Mornings suck.

  Nothing like waking up in a new place after an exhausting day of travel, emotional conversations, and getting your ass kicked by the most powerful man in the country to remind me of that fact. Forget killing damned—the real punishment would be forcing them to wake up early.

  Speaking of punishments, I half expect one as I’m woken up at what my clock tells me is precisely too-frickin-early o’clock by someone loudly knocking on my brand new front door. I drag myself from my bed and wearily stumble out of the bedroom and over to the door, contently imagining the myriad ways I could take revenge if this turns out to be a waste of time. I’m thinking something involving spiders. Spiders are good.

  I slowly unlock and open the door, revealing what looks to be some kind of drill sergeant—a woman in full camo, combat boots, and an army green baseball cap, standing straight as a ramrod with her hands behind her back. I blink twice, half expecting she’ll disappear. Instead, she smiles a wolfish grin.

  “Recruit Gardner?” she asks.

  “I’m not a recruit,” I mumble, half asleep.

  “Speak up, kid,” she says, loud and clear.

  “I said, I’m not a recruit,” I say, a little louder, “My name is Gardner, but I’m a full-fledged hero, not some rookie.”

  “Did you not agree to become a reaper just yesterday?” she asks. I startle, waking up a little more. I guess that does make me a recruit, then. Is she a reaper?

  “Yeah, I guess I did,” I reply, “did you need me for something?”

  “Training,” she says, “You have ‘till 0700. Be in the elite training room by then or I will come back up here and drag you all the way back down again kicking and screaming past every hero in the goddamned city if I have to. Clear?”

  “What?” I reply intelligently.

  “You’ll learn,” the woman simply smiles again, then turns and briskly strides away, leaving me standing very confused in front of the open door.

  Seems like it’s going to be one of those mornings.

  —

  I stuff the last remnants of my breakfast into my mouth and hurry out the door, slipping on the rest of my costume as I do. The image of the time on the clock in my room hovers in my mind: 6:57. The overt threat I was just served hadn’t quite kicked in until a few minutes ago, but now I have no intentions of being later than I’m already likely to be.

  I rush through the halls of the Bowl, cursing the various twists and turns that prevent me from building speed. Finally making it outside, I then loop back around again to the secret entrance I was shown last time, hoping that’s what was meant by ‘elite training room.’ I enter the hallway, then stop, as I stare down the handprint reader to the door. I’d honestly forgotten about that, but if I’m supposed to be here, there has to be a way for me to get in.

  So I just press my hand against the scanner and, to my surprise, the elevator opens. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but it just feels weird that I’d have access. Does this mean I’m considered an ‘elite,’ since this is the elite training room? Do I only have temporary access? Am I reading too much into this?

  My mind's still whirling when I hear a soft ding and the elevator doors open once more, revealing the training space beyond them. Despite having been here not even a day ago, I find myself staring at the expansive room, as awed as before. It’s truly a wonder…that they ever managed to get the funding for this monstrosity. I guess having immediate access to every superhuman alive to help build it might’ve given them the boost they needed.

  I’m briefly left wondering where the strange woman is, as if I rushed here only to find she was late herself, that would be rather irritating, but then I spot someone moving on the other side of the room. Focusing a bit, I see her, same as before except with her camo jacket removed to reveal a simple tank-top beneath, seemingly jogging at entirely human speeds around the outside of the room.

  I almost reevaluate my initial assessment of her being a reaper as I watch her slowly approach me—I’ve never seen any serious SAU with such pathetic adaptability. I just stand there uncomfortably as over the course of the next ten or so minutes she slowly makes her way back over to me. I would go to her, but I don’t feel like interrupting, and it just kinda feels…mean. Like eating your meal while waiting in line with your friend for their meal.

  So instead, I just wait as she comes up to me, a little sweaty but seemingly fine. Once more, she smiles her wolfish grin at the sight of me. With her arms bared, I notice a few long white marks across them, like old scars. She seems middle aged, so I’d guess she got those in the Upheaval. Would fit her vibe to be a soldier, at least.

  “Look who finally showed up,” she drawls, “At least you aren't a coward, recruit.”

  “If I may,” I reply, “I still haven’t gotten your name. Or anything, really.”

  “My codename is Operative Inertia,” she tells me, “You will call me either ‘Captain’ or ‘ma’am.’ Anything else will not be tolerated, clear?”

  I nod, simultaneously satisfied and more curious. This is clearly the captain mentioned yesterday, and honestly that explains a lot, but not everything. How did she get here so fast? What does the ‘inertia’ in her codename imply? And if she’s the captain of the reapers, why does she seem so…weak?

  “The correct response is ‘yes, ma’am’ or ‘yes, Captain,’” she says, noticing my nod.

  “Uh…yes, captain?” I respond, confused. Does she expect me to act like I'm in the military? Respect for superiors is one thing, but there are limits. And, to be honest, I don't exactly have a great track record with ‘respect.’

  “Better, but still weak,” the Captain continues to smile, “I guess that’s only fair. Given your file, I doubt you’ve really seen what a reaper can do outside of Guardian, and anyone with eyes can see he’s an outlier. That’s fine, we can start simple. Run me through your ability—pretend I don’t know anything.”

  “My ability is Superhuman, captain,” I begin, throwing in the honorific to avoid another complaint, “It essentially gave me a massive boost to my adaptability right off the bat: stronger, faster, more durable, you name it. I also recently got another boost, the conditions of which I still don’t really understand. I’ve also occasionally experienced surges of strength seemingly tied to strong emotions. More so recently, as you might’ve guessed.”

  The Captain makes a soft noise of surprise, “I actually didn’t know some of that. How interesting. Seems like there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  I perk up a bit, confused but happy at the complement.

  “To bad you’re still so fucking weak.” The Captain's eyes gleam with delight upon seeing my expression. “What, you expected otherwise? I know Guardian already had this talk with you. Your power has almost zero utility and surprise factor. Almost everyone will be expecting some level of adaptability control from you by default, and even then most of the old guard surpasses you in that regard. As you are now, you're useless against anything but the lowest of the low. Hardly reaper material. I’m not here to coddle you, recruit, that’s your momma’s job. Or, I guess not in your case. Nika was never the coddling type.”

  “Ok, that’s too far-” I start.

  Then the Captain places a hand on my shoulder.

  And suddenly I remember why mornings suck—not because of waking up early, but because every so often there's a very small chance someone will take advantage of your exhaustion to make life worse than it already is.

  She barely taps me, but instantly I feel as though she dropped a car on me. The instantaneous pressure causes my legs to buckle, and as I fall to one knee I’m barely able to keep from going any lower. But it doesn't stop there, the pressure just continues, less forceful than the initial instant in which I was unprepared, but still feeling like I’m trying to lift a car over my head. I can barely breathe, the very air around me seeming heavier than it was before.

  “Want to know what my ability is, recruit?” she asks; I can’t lift my head to see her face, but I imagine it’s smug, “My ability is called Weigh. It allows me to directly control the extent to which an object's mass affects its motion for a set time after touching said object. The simplest application of this is to make things much, much heavier."

  I would retort, but alas I cannot breathe.

  “Alternatively, I can also make objects lighter.”

  For a brief moment, the pressure lifts. Before I can react, she kicks me right in the face. I’m sent flying backward, far too fast, but strangely it doesn’t hurt. In fact, despite my speed, it almost feels like she barely tapped me. I hit the edge of the room, but that doesn’t hurt either. As I stand, the only lasting effect seems to be the disorientation of moving across the room.

  “Or!” the Captain shouts from across the room, “I could combine the two!”

  I look up just in time for her to seemingly disappear from where she stands. I don’t even have time to blink before something slams into the wall just beside my head with incredible speed. The entire surface crumples inward, and a wave of concussive force lashes out, throwing me to the side, ears ringing. Slowly, the Captain removes her fist from the collapsed metal wall with a creaking groan, smiling all the while.

  She turns to me, “With positively explosive results.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I groan and sit up. Really need to have a talk about powerful beating me up to prove points. This can’t be good for my long-term health.

  “For the second time in as many days, I have to ask if there is a point here, captain,” I grumble, rubbing my ears in a futile attempt to stop the ringing, “and it better not just be that you beat me up to make me show respect.”

  “Oh it’s not,” the Captain replied candidly, “I’m well aware that wouldn't work. If it did, you’d respect Guardian by now, and we both know that’s not happening.”

  “So what then?” I ask.

  She sticks out a hand to help me to my feet, “Tell me, recruit: have you ever received training before?”

  “Of course,” I tell her, accepting the hand, “Mom started teaching me basic hand-to-hand the moment I could walk, and to become a hero I had to take some standard situational awareness and tactics classes.”

  “And therein lies the issue: nobody’s taught you how to use your power,” the Captain says, stepping back and shaking shards of metal out of her fist.

  “Well, obviously not,” I reply, “All abilities are unique. Nobody can teach them because only the holder can ever know how their ability works. Even similar abilities can often share little more than fighting style. Activation conditions, relative power, and more can make anything else dependent on the individual.”

  “Exactly. Except that raises the question of what I have to offer you,” the Captain says with an expectant look in her eyes.

  “I had assumed fighting style,” I guess, “Maybe some tips on where to shore up my weaknesses or a bit of adaptability training.”

  “Third time’s the charm,” the Captain replies with her signature wolfish grin, “Adaptability. That’s what I can offer you. Think about my ability and what I just demonstrated. Can you think of a way it could be used to make adaptability training easier?”

  Of course I can. In fact, it seems almost obvious the moment she tells me. Extra weight would allow me to train adaptability even past the limits of the weights in the training room upstairs—theoretically infinitely, so long as her power can keep up. Is that really it? Her secret to getting stronger is just hardcore adaptability training for a little while? I had honestly expected it to be harder.

  “So you just want me to do laps in increased gravity?” I ask, “That seems easy enough.”

  “We’ll start with laps, yes,” the Captain says, “Starting at 2G, then increasing by one every lap until you collapse.” Sadistic glee infiltrates her gaze. “Then I’ll record that number, and make you do pushups, sit ups, squats—every calisthenic imaginable in the exact same conditions. Then we’ll do the same the next day, and the next, and each day you don’t improve your maximum limit by at least half a G we’ll end with a full hour sparring session in which you will be under gravity and I will not.”

  “W-what?” I stammer out.

  “No questions, recruit!” she shouts, “Now get moving! Or do I need to add more ‘incentive?’”

  “N-no!” I say, turning and running towards the edge of the room as I slowly feel weight begin to press down on me.

  “That’s ‘no, Captain,’ to you, recruit!” she shouts back at me.

  “No, Captain!” I correct myself.

  I may be slightly screwed.

  —

  I slump against the wall, leaning forward with my hands against my knees, sweat running in rivers down every inch of my skin. My exaggerated gasps sound like the cries of a dying donkey, and my every muscle quivers and spasms without warning as they threaten to shut down entirely. I don’t dare sit, however. The last time I did, the Captain made me run another dozen laps in 17.6 G—my current ‘record.’ I’ve been to hell and back today, and it isn’t even 2:30 yet. Every fiber of my being cries at the thought of doing the same tomorrow.

  “Stop whining, recruit,” the Captain barks despite me being unable to talk on account of my current lack of ability to breathe, “You didn’t even make it to twenty gees. I’ll have you know that your performance today was thoroughly uninspiring. Go take a shower and stop by the doctor’s for some healing. I fully expect you not to need it by the time we’re done, but with how pathetic you are, I might actually break you tomorrow without it. Dismissed.”

  “T-thank…you…Captain,” I manage between gasps.

  She smiles, “Good girl.” Then she turns and makes a beeline for the exit elevator, leaving me to graciously slump to the floor, no longer willing to stand. I have to agree with her on one thing: there is absolutely no way I could do this two days in a row without Dr. Hennessey to heal away my muscle fatigue.

  After a good fifteen minutes of just lying there, I finally convince myself to stand. Everything hurts, but I manage to stumble into the elevator and back out into the Bowl. I set a course for the infirmary first, unwilling to subject myself to this torment any longer when I know relief is so close.

  When I arrive, the door is closed. I’m about to knock when suddenly it swings open. A middle-aged man with spiky dyed-blue hair stands just in front of it, stopping in his tracks when he sees me.

  “Please excuse me,” he says with a smile, stepping around me. Behind him I spot Dr. Hennessy, who gives me a look-over with worry.

  “Charlie, darling, what happened to you?” she exclaims.

  “Training,” I reply. Even talking hurts.

  Luckily she seems to understand, ushering me in as she shuts the door behind me.

  “You lie down. I’ll get started in just a second. Would you like some water?” Dr. Hennessy says as she flits about the room.

  “Yes,” I say, “Please.”

  Dr. Hennessy passes me a plastic cup whose contents I immediately swallow greedily, relishing the relief it brings. Even better still is the feeling as Dr. Hennessy begins to work her—literal, in this case—magic, the odd yet soothing sensation of warmth rippling across my body.

  Another fun fact I’ve learned over the years about her ability is that, despite being unable to do anything about a lack of energy or exhaustion, she can very much fix the micro-tears built up over time through exercise—all while retaining the benefits. She can’t just do it all the time, but on this particular occasion I hardly care. I just bask in the alluring feeling of my body recovering near instantly. It’s simply glorious.

  Alas, the feeling can’t last forever, and,as Dr. Hennessy finishes up, I’m left not quite in perfect shape. I no longer feel like everything aches, but now I feel like my body's been hollowed out, not a scrap of energy left in me. I can tell I’ll be fine by tomorrow, though. Just in time for me to do it all again. In retrospect, this may have been a mistake.

  “All done!” Dr. Hennessy says cheerfully, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “Thanks, Dr. H,” I reply a little lethargically. Then I yawn.

  “Seems like you’re a little tired,” she smiles, “I’ll let you go. Get some rest, ok?”

  “Yes, doctor,” I respond robotically, waving as I exit the room.

  My next destination is my new apartment. I stumble in and go through the motions: shower, new clothes, (late) lunch. Finally, I allow myself to collapse onto my bed, absentmindedly scrolling my phone.

  It’s then that I notice a message from Rowan. She sent it this morning, but I missed it in my hurry to leave. It reads: “Sorry I missed you. Been a bit busy lately & will probably stay busy for a while. Nemesis stuff on hold for now.”

  I frown. I have to admit that I’m curious, but, just as she didn’t ask about my exile, I know it would be rude to ask about her thing. Instead I just shoot back a short reply: “Roger that. Let me know if you need anything.” After a second or two more of thought, I switch over to my chat with Allacia and Elias, sending another message.

  “Just went through training from hell. Cannot move. Send help + snacks.”

  Then I set the phone aside, slowly drifting into a nap…

  …only to be woken up in what feels like no time at all by yet another knock at the door. Sensing a theme but too tired to care, I drag myself over and open the door to find Allacia and Elias, bearing gifts. By ‘gifts,’ I naturally mean potato chips. God, do I love my friends.

  “Hey, guys,” I smile, “Just in time.”

  “It’s been two and a half hours,” Elias points out unhelpfully.

  “And I was asleep for most of it,” I reply honestly, “Come on in. Welcome to my new apartment. I haven't had much time to decorate yet, on account of it having been literally only a day since I got it.” I point to the default furniture for emphasis, knowing full well that if I had tried to decorate, it wouldn’t look nearly as good. Curse the unimaginably excessive living standards of the average hero!

  “And that time was taken up by ‘training from hell,’ apparently,” Allacia says as the two follow me in, “What’s that about?”

  “Been training with some new reaper called ‘the Captain' since seven,” I say, greedily grabbing and tearing open the bag of potato chips, “Imagine a standard drill sergeant but with slight sadistic tendencies and an ability tailor-made for tortuous adaptability training.”

  “And masochistic, if she was willing to be up that early just to deal with your whining,” Elias jokes, grinning as he mercilessly robs me of a potato chip. The three of us each take a seat in my new living room.

  “Well, Elias and I also had an interesting day,” Allacia says, gracefully taking my side, “Jonathan promised to assign us to the least popular detail as punishment for our ‘investigation,’ but that turned out to be public outreach. I spent all day showing off to a kindergarten class. It was actually kinda relaxing.”

  “I bet Elias loved that,” I say, grinning.

  “Oh, sure, pick on the guy with the unusual activation condition,” Elias rolls his eyes, fake groaning, “Just because I look like a gangster, that doesn’t mean I am one. I can be good with kids too.”

  I laugh as Allacia makes him glower by saying something about a corner. With a bit of a sigh, I relax back into my chair and watch the two bicker like an old married couple for a while. Despite everything that happened today, the normalcy is comforting. It’s nice to have that simplicity, and a good reminder of why I’m working so hard.

  I just hope I can protect them, and everyone else. No matter what happens.

  —

  With a laborious sigh, the spiky-haired king of the East leans back into his throne. A man in a white lab coat kneels before him, trembling like a lost child in the rain.

  “B-but, your majesty, the c-cloudwall is impassible-”

  “Is it?” he interrupts, "Because I have it on good authority that someone made it through. At least tell me you know where she entered?”

  “I-I’m sorry, b-but if we d-did, we’d have-”

  With another sigh, he steps forward in an instant, grasping the trembling servant’s arm and twisting it violently to the side. The man howls, but he’s ignored as his oppressor looks down upon him with indifference.

  “Well then, I suppose you’d better find out,” he simply says. Releasing the sobbing figure, he steps back, returning to his seat with a dark look. The servant scurries off behind him, quietly thanking the stars under his breath. The emperor simply looks up at the desiccated ceiling.

  “I’m not sure why you care so much, my love,” a voice calls out from the dark. The king does not turn to look as a woman slinks out from the shadows, dressed all in black, moving with a catlike grace.

  “After all,” she purrs, tracing her hand down his back, “you have me now.”

  “You don’t understand,” the man whines, “I was so close. I nearly beat that accursed woman. If I had, Luó Wén would never have been able to leave. I could have kept her here, as it should be. My pride simply won’t allow me to leave things here.”

  The woman frowns, “If you say so, darling.”

  “I do,” the emperor responds with finality, “and so she shall be found.”

  His hand reaches down to the throne, absentmindedly squeezing the stone until it cracks.

  “I always get what I want in the end.”