For the first time in two weeks, I finally spot home in the distance.

  Operative Multishot and I are coasting down, blissfully avoiding the rush hour traffic as it heads in the opposite direction. The two of us sit in almost complete silence in the front of the very same grey minivan that took me away from here at the start of all this mess. Just like then, a shotgun lies on the center console, yet it no longer feels like it’s for me. It’s just a habit of Multishot’s—no more, no less.

  Somehow, I fail to find that comforting.

  It feels like an eternity before the car pulls up beside the Bowl. In reality, it was probably more like an hour or two—traffic got much worse after we entered the city. I hurriedly open my door as the car slows to a stop. Multishot is only a few seconds behind.

  Standing in the sun almost feels like stepping out of a movie theater at midday—the lack of tall buildings for shade around the Bowl combined with its reflective surface would leave any normal person blinded. As it is, I squint my eyes as they adjust from the shaded forest they’d gotten used to as of late. Even as I acclimate, the sense of strangeness remains.

  I no longer feel like I belong here.

  I rapidly shake my head to disciple the feeling. I’m just being silly; it hasn’t even been a month yet. There just hasn’t been enough time for things to change. I’ll get used to it again.

  “Charlie!”

  I barely have time to look up as something brown and gray and moving rather fast slams into me, causing me to fall back against the car more in surprise than anything. Feeling arms wrapped around me I look down to see the sobbing face of Allacia, currency occupied in wrapping me in a bear hug.

  “Allacia?” I wonder aloud, “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  I look up to see another familiar face: Elias, wearing a haunted expression. He smiles sadly at me, “She was really worried, we both were.”

  “…but my message,” I say futilely, still reeling.

  “Was bullshit!” Allacia shouts, looking back up at me, “We both knew it was fake from the start! Did you really expect us to believe something like that? Elias and I started getting worried the longer you were absent and we just had to investigate!”

  “Investigate?” I parrot, “Wait, how much did you…”

  “I have been informed that the pair of them now have Level Two Clearance,” Multishot interjects, “I know no more at this time.”

  Allacia shoots him a suspicious glare, “Who are you?” She asks, then turns to me as her voice falls to a whisper, “If he’s threatening you, I can beat him up.” She tells me.

  “Operative Multishot,” I reply, “A reaper. And please don’t, I don't want you getting hurt—either of you.” I add at the end, catching Elias’ shift in mood as my words cause him to suddenly perceive Multishot as a threat.

  “Colloquial term for the organization killing people, I assume?” Elias asks, his eyes never leaving Multishot. I blink twice in confusion.

  “How much do you guys actually know?” I ask, confused. I thought Multishot said they had L2 Clearance—that should be the same as mine.

  “Not enough!” Allacia responds, at the same time Elias says, “Less than I’d like.”

  “Revelations which will have to wait, if you don’t mind, miss,” Multishot interjects once more, “Jonathan is waiting.”

  I nod solemnly, extracting myself from Allacia’s grip.

  “I promise I’ll explain everything as soon as I’m done, okay?” I tell her.

  Then, turning to Elias, I mouth, “Keep her out of trouble.” I see him nod in response.

  “Come,” Multishot prompts me. I follow him into the Bowl, only looking back once. Allacia and Elias both wave when I do, looking concerned.

  I can empathize with that.

  Multishot leads me through a side entrance to the Bowl—one I’d honestly thought was for maintenance staff, but immediately leads to a second door, this one a sliding door with a handprint reader just next to it. He opens it swiftly with his own hand, and beckons me to follow him into what looks to be an elevator. It has no buttons, and simply begins descending as we enter, not even bothering to close the door before we start moving. I quickly see why.

  Through the empty frame, I see nothing more than a solid concrete wall slide past, as we swiftly descend what has to be hundreds of feet at speeds only a SAU would be comfortable with. It’s already plainly clear that we aren’t going to Jonathan’s office this time. For now, I can only guess as to why.

  Finally, the elevator begins to slow down, eventually coming to a stop in front of another sliding door which quickly opens.

  And it opens into the most massive room I've ever seen.

  Seriously, I’ve been to enclosed stadiums that pale in comparison. The entire thing is a massive domed shape, lined in shining steel that looks no more than a day old, and it could easily contain the entire Bowl twice over. I suddenly reevaluate my estimate of how far we descended—in order to keep something like this secret, it has to be a mile or more underground. The ceiling alone is probably over half that in height. The radius of the room is about the same, making the shape closer to a half-sphere. To say this thing is a megastructure would be an understatement.

  And they somehow built it all beneath Newest York.

  “Impressive, isn’t it, miss?” Multishot asks, seeing my expression, “There’s one in every major city in the USC. It’s for only the most destructive of SAUs to train without worry—much more effective than commuting to an empty field all the time. The whole thing is lined with synth metals even Jonathan has a difficult time damaging. Speaking of, there he is now.”

  I see him—it’s only natural, the room is all one hue and he’d stand out like a sore thumb anywhere with those massive golden wings. For the first time ever he’s no longer dressed in some variation of a suit, instead clad head-to-toe in what could only be described as a military uniform: camo shirt and pants, combat boots, dark fingerless gloves, and, almost paradoxical to his nature, what appears to be a bulletproof vest. He’s unarmed, but that’s only natural. As he turns to us, I feel his stare drill into me.

  “Ms. Gardner,” he says just loud enough to hear from his place at the center of the room, “It’s been some time. I do hope these past two weeks have been fruitful for you.”

  I stand tall, ignoring the pressure that seems to somehow fill this massive room—I know that’s just my instincts warning me of his power—and look him in the eye, “It has.”

  Jonathan slowly floats over to us, not even bothering to speed up. As he lands mere feet from the two of us, I sense Multishot bowing slightly from behind me.

  “Greetings, Operative Guardian,” he says with unrestrained reverence. I shudder as I recall Gale Force doing something similar when he descended upon us after killing Hecatoncheires. Seems all the reapers treat him that way—I hope they won’t expect me to.

  “A pleasure, Julian,” Jonathan responds, “I thank you for your cooperation in this matter.” Turning to me, he quickly assesses me with a look over, “You’re more cautious than before,” he comments, “Good.”

  “Everything is relative, sir,” I reply, “I’m sure you heard at least some of what I told Multishot.”

  “Pretend I don’t,” he orders, “and explain.”

  I grit my teeth to hold myself back—another bullshit test. I’m starting to get quite sick of his way of doing things; the exile merely bolstered that sentiment.

  “While I have learned not to interfere with the reapers, it may not be in the way that you hoped. I now believe my best course of action is to become one, to integrate myself in the organization so that I may one day have the power to achieve the goals I have at this time,” I explain, “With your permission, I’d like to join the reapers—under the condition that I not be asked to kill, ever. I’m willing to do anything else it might take.”

  “You do understand what we do, do you not?” Jonathan asks.

  “Yes, sir,” I reply.

  “Then explain to me why you think I would ever agree to such a farce,” Jonathan says with irritation creeping into his voice.

  “I will vouch for her entry into the organization, sir,” Multishot interjects before I can respond, “and besides, it is not you who possess the decision making power here.”

  That makes me perk up. I had expected it to be an uphill battle convincing Jonathan, but I might not even need to? That is, without a doubt, amazing news.

  “I have every reason to believe the captain and I would be in agreement on this front; if I refuse, so too shall she,” Jonathan counters, “A voucher is but one step in the process.” Immediately my heart sinks once more. Of course, obviously whoever would be deciding this is also a reaper, and wouldn’t like the idea much either. I wish I’d been informed of this sooner—but I don’t comment; it’s clear this discussion is beyond me.

  “As it happens, sir, I already asked the captain. She agreed on the condition that she be the one to train Miss Charlie,” Multishot replies, almost sounding smug. I flinch inwardly, only somewhat happy at the direction this is going. Putting myself in debt to this mysterious “captain” sounds like it’ll bite me in the butt later down the line.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “She said what?” Jonathan asks, to my surprise looking visibly confused.

  “I believe the captain was interested due to the similarity in their fighting styles. There aren’t many melee superhumans with the capability of reaching her level, after all,” Mutlishot explains, clearing up absolutely nothing on my end. That could mean anything from me earning the best possible teacher without any effort to me being officially assigned a role as some higher-up’s new punching bag. Neither likely comes without consequences of some kind.

  “Were it anyone else, I would’ve thought that a lie,” Jonathan sighs, “but she probably is just looking for a good sparring partner, isn’t she?”

  I really don’t like the sound of that.

  “I would imagine so,” Multishot replies.

  “Then it is a done deal…on that end. There is still one more avenue through which I can end this farce,” Jonathan says. My heart sinks as he turns his gaze on me.

  “Ms. Gardner, come. Let me make clear to you the heights you seek to surpass.”

  And then he vanishes.

  A roar echoes through the room, wind buffeting my face. Jonathan is now in the center of the room, still to my eye, as I realize just what he’s done.

  He moved faster than sound.

  In the next moment, his wings seem to vanish as well, moving far slower than he did yet faster than my eyes can track. They begin impacting the floor of the massive room, one after the other, each the size of a bus, embedding themselves in a line that begins to arc towards me. As more and more land, easily shattering the synth metal below our feet, I watch spellbound. The arc draws ever closer as I raise my arms in futile defense…then stops, just before it reaches me.

  Jonathan now stands at the center of a fortress of blades—one whose only entrance and exit is where I now stand. It’s a fighting ring. A fighting ring he forged in mere moments while all I could do was watch, a firefly before the goddamned sun.

  And then he charges.

  The sight of him just running toward me is enough to finally spur me into action. I have no illusions about beating him at full strength, but he’s arrogant to think he can beat me in my element; he doesn’t even have a melee based ability. I charge too, pride forcing me to meet him head on without backing down. I will not let him intimidate me out of my decision.

  I meet him halfway; he had a head start, but I’m faster. With a grunt of exertion, I thrust my fist with all the force I can muster straight at his head. He merely holds up a palm to stop it, an utterly meaningless action. At least, that’s what I think, but I’m proven wrong near instantly as it feels like I’m hitting a solid wall, my punch stopped cold.

  I’m completely stunned by this development, so much so that he has ample time to wrap his hand around my fist, pulling me in with an unnaturally iron-clad grip. I stumble, and he rams his knee into my gut, knocking the wind right out of me. As I gasp, disoriented, he releases my fist only to grab me by my other arm and, without so much as a sound, hurl me into his makeshift golden wall.

  The impact rings like a bell, or maybe that’s just the ringing in my head. Either way, as I stumble to my feet he blessedly neglects to follow up, allowing me a moment of reprieve. When my head stops pounding too much for me to think, and my lungs finally stop gasping for air, I look up at his stoic face with a look of shock and rage on my own.

  “How?!” I scream at him, “How are you so strong?! Your ability is your wings, not fucking super strength!”

  “You forget the single greatest ability any SAU can have,” Jonathan replies cryptically, “Come, see if you can figure it out.”

  I scream, and rush back at him, launching a flying kick with all my momentum directed right at his head. He simply sidesteps, grabbing my ankle mid-flight and spinning me around to slam me face-first into the floor.

  I black out.

  When I come to, I see Multishot leaning over me, pouring something that tastes of salt and iron into my mouth. I drink it up greedily, my survival instinct kicking in the moment I feel it begin to restructure my body and fix my wounds.

  “Easy there, miss,” Multishot murmurs softly as I try to rise., “The Blood may be effective, but you still need time to get back on your feet.”

  “Blood?” I ask weakly, confused.

  “Don’t worry about it, miss,” Multishot says. I slowly sit up fully, realizing I was on my back, not face-down like how I impacted. I was probably out for more than a little while, but whatever I was given has me already feeling more like I have a hangover than anything worse. With a start, I realize it’s the same stuff Jonathan gave me after my first fight with a damned. Did Multishot just call it blood?

  “Finally awake? Good.” I hear Jonathan say. Looking around, I find him standing off to the side, his wings returned. I guess our little bout is over—fair enough, I pretty much objectively lost. I didn’t even stand a chance.

  “How the fuck are you that strong?” I moan, “and…were you intentionally holding yourself back when we first met? T-that building…you said you needed help.”

  “Of course I was holding back,” Jonathan says, “Do you really think I’d show off my full power where an enemy might be able to see and gauge my strength? As for the reason you were so easy to handle…well, you can guess that yourself."

  “Mind just telling me the point? I’m not exactly in prime thinking condition right now,” I ask him curtly, my head still throbbing a little.

  “I thought it was obvious,” Jonathan responds in an obnoxious tone, “I was showing you that you will fail the path you are attempting to take.”

  “What, are you saying I’m weak because I can’t beat you?” I ask incredulously, “I already knew your powers are bullshit; it’s a given I’ll need at least several more years to even catch up, much less surpass you. You taught me nothing I didn’t already know.”

  “You misunderstand. I wasn’t emphasizing my own strength, but your weakness. In particular, I mean to demonstrate an inherent flaw with your ability,” Jonathan persists.

  “Like what? Fighting people stronger than me? Big surprise there,” I say snarkily, my headache still noticeable even if it is slowly fading.

  Jonathan sighs, “What do you think my ability does, Ms. Gardner?”

  “Big fucking wings and apparently super strength,” I respond without hesitation.

  “Wrong.” Jonathan walks over, wings flaring as they near double in size, looming over me, “Aside from some very minor aesthetic differences, Angel in no way affects my body. Every single ounce of strength I demonstrated comes solely from that aspect of a superhuman that we all share: adaptability.”

  Then it finally clicks. His adaptability. If he can demonstrate so much strength from just adaptability training, then is he saying my ability is worthless by nature? That everything I can do I could’ve gotten through adaptability alone?

  “So what?” I counter, “Superhuman still gave me a meaningful boost to my adaptability when I first developed, and I got another later on, after we first met. I still have an ability, even if it might be lackluster compared to yours.”

  “Once again, you fail to grasp my meaning,” Jonathan asserts, “You may be far stronger than anyone your age could reasonably expect to be, but I was training before you were born, and so was every SAU worth anything in the USC and beyond. You would never have noticed it, only fighting weaklings and humans in your role as a hero, but there are some heights you cannot surpass simply because they will always have had a head start on you.

  “Even if you were to get ten, or a dozen more ‘boosts,’ as you put it, you would still barely be able to match my adaptability strength. The moment you consider that, on top of that, I also have an ability it becomes clear you will never be able to surpass me or any of the original SAUs. Not with your ability. Stick to your old job, young hero.”

  “No.”

  I rise from where I sit, standing tall in the face of this brazen display of intimidation. Jonathan’s eyes narrow, but I stare back into them with equal intensity.

  “Not when there is another path,” I continue.

  “What path would that be?” Jonathan asks with contempt.

  “The captain’s,” I say; Jonathan freezes, “There’s no way you would give so much respect to someone who isn’t on your level, and given that she’s a reaper, doubly so. Multishot said she had a similar fighting style to me and wanted to train me. Putting all this together, it becomes clear that it is possible for someone to succeed on a path similar to my own, and that I have a unique opportunity to learn from this person. I don’t like putting my trust in someone I’ve never met, but you can’t deny that there’s still a chance I can find a way to get strong—strong enough to surpass even you. I won’t back down now.”

  “The captain is an individual I would refer to as an adaptability monster. Her ability naturally makes it easier to train her adaptability and gives her extra combat potential on top of that. You cannot claim anything close to that. There is simply no comparison,” Jonathan counters.

  “Seems like she would disagree,” I respond, “I’m doing this; whether you like it or not.”

  A heartbeat, as we stare each other down.

  “…Fine,” Jonathan relents with a sigh, “I suppose at this rate stopping you would be more trouble than it’s worth. Do, however, note that I will not make this path easy on you. In fact, I have every intention of dropping you out of the organization the moment I have even the most insignificant justification to do so.”

  I blink. Did I do it? Did I actually succeed? There’s no way that’s all it took.

  “You are dismissed,” Jonathan says, turning away. I guess that answers that.

  “Come, miss, I’ll take you back to your friends,” Multishot says. I allow him to guide me out of the massive room, still feeling a little woozy from my injuries. Damn, Jonathan sure did a number on me.

  “That could’ve gone better,” I confide to Multishot as I rub my still-aching forehead.

  “Make no mistake, miss,” he replies “it also could’ve gone a lot worse.”

  I can’t help but agree.

  —

  I’ll be honest, I’d never thought I would ever find myself in a position where I’d be scared to talk to Allacia and Elias. They’ve been my best friends for as long as I can remember—even when I was hiding things from them I knew they respected me enough not to push. But now I’ve promised to explain things, and so much has happened that I have no idea where to start, so my hand shakes as I rap my knuckles on the door to their apartment.

  I hear rapid footsteps, and no more than a second or two later the door swings wide open. Beyond it I see Allacia and even further in Elias sitting at attention on their couch. Allacia’s gaze turns from hopeful to relieved in the same second I see it, then morphs once more to concern.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” she asks frantically. Confused, I look down at myself, then finally, seeing the state of my shirt, it dawns on me: I never cleaned off my own blood after Jonathan’s ‘lesson.’ Oops.

  “I’m fine—all healed now,” I assure her, “More importantly, we need to talk.”

  Allacia frowns, but still steps aside, letting me enter. I plop myself down in an armchair sitting across from the couch while Allacia places herself next to Elias. Elias subtly puts his arm around Allacia; she leans into him in response. The two sit in respectful silence as they wait for me to begin.

  I sigh, “I guess I should start by clarifying the situation. How much do you two know about the reapers and what they do?”

  “We know some organization related to or branching off of the government is killing certain individuals, and that you are involved with them in some way,” Elias clarifies, “we know that the real reason you were gone is that you decided to prevent one of these murders and were punished by Jonathan for doing so. We also know of two reapers: the one you came with, and the one we met while gathering information—Operative Gale Force.”

  “Three,” I provide, “Jonathan isn’t just involved, he’s also a reaper. In fact, that's how I first got into this. Brace yourselves, this is going to be a long story.”

  I explain everything. From meeting Rowan, to Hellhound and watching Jonathan kill the damned, to my attempts to get involved and how they inevitably backfired. I explain my exile, my decisions and what caused it, and even—as much as I can—the conversation that just took place in the training dome below. I hold nothing back, and air out all the confusion, pain, and fear I’ve felt over this last month.

  Neither Allacia nor Elias interrupts me even once. They just take it all in, even for a few heartbeats after I say the final word they remain silent and unmoving. Only then do they share a glance, a silent agreement passing between the gazes of two people that know each other better than themselves.

  Allacia is the one who speaks. “Are you okay, Charlie?”

  I blink in confusion. That wasn’t the question I'd expected. For a moment, my instinct is to be defensive, to brush her off or even outright lie, but the look in her and Elias’ eyes stops me.

  I sigh, resigning fully, “No. Not really.”

  I reflexively smile, but it’s sad, and quite forced.

  “I think I could use some support from my friends.”