? Does it double again? I’ve seen you simulate over a dozen different powers, albeit with low power and carefully husbanding your energy. How about when you cross higher thresholds?”

  She chuckled, and it sounded like the future, for good or ill. “Someday you might be the first class nine to ever exist. So yes, that’s a good thing. Hell, right now you want to be the chair guy, but I bet you already have better defenses than most anchors.”

  I thought about that. Technically, it was true in a vacuum, but there were other factors to consider, like my overwhelming desire not to be punched. “Potentially, I could have better defenses than some anchors, true. But think about it… If I could put up air shields, momentum transfer, or kinetic absorbers to protect myself, how much more effective would those be on someone else who could have more combat utility? It’s the difference between being a brick and being the guy who makes other people into bricks.”

  Her eyebrow went up, and she glared at me with those vibrant, calculating eyes. “You used to play a cleric, didn’t you?”

  I laughed, the memory a bittersweet ghost. “Druid, actually, but a similar concept. Can you imagine how cool it would be if I had a pet?” I immediately regretted the phrasing.

  She nodded slowly, a predatory glint in her eye. “Yes, I could. Since this isn’t a computer game, though, I think we need to find you a decent pet. Are you sure you aren’t interested in ahh… Chinook?”

  I blushed a little at the topic of ‘pet’ when referring to a real living, likely homicidal woman, but understood where she was coming from. The strategic value was undeniable, even if the terminology needed work. “Why, do you have an alternative idea?” I asked, bracing for the sales pitch.