The weekend was full of stories. Exploits already had after just a few days of walking around and being seen. Of being a hero in all but official capacity.

  Beating up Hightower Corps goons who’d hypnotized a boardwalk full of tourists just so they could pickpocket them was a bit hilarious, though Jacob and Zeleny weren’t seeing like that. Mostly because all they got to do was snap people out of their trance underneath the pier. But Seth had seen plenty a Hightower Hijinks to know they barely missed a fight. Poor guys used to run under Miss Malfeasance, so they were more disruptors than muscle for hire. And have been on the down turn for a while.

  Maya got to stop some petty crime apparently, even if she hated every minute of it. Simply referring to her patrol as cardio and a lesson in restraint. Anything else just boiled down to grumbling. David got to help dreg the Terrace, though wouldn’t talk about it much either. Though it seemed like it was stressful enough not to press. The rest were mostly helping people with stuff as they walked by.

  Cleo helped a cat out of a tree and learned what the sound of clawed apart leather was. Marco apparently just got taken out to lunch, and then was saddled with cleaning Master Da Feng’s house. Kabar, Razor, and Tabby didn’t get to patrol yet. Though Tabby said it was just some formality. Too many heroes and not enough city. Which wasn’t that much of an issue for Ohm, because instead he refused flat out. Having your dad train you was bad enough for him. Speaking of which, Kaze didn’t really need to. The Elite don’t patrol anymore, so he and his dad just kept on training. The only one left was Alex, though it had become hard to track her down. And she didn’t say much of what she did with Marvelous.

  ‘I don’t know why, but I feel like they just sneak out to go shopping. Just a hunch and an observation of that nifty new ear piece she’s got.’

  But, as the next week came, things quieted down. Mostly because the patrols ramped up and the sequestered training sessions thinned out. More practical lessons being needed over formulaic repetition. Though this wasn’t so bad. Seth couldn’t waste time watching everyone else get better. And have fun. But, he could finally do somethings for himself. Less people around, less people to catch him using his powers in the open. Less need to hide away in his suit and less weight on his back making him wallow in worry about what that thing inside him could do. You know, something a bit healthier. Instead he could worry about getting better so it couldn’t take control again.

  On those empty days he stood in the center of the arena and felt the hardlight projectors as they sat cold and empty. The massive capacitors buried underneath holding the charge that would power them. The rest of the system was too far or not rated for the inquest, so he kept to the surface level and formed a routine. First he stayed like this, looking around without his eyes, feeling the power around him. Trying to judge the current and alternation. It was kind of like an air current against hair, but something deeper than that. After he was sure he had the frequency and amplitude, he’d borrow a little off the top, just enough of a draw to fill the tank but not ionize the air around him. That was when the Garkah stepped up to help.

  Over the years they had filled that control room in his head. Devices, panels, things they could run data through. Or at least that was what it sounded like, an alien control room was still a control room after all. Well now they were busy plugging those things directly into his head. And teaching him to use them.

  Guiding him to push his focus through and around the wires that surrounded him, following them till they hit actual hardware, and then to copy the outputs and feed them back into this set apart space in his head. The devices they created reading and regurgitating the data he gave them into something he could understand… sometimes. It was a lot of binary, or a lot of the time just powerlines. But it was a start, a little bit of an edge he could hone. A small bit of Techno’s job he could steal.

  Working at it over the days, he learned to interpret the data better. Learning to jump gates and not to short circuit entire subsystems with an errant wonder to a node across a board. It became almost easy to understand computerized electrical signals, like the Garkah had been doing all this time. Though that was simple necessity on their part. Better to scrounge the internet wholesale than to take in knowledge piecemeal.

  Though obviously more organic electrical signals were a completely different ballgame. Neither of them were about to become mind readers. Though Seth’s emotional sense filled that gap.

  But still, using all this new internal hardware, he’d slowly found his footing in a limited cyberspace. And, coincidentally, his way into the Hill’s file systems. A bit of bored browsing and a rather open terminal offering too good an access point. Which helped him find his dossier. It took some serious doing though, the storage servers were pretty deep in so he had to use up a lot of power to stretch his focus down and around and around. But he found the path eventually, after snooping through some wiring diagrams on his terminal.

  ‘Who leaves the entire Hill’s construction plans on a trainee’s terminal?’

  But, when he finally made it to his file, it was practically blank. He wasn’t even sure they processed his application completely, all they had was a name and simple details. Just enough to say “Yes this person belongs here” but not enough to say he really does. And he couldn’t edit it yet either, too risky. Also he didn’t really know how to. Encryption was a hard thing to parse when you only just learned to read. And you can’t give back. But he at least confirmed it, he was getting blacklisted by Para. Left to flounder with no one to prove him worthy without a doubt. No one seemed to know what he could do, what he had managed up till now. No disparaging words about that opening free for all. No records on the scenarios. Not- Not even anything from Berta! Maybe Para really was just as scared of him as he was himself? But this couldn’t stand as it was.

  If he was going to be labeled as nothing on officially fucking documents, then he’d have to show people he wasn’t. Get rid of those doubts himself. Seth had to show he had more than just a bit of strength and a suit of armor. Show off some power to make things clear.

  Which meant risking things. Risking people understanding what he could really do. What he really had. But if he was careful it would be worth it in the end. Because at least he wouldn’t be seen as some powerless rich kid.

  Biding his time and working up the courage, he swapped his next time slot out, at least two other sessions would be present. They didn’t label them, just greyed out the selections, but it was someone that was going to watch him. And he was going to show them pure and simple that he deserved to be here.

  The heat washing over Para’s face was almost comforting. Reminiscent. Dredging up memories he preferred to keep close. At the ready. The phantom cling of dust between his fingers irking it. Making him regret. But he could manage. Feeling that rush, like his body knew every move to make on its own, was worth it. It was a high many sought but few ever achieved. And even fewer cared to relive. But it was definitely better to think of climbing that wall than watch this mess. And listen to Hothead drone on and on about-

  “Keep up the pressure! Remember, utilization! Think of what your heat can do and how you can use that! Advantage, defense, anything!”

  Kabar was being surrounded on all sides by his trainers, flames coming at him of all shades. Stress and need, artificial necessity. A ball of blue flame washed over his back, nearly threw him over, but he stayed up and ate the burn. His thermal cords glowing in the waft, soaking up the ambient heat and dissipating it across itself. Softening like a kind of reactive armor as it entered an energetic state, and hardening as it calmed down. And all he was using it as was a flashy whip. He had a lot to learn. And plenty of people looking out for him so he wouldn’t stay ignorant.

  Razor on the other hand was a lost cause.

  Blade Tone was mopping the floor with him, not even using both singing gladii. Not even swamping him from ear to bone in resonating strikes. Just standing there giving him chance after chance to strike and watching him fail every one of them. And yet encourage him on regardless. Razor could be learning to expand on that armor he’d made. Make it faster, make it thicker. Something. But instead Tone was going easy on him. Letting him set the pace and waste time. You can’t learn to push back if you’re never pushed. He at least showed promise in the midterm, even if Aegis gave him a softball like the original Hightower Corps. As if those old mercs could ever stand up to actual supers. Still, Razor turned those clowns to swiss cheese and actually fought like his life depended on it.

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  But Para could only just accept that Razor was qualified. Because he needed the bodies. He needed something to show he was actually making heroes and not just weeding out chaff. Weeding out those that never belonged in the first place. He needed someone other than… that thing… to make it through this. To pass this course and fill the roster. Because he wasn’t going to just accept whatever the hell that kid was. Not after seeing what he saw.

  He still had plenty of time though. And a call to make. He turned away from the field, headed off without a word. Saying something would only weaken them further. Resolve wasn’t given after all. You had to make it yourself. He was already resolved to see this end before the worst came about. Before he ever let the League be weak.

  Seth sat in his room, waiting, focusing, dreading. The helmet of his suit held in his hands, blank eyes staring back as he played out the few possibilities in his head. If he showed too much he could get in deeper shit. It’s bad enough just having Para hate him, he didn’t need more people afraid of what he could do. If he showed too little he’d be just reinforcing that he wasn’t cut out for this, the bullying would get worse. And he wouldn’t be able to hold back if that happened. It had to be just right, within the bounds that he’s shown off before, and with a little more on top to get the point across. And that meant using the whisper. And accepting what it was.

  He was still working through what the Garkah said he would have to do, take control of all that power, all that hate and anger that narrowly took control last time. The terminal chiming an alert broke him out before his thoughts could draw him too deep. It was time for the show. He stood up, kept the helmet in one hand and grabbed up the suit in the other. He hoisted it over his back by the open collar and walked out into the periphery.

  A few of the other trainees milled about waiting for their trainers. Maya, David, and Jacob were hanging out in David’s room as he walked by. The glare from Maya and the fear from David impossible to ignore. But he passed them regardless, he had more pressing attitudes to check.

  He reached the door to the locker rooms, just as they opened. Just as Para came through. Neither changed expression as they were caught facing one another again, but Seth couldn’t help feeling his scar burn deeper into his skull. He looked away first, needing to keep what calm he had, and chose a different door. But that glare held to him, an overly attentive fear still driving Para's attitude. But at least he was out of the way now, some more pressing issue driving him away. And a good bit less pressure to ruin this whole thing.

  He took a breath in the empty locker room, heading out as he refound his even keel in the smell of mothballs and clean towels. It was laundry day, and the room had just been cleaned.

  ‘Thank god…’

  Walking out on to the sand toward the south side, there were only the two other teams training. Razor and Blade Tone were sparring, the whistling sound of one of Tone’s… gladiuses? gladii? Whatever, it was relaxing. Rhythmic. Seth knew Tone liked to turn fights into musical scores but this was slow and easily traced. Like it was meant to be followed and anticipated. Which of course was contrasted by Razor whimpering at the assault he was desperately blocking. At least he was managing.

  But the other team… just had to be fucking Kabar’s!

  ‘I mean, it's better if they see it. But dammit why couldn’t it be someone fucking else!?’

  Seth walked without regarding either group, no sense in looking like you want the attention. But he felt their eyes on his back despite his nonchalance. Felt that mocking judgment he wanted nothing more than to gut check. He put his suit down in the middle of his sector’s training circle, turning only then to meet the glares he was receiving. Kabar was sparring with Phoenix Tech, a few bits of rainbow flame sticking to his suit as he panted his exertion. But the rest of his trainer group were milling about and smoking as if just off another regimen. And all leering at him when given the chance. Except the one in the reflective fire suit, they at least kept to Kabar. Seth just grimaced in return, but went back to prepping for his session.

  He pulled up the helmet, reaching a hand in and uncoupling a band used to join his head movements to that of the helmet. On the surface it looked technological, circuitry written over it in copper. In reality it was just a piece of conductive metal that received a bit of padding so he could form it around his head. That also had some circuits written into it. Today though, it became a shadowboxing relay.

  He put it on his head, fitting it exactly where it pressed, and socketed the helmet back on the suit. Turning it slowly, he focused, gave power rather than drew in, formed a connection like a radio wave transmission. The suit lit up with internal power, eyes glowing that electric blue, arms already on the move to mimic his. On the surface, he looked like he was setting up to spar his suit with a common shadowboxing program, set up to read and mimic the user’s actions through bands similar to his. In reality, the Garkah were tethering to the suit, feeding it his movements to build the illusion. And dictate when it changed to a real fight.

  He was going to show them that he was stronger than his suit, and that it was little more than dumb metal. That it was meant to be hit not just take hits for him. Squaring up to it, he again looked into those eyes, soft blue light from the ocular sensors brightened by what he’d offered to it. But instead of some reburied fear, he felt the Garkah behind those eyes, and they felt him.

  He focused, listened, reached inward. Felt that pull, felt the cycle of densities, the leak of power and the suck of his being. He severed the whisper like a tentacle trying to reach out and grab him, disseminated the power it offered. It was louder than before, clearer than before. But still just noise, still disjointed rambling mixed with emotions far from his. Seth looked up and took a step back, mirrored by the suit with near perfect timing. He pulled his left up as a block, pulled his right in for a jab, and retook that step back in with all his apprehension maxed out. Mirror images closing within range and making contact in force.

  Seth shot his jab out, meeting the mimic’s own blocking left, while the mimic did the same. The armor clanged like gong, resounding through the arena for all to hear. The plated fist rebounded off his forearm with an added modulation. The first beat to start the show, and ring his bones just as loud. He shifted, right block, left jab. Another clang, louder. Again, left block right jab. A steady pace, back and forth.

  The clangs beginning to resonate, grow louder and louder, shaking the air of the arena to make it undeniable. Again, right block left jab, like the even beat of his heart shared to the world going round and around.

  Then suddenly he broke that cycle and shifted low on his next jab. The suit ceased its mimicking, moved to block the low strike. Forearm plate ringing, keeping that that rising tone. The suit shifted next, a high right to beat down, Seth blocked it all the same. Maintained the resonance now becoming more than just a bared heart.

  Seth shot back up, swinging a right into the suit’s blocking left. The suit shifted back, stayed to the course and threw a left, but he threw his left in refutation of the even. Both recoiled, adding to the resonance, but speeding up the tempo. Something taking this ringing echo like a cadence to harmonize with. Driving him on ever harder.

  Dropping low Seth skimmed around the suit, struck at its knee. The suit moved to block, but he moved to deny, cutting high mid strike and parrying forearm away. He kept the resonance, the rhythm, but outpaced even himself. And it was starting to get too loud. Like his bones were carrying that sound and taking it deeper.

  He smacked the suit in the side before it could react, circled it and struck at its other knee. Crumpled whatever guard it could muster. But soon he felt it, the anger seeping in, the scar burning in time with the sound.

  A guard was snapped away. He fought it. He swung a left across the helmet, turning it on its mount. He gritted his teeth, he couldn’t fight it. The Garkah were there in those softly glowing eyes, but he couldn’t help feel something boil with that harmony. His body flashed forward, a right low but pointed up. It slammed an uppercut into the helmet’s chin, shooting it off the collar and into the air.

  So all at once the resonance stopped.

  That sound stopped.

  Seth stopped.

  The headless suit slumped off its tension and fell to its knees. Seth snapped back gritting, he’d overdone it, again.

  ‘Shit!!’

  He let the whisper go, dissipate and take everything away to ground, panting for an even breath till he heard the helmet slam back down behind him. He turned to look, finding a deep sigh as he saw it wasn’t broken. Finding a hope in the seethe. That was enough. That had to be enough.

  He put a hand on his suit, it was still warm from everything put into it. Very warm. Grabbing it up, he moved toward the helmet. It was almost at the wall of the arena, and his strength was crashing. So, it was probably better to take a break and try to work through why this kept happening.

  He scooped up the helmet as he heaved the suit against the wall, sitting back as well, still breathing heavy. The muscles in his arms felt like numb noodles, his knuckles like stained glass. He was healing, but it wasn’t as fast as he could really go. It was like something about himself was straining just as much as he was against the power he took. And neither were strong enough to hold it back, to stop it from driving him mad.

  He held his head in his hands, trying to calm himself, trying to block out the rest of the arena, but it wasn’t enough. The glares were just getting harder to ignore. He looked over, the metal plated head beside him beckoning a little too much. He took up the helmet, staring back into those dead eyes. And the empty space they offered.

  Dusting it off, he put it on, snapping the band on his head back in place and shutting the world out. The gel layer tightening and muffling the sounds of fighting. Of fire. Of judging stares. The half dead view screen staying blank and dark. It was working, he couldn’t hear the gossip against him, or the noise from the city, or even the static of the whisper inside.

  It was quiet.

  Peaceful.

  Heavy.

  Enough…

  Enough to put his head back…

  And let it all...

  Fall away.