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“Multiple reports began emerging this month of various robbers, home invaders, and domestic violence perpetrators, being killed in the process of committing their criminal offenses, by a fiery Variant vigilante, who seems to manipulate fire to burn his—well, I’m hesitant to call wife-beaters victims, but let's call them targets—to death. This is in addition to using various bladed weapons to kill his targets. I find myself asking—How long will this apparent vigilante stick around? And how many will he kill before he’s satisfied.”
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—Reporter Chadwick Hillman, in an episode of the Saber Parish Sentinel’s investigative podcast Investigation 411, dated Sunday, August 31, 2035.
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Richard looked around Monte Cristo Junior High’s cafeteria. It was one massive room with a grey tile floor and filled with grey circular tables, each table ringed by plastic chairs. As Richard left the lunch line, his back sore from the textbooks held by the pack on his back, with his black, plastic lunch tray gripped in one hand, and awkwardly resting on the cast that covered his left forearm, Richard saw whom he was looking for—a particular student, sitting alone at a table ringed by other, empty, chairs. He had been unable to get a better look at his rescuer before passing out from asphyxiation on account of getting strangled, but Richard knew some about his apparent ally. That said, Richard made a mental note to dig deeper into his background later.
This…Alex Westsmith guy, had put all five of Richard’s attackers in the hospital—more specifically in the hospital’s Intensive Care Unit, or ICU. One against five, some of whom were massively muscular athletes for their age. Furthermore, Richard knew that one had severe abdominal injuries from being shanked with a crowbar, another had lost an eye, and the rest had been severely beaten with the aforementioned crowbar, to the point of sustaining compound fractures of their bones, and fractured skulls—among other injures. A compound fracture is a particular type of bone fracture where a piece of the broken bone protrudes through the skin of the injured person. Richard had managed to get his hands on their medical records. Based on their injuries, it was almost like Alex was superhuman—but Alex was not. Superpowers were the things of fiction, comics, and television. Either way, it had been somewhat easy for Richard to get his hands on the records in question, as the hospital desperately needed to improve its cyber security—whether the hospital knew it or not.
Alex was tall for a student of his age, with long, curly blonde hair, and a skinny build. He was not anorexic or starving, but he sure was not overweight either. Nor did he have veins and muscles bulging through his skin. Actually, he didn’t look buff at all. While not long to a cartoonish degree, his legs, and—to a lesser extent—his arms, were rather long. For him to inflict that level of injury on that many people, he must have been in a blinding frenzy of pure rage. Most aspects of him were surprisingly average, at least by way of appearances, with the only notable exceptions being his eyes, and his demeanor—or more specifically, how Alex seemed to carry himself.
The eyes in question—that is to say, Alex’s eyes—were a pale, icy blue. However, the way Alex utilized them seemed abnormal to Richard. Richard had silently observed Alex in several classes that day—the reason Richard had not realized that they were classmates, or recognized Alex—earlier being that, while they’d been in the same physical room for class, they had rarely interacted, and had certainly never spoken to each other. But now that Richard had been observing Alex all morning, Richard had noticed that Alex always squinted when in sunlight, even when that same sunlight never seemed to bother the other people present. Often, Alex would shut one eye or the other when outdoors—especially when in bright sunlight. Occasionally Alex would take to alternating which eye was shut, when in said sunlight. Alex did not do this indoors and did not wear glasses, be they prescription eyeglasses or sunglasses. Alex might have used contacts of some sort, but Richard doubted that. Why Richard doubted the possibility of Alex wearing contact lenses, even Richard himself wasn’t sure. Maybe it was what some called instinct? Or was it a hunch? Either way, Alex also never looked anyone in the eyes. He looked at whomever he was talking to but avoided looking them in their eyes. It wasn’t like he was looking at their privates, either. Unlike most people, this did not seem to have any connection with whether or not Alex was being honest on a given topic, or honest at all, insofar as Richard could discern. Richard couldn’t come up with a reason for it, aside from the belief that it was completely unrelated to honesty. Maybe it had something to do with how Alex would occasionally rush to cover his ears at certain sounds, which—while admittedly annoying—shouldn’t cause someone that degree of physical pain, like what they seemed to put him in. Or maybe it was related to how Alex sometimes stared off into thin air, as though he were a moth looking into a flame.
Additionally, there seemed to be a certain air, or so to speak, about Alex, like a dog that had been abused, and this was reflected in the way Alex carried himself. Despite a seemingly complete lack of malice, it was practically screaming that Alex had been through something—and that, while he didn’t want to injure anyone else, if attacked, he would fully commit to completely wreaking whoever went after him—either on instinct or on principle. It was as though Alex was in pain, and just didn’t want to hurt anymore. Other students seemed to avoid him entirely, shunning him wherever possible. Alex had no friends that Richard knew about. Or that anyone Richard had eavesdropped on had heard of, either—although Richard could be mistaken. While Richard had considered hacking into any smartphone—or other electronic devices—that Alex had, to gather more information on Alex, Richard had decided against it. From Richard’s point of view, to do that to a boy who’d saved him from such violence as Richard had been subjected to, and threatened with, would just have been rude to an at once massive and uncalled-for degree.
As far as interpersonal interactions went, Alex never seemed to smile. That said, he was polite enough, constantly referring to the teachers—and even other students—as either “sir,” or “ma’am”.
Alex sat at one table, completely and utterly alone, eating in silence. Richard hesitated. This…Alex guy, had put five other students in the ICU at Mercy General Hospital. Richard felt ashamed that he was scared of the guy who saved…well, if not saved his life, at the very least prevented him from coming to grievous bodily harm.
I shouldn’t be afraid of him, Richard thought, silently admonishing himself, Alex saved me.
Silently swallowing both his shame and his fear, Richard approached Alex.
Richard walked straight up to Alex’s table, standing right next to Alex, yet Alex seemed not to notice at all. After a few moments of just standing there, Richard spoke, careful to keep his voice even and calm.
“Hey, Alex, do you mind if I sit with you,” Richard inquired, prompting Alex to look up at Richard. In the process, Alex’s head moved in a very fast, and abrupt, motion. The manner in which Alex performed this motion was choppy, jarring, and almost unnatural, like a puppet being abruptly jerked about by a set of strings.
“Me, sir,” Alex asked—after swallowing the mouthful of food Alex had been chewing. Alex sounded confused as he asked Richard that question.
“Yes,” Richard replied, “You, Alex.”
Alex seemed unsure, saying, “Sorry, sir. I’m not quite good at remembering names. But I’ve seen you somewhere, sir. I know I have—.” His eyes fell to Richard’s cast, and Alex stated, “Oh! You’re the student I helped against those five assholes last week! Sure, take a seat, uh...what’s your name again, sir?”
As Alex gestured to the assortment empty of chairs around the table, Richard took a seat next to him, on Alex’s right side. Setting his tray down on the table, Richard placed his book bag on the floor next to his seat. Alex had apparently loaded his tray to the brim with food, judging by the uneaten sections, although it didn’t look like those sections would stay uneaten, given the swift rate at which Alex had been—and had now resumed—scarfing down his food.
“I’m Richard Caperno. Thanks for saving my ass the other day,” Richard told Alex.
Alex held up the pointer finger of his left hand in a wait gesture, his mouth firmly shut as he chewed and swallowed, before he finally spoke.
“You’re welcome, sir,” Alex eventually replied—now somehow at ease in what was a drastic total tonal shift from just a moment prior—before nonchalantly adding, “The way they attacked you really pissed me off, so even if you had somehow run off and escaped, I might have still gone after them.”
“Really? How so,” Richard inquired, all of his anxiety and fear—and perhaps all of his common sense, too—forgotten instantly, giving way to his instinctive craving for knowledge.
“Yeah. Reminded me of…,” Alex’s voice trailed off, and he seemed to catch himself, as some might say—or, in other words, he realized what was coming out of his mouth, and shut himself up. And this showed in Alex’s demeanor too, as he instantly went from laid back and social, to sullen, and—well, Richard wasn’t sure what the right word was, but definitely a lot less talkative.
“Reminded you of what,” Richard pried, before immediately feeling like he’d made a bad call, whether it came back to bite him in the rear or not.
“Please forget that part of the conversation, sir,” Alex said, his tone suddenly sounding pained and fearful.
Richard wanted desperately to pry further, and felt guilty for having such an urge. However, Richard knew that would risk jeopardizing a potential friendship—and, given the number of friends Richard had was currently zero, he decided against it.
“Consider it forgotten,” Richard said with a deliberate shrug.
“Thank you, sir,” Alex replied.
“You don’t need to call me sir,” Richard told Alex, “Please, just call me Richard.”
Alex immediately replied, as though by some instinctive reflex, “Understood, sir, I—.” Seeming to realize the blunder he’d just made, Alex cut himself off mid-sentence, before he hastily stated, “Sorry ‘bout that, Richard.”
“No problem,” Richard replied, before looking around and asking Alex, “Surely, someone brave like you has some friends. So where are they?” Richard hoped Alex wouldn’t mind the low-key attempt to pry into the latter’s social life.
“Friend, singular, actually,” Alex replied, “And Anna doesn’t go to school here. She’s in that school for gifted youth. Can’t remember the name of it. Shit, I should be able to remember that.”
“So are you dating her, or…?” Richard let his voice trail off there, mid-question.
“Oh no,” Alex replied to Richard’s question, before adding, “Don’t get me wrong, she’s very pretty. And kind. And smart. But she doesn’t want romance. Says it would distract her from her studies.”
“Sounds kinda like you have a crush on her,” Richard replied, curious.
Blushing almost as red as a freshly painted stop sign, a surprised Alex said—loudly, it should be noted—“I never said I wanted to sleep with her!” That drew more than a few bouts of glancing, chuckling, and immature jokes, from the surrounding tables.
“Don’t speak so loudly! You’re almost screaming about it,” Richard told Alex, “Besides, the other students aren’t exactly mature. Mentally, that is, though I’d hardly call them old enough to bend over. Well, you get the point.”
“What did you mean by bend over,” Alex asked.
“It’s a euphemism for fucking somebody,” Richard replied.
“Euphemism…,” Alex said softly, as though suddenly lost in thought, before seeming—after a few brief moments—to remember what that word meant. “Oh…,” was all Alex could manage at that memory.
I’m going to have to start teaching him social skills, aren’t I, Richard thought. The weird thing was that Richard wanted to do it.
This will be interesting, Richard silently decided.
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Alex’s phone blared a rock song on a loop as an alarm, waking him up only after he’d slept through the song a couple of times.
Getting up, Alex stood up from the bunkbed’s bottom bunk—where he’d been sleeping—and walked, barefoot, to his desk, where a little, plastic charging rack held his phone, his tablet, and the devices he used as Pyre. Immediately after shutting the alarm off, Alex took the burner smartphone, burner smartwatch, and burner Bluetooth earpiece, which he then turned off, and put in the same duffle that the rest of the Pyre gear from last night was in. Then, Alex decided to get showered.
Richard groaned from the top bunk, “Why do you set that so loud? It’s just after six in the morning!”
“Classes start at quarter past seven AM,” Alex replied, “Proper standards of hygiene, preparation, hydration, and caloric intake must be maintained.”
“You sound almost like a robot,” Richard complained.
“I am a machine, hewn of flesh and blood, assembled in the womb,” Alex jokingly replied with a grin.
“Why would you value yourself so little, Alex,” Richard inquired, concerned, “You’re far more valuable than any—oh. You were joking.”
“Yup,” Alex replied, before stepping into the bathroom.
Alex quickly showered, trying to maximize both cleanliness and time efficiency. Afterward, Alex rapidly toweled off and got dressed, before throwing on; a pair of brown cargo pants; a tan belt; a short-sleeved, grey, crewneck shirt; a navy-blue, soft-shell jacket; a pair of grey wool socks; a checkered black and white scarf; and a pair of black hiking shoes. After Richard had woken up enough to get his bearing, he made it clear to Alex that Alex could go ahead, and let Richard catch up. Alex decided to go ahead and get breakfast—last night’s activity had made him ravenously hungry.
Grabbing his black, tactical-style backpack—which was covered in Mollie loops that Alex used to attach brown mollie pouches to the bag’s exterior, so he could hold small items within said Mollie pouches—and exiting their dorm room, Room 605-A, Alex emerged into a hallway, lined with the doors to ten dorm rooms on each side of the aforementioned hallway, like a rectangle, with a staircase on both of the short ends. The floor was some sort of dark wood, and the walls in the hallway—like the rest of dorm hall A—were covered in blue paint, with white baseboards at the bottom, separating the wall from the hardwood floor. Going to the end of the hallway, Alex entered a staircase and descended to the ground floor, which held a common area and communal bathrooms, although those lacked showers—unlike the bathrooms adjacent to the dorm rooms. Ignoring all of the ground floor facilities for now—including the common area he passed through on his way out—Alex exited the building, paying the commons area no mind.
There were ten dorm halls, each housing two hundred forty students per dorm hall. All dorm halls had a letter designation, placed at the end of the room number. The floor number was the first digit of the room number, followed by the layout number of the room. For example, the room Alex and Richard shared, 605-A, was the fifth room, on the sixth story of Dorm Hall A.
The dorm halls were in the Northwest corner of the campus, with the Central Building—the building containing, among other things, the school’s Library, Cafeteria, and Main Hall—in the Northeast corner of the campus, the Class Blocks in the Southwest corner of the campus, while the Southeast corner of the campus contained the gymnasium; a baseball diamond; and a football field which doubled as a running track. The Campus Store—and the campus laundromat—were both on the North side of the campus, in between the Central Building and the Dorm Halls, the latter of which were a series of ten, six-story buildings. There was a large parking lot—which included a drop-off point for buses and private vehicles carrying the students who attended the school but did not live on campus—along the western flank of the campus.
Alex ran towards the cafeteria, which was quite a bit of a run. Reaching his destination, Alex entered the Central Building, a four-story behemoth of grey bricks, metal, and glass. It contained not only the Cafeteria, but also the Library, Main Hall, Student Services Office, Discipline Office, Front Office, various computer labs, the Science Wing, an auditorium, and a massive amount of student lockers—both in the Main Hall and in some Student Storage Rooms—which were basically locker rooms, with the only difference being that they were meant to be used by students to store textbooks and office supplies for themselves, rather than being used to change into athletic gear or exercise garments from the typical day clothes.
Having been there before, Alex knew that the facilities of the Central Building were spread out across four stories, although you wouldn’t be able to tell from inside the Main Hall, given that its ceiling was two stories high—wasting a large chunk of the second story space that could have been used for classrooms, and splitting the second story into two separate sections. This meant that to go from one section of the second floor to the other, you’d have to go down to the ground floor, or up to the third floor, cross over the space taken up by the Main Hall’s high ceiling, then go to the other section of the second story. Building the facility like that wouldn’t make sense, until you realized that the Central Building was originally meant to be a one-story building, because the architects had assumed that the school would be able to buy more land inside New Hellensburge than ended up being possible, in a real estate deal that fell through, forcing them to improvise after construction had already begun. In all fairness to them, the architects had been told—by those hiring the architects in question—that the real estate deal was already a guarantee, even though their employers were still negotiating it when said architects were hired. In Alex’s opinion, this made the building a monument to the architects’ skills in design, construction, and improvisation. At least, that’s what seemed to be the case from what Alex had read. Alex thought of this as he walked over to the Central Building.
The cafeteria was on one end of the building, not in the middle of it, and one could enter it directly, without having to pass through another part of the Central Building. Needless to say, Alex did not go through another part of the Central Building to enter the cafeteria.
Entering the massive Cafeteria through a set of double doors made of glass and metal, Alex looked around. It was almost empty, bar about a dozen other students. Checking his watch, a Tillman brand, Expedition model watch, Alex saw that it was six twenty-seven in the morning. Another three minutes until the cafeteria workers started serving food.
The interior of the Cafeteria at the Brunswick Academy had been painted a lighter grey than the Central Building’s exterior, with a floor covered in a pattern of black and white tiles, and plate glass windows that were crisscrossed with metal support beams, stretching from the floor to the two-story high Cafeteria ceiling. The floor-to-ceiling windows in question were along most of one wall, and part of a second wall—bar a brick pillar about eighteen feet wide, which looked almost like a concession stand, with a little counter built into the wall along one side of it. That pillar was meant to be a receptacle where students would drop off dirty lunch trays to be washed and was flanked by sets of double doors made of glass and metal, leading to the exterior of the building.
As for furniture, the cafeteria was lined with rows of rectangular tables, connected by chrome metal pipes to navy blue plastic disks that served as stools to sit on. The same pipes held both the stools and the tables off the ground. Three students were sitting at one particular table, talking, whom Alex recognized immediately.
Pauline Kennedy was Caucasian, short, with shoulder length, curly blonde hair, forest green eyes, and a soft curvy chin. Her cheekbones were not nearly as sharp as those of Alex, but she was very beautiful, inside and out. Around the school, she was known for her motherly attitude toward her fellow students. In the way of clothes, she wore a black T-shirt—emblazoned with the name and logo of some band—an unzipped blue sweatshirt, grey sneakers, and some very tight-fitting, black jeans. Alex tried not to stare at her face—or her unmentionables—while trying to keep his mind out of the gutter.
Given what I’m thinking of doing with her, I’m lucky she’s not able to read minds, Alex thought, she’d probably slap me, if I were dumb enough to tell her. And that’s assuming I’m lucky.
She sat next to her boyfriend, Ethan Staub, and the two were kissing feverishly.
Ethan Staub was a young, African American guy, taller than Alex—which meant something as Alex was five feet and nine inches tall at fifteen years old. To be more specific, Ethan—who was either fifteen or sixteen, although Alex failed to remember which month of the year his birthday fell on—was around six feet tall, and possessed blue eyes, like those Alex had, only Ethan’s were a darker shade. That was ironic, given he lacked the coldness Alex sometimes displayed—typically under his Pyre alias—towards those Alex thought deserved it. Ethan was a skilled student-athlete, scoring high on two school athletic teams—the first being track and field, and the second being basketball. One might not guess it by looking at him, given he appeared to be your stereotypical jock and dressed like it, but Ethan also had a four-point-zero, as Richard put it, for a Grade Point Average. While Alex didn’t quite know what that meant, Richard said it was a high academic score, indicative of high intelligence and outstanding academic achievement. That information was obtained by Richard’s hacking into school computer records—one of Richard’s various ways to ward off boredom. All of this was just one symptom of Ethan and Richard being extremely intelligent. Ethan wore a letterman jacket, baggy brown cargo pants, and some brown combat boots—which was a very ironic choice of footwear for Ethan, considering Ethan’s gentle nature. He used a brown leather belt to hold up the pants, as he didn’t want to show off the more intimate parts of his body to the public, or so Ethan had previously said.
Across the table from where they sat was Caleb, on a stool—his head lowered, and hands clasped in prayer, his brown eyes hidden. Caleb wore eyeglasses, which were composed of large lenses, and a thick, black frame. Furthermore, Caleb was pale, his skin almost as white as a sheet of printer paper, in stark contrast to his short cropped black hair. Alex suspected that the pale hue was due to some sort of skin condition, but hadn’t asked about it, and had avoided voicing said suspicions, trying to avoid offending his friend. He was dressed conservatively—assuming one was to strip the word of any political meaning—with a grey, long-sleeved, buttoned-up shirt, which had dress-style cuffs on the wrist of the shirt, and a similar style of shirt collar. He also wore khaki pants, brown shoes, and a black leather belt. Alex knew that Caleb was wearing a grey stone crucifix around his neck—not because Alex could see it, given it was under Caleb’s shirt at that moment, but rather, because Alex knew Caleb always wore that thing. Caleb was both religious and a steadfast pacifist, whereas Alex was neither.
Not that Alex had any problems with others practicing their religious beliefs. So long as nobody tried to force it on him, or use it to justify abuse—both of which sometimes happened—Alex did not mind others practicing their faith at all. And when someone did use religion to justify abuse or did try to cram it down his throat, Alex took issue with the specific offender, not the whole of the religion with which the offender was affiliated. Alex himself, however, simply did not believe in any god, divinity, or spirituality.
As Alex stood there, watching them—particularly the young couple—a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions tore through his mind.
Caleb would shriek if he could see the gutter my mind is in. Ethan would probably lecture me. Or maybe punch me? The latter is not something Ethan would typically do, but Pauline is his girlfriend. Oh well. So long as those two lovebirds are happy, I should be happy for them, regardless of my own feelings. So why aren’t I? Why do I feel so jealous? Damn it, why does my mind keep drifting to sex and romantic dinners? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Self-discipline, damn it! I will not resort to petty attempts to interfere with their relationship! Damn it, I’m better than some spiteful piece of shit tha—
“Why are you standing there, staring at us, and blushing like crazy?”
Pauline’s question tore into Alex’s thoughts, pulling his proverbial head out of his rear, and he realized he was standing there, staring, and blushing. Alex wanted to run away shrieking but instead decided to reply with a half-truth.
“I know I like hugging people from time to time—even if others find it weird—but it’s almost like you two are trying to have oral sex. Please, I know sex can be funny, but get a room,” Alex retorted.
What Alex said seemed to immediately have them all convinced, as it was well known that Alex would have constantly hugged people whom he considered close loved ones—including close friends—if they would let him, were it not for how weird that would seem to most other people. Anna Cohen had once told Alex “You know, you’re very cold to people you hate—but with people you love, you’re the most touchy-feely person I’ve ever met.” Alex had no reason to doubt her assessment and had the self-awareness to believe it.
Caleb said nothing other than the Lord’s Prayer before Alex heard him amend it, adding in something else at the end of the prayers—but before the amen bit. Namely, he said, “And please, Oh Holy Father, bless Ethan and Pauline with a room of their own. Amen.”
“Hey,” Pauline replied indignantly, as Alex took a seat, and set his bag down on the floor, next to the stool on which Alex was sitting.
Richard’s voice rang out from somewhere behind Alex, saying, “Whoa, Mom—you and Ethan! He really is a motherfucker!”
It was then that Richard sat down on the side of Alex opposite where Caleb sat. Richard was about five feet and one inch tall, clearly Mexican and Hispanic in ancestry but spoke with no noticeable foreign accent, which was fitting, as he was Mexican-American, and was every bit as patriotic and freedom-loving as any other American, just like his American morn mother—also of Mexican ancestry—and his unfortunately deceased father, who had been a proud U.S. Marine. Richard’s only accent was an American accent, of the type typical for those raised in the southern state of Louisiana. In terms of his body, Richard was thin, short, and scrawny, with a head of thick, black hair, and quick wit lurking behind his green eyes. In terms of clothing, he wore a plain, grey, hoodie-style sweatshirt, and blue jeans, with combat boots. Alex also knew that he constantly kept his father’s dog tags somewhere where he could access them—sometimes on his person, other times locked in a safe at his Uncle Rick’s house.
“Okay, that was funny. Not true yet—assuming we do take it that far when we’re older—but funny,” Ethan chuckled in reply to Richard’s earlier statement, as Pauline scolded Richard by saying, “Quit swearing!”
“Okay, Mom,” Richard stated in a seemingly happy-go-lucky manner.
“Richard quit calling me mom,” Pauline demanded, “You’re the fifth student to call me that since October started, and it’s not even Halloween yet!”
“Oh relax,” Richard told Pauline.
It’s at this point that a female cafeteria worker walked up, and stated, “Hey kids! Breakfast is ready!”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Alex told the cafeteria worker, “We’ll be right over.”
The cafeteria worker walked back into the kitchen, with Alex and the others following closely behind her. On the other side of the cafeteria from the floor-to-ceiling windows were a couple of buffet tables and a serving counter built into the wall between the kitchen and the cafeteria. Alex went to the counter and was handed a disposable paper tray—which held some waffles—by another cafeteria worker.
On reflex, Alex said, “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome! Oh, if only my son were a gentleman like you,” she replied.
“Thanks for the compliment too, ma’am,” Alex stated, before he went to the buffet tables, took a set of disposable plastic silverware, a carton of chocolate milk, and a carton of orange juice, before pouring a massive amount of syrup onto his waffles, then going back to the table from before, and sitting down.
Alex proceeded to eat, careful not to let any of the sweet, sticky syrup get onto his clothes. The others sat down around him, and they ate breakfast together. Alex spoke with them, bantered with Ethan and Richard—and to the extent he could, bantered with Pauline, which was not an easy feat, considering her acting like a doting mother to himself and the other students, combined with his crush on her. Yet, while Alex was more than capable of social interaction, it had never come naturally to him, despite Richard’s having taught him social skills in junior high, in a series of informal lessons that they had finished as high school freshmen the previous academic year. To make matters worse, there was a nagging feeling in the back of Alex’s mind, something that felt almost like a part of him was drowning on dry land, a feeling that just screamed to Alex that he didn’t belong there, in that school, with his friends.
Look at them, it screamed, Happy! Productive! You were damaged by the world, on top of being born broken, in a shattered home! You don’t deserve them! You don’t belong with them! They deserve better!
Alex tried to brush it off, thinking, Maybe it’s my condition. Maybe I’m just not a people person. Either way, I belong here.
Yet Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he actually believed that, or if he was just trying to convince himself of a false belief—like a man who tries to convince himself that his lies are true.
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Alex stood by one of the gates to the scrapyard, waiting for Richard to let him in. It was warm on a summer night, and he heard crickets chirping away in the background. Alex knew that Richard was staying with his Uncle Rick, as Richard often did, overnight. Richard’s father had died serving in the U.S. Marine Corps, and his mother was very busy as a high-ranking police officer—meaning that, all too often, neither was around.
The gate itself was metal, with little spearheads, or spear tips, at the top of each metal bar. It had no automated mechanism for opening it, so one had to open it manually. This gate was smaller than the vehicle gate, only at only four feet wide. It was an old and rusted thing, although Rick said that it had once been painted black.
Other than the gate, the whole scrap yard was surrounded by a nine-foot-tall, red brick fence, topped by barbed wire—to prevent theft. The scrap here was typically stored in the front half of the scrapyard, before being sorted and stored in the rear half of the scrapyard—according to Richard’s Uncle Rick, anyway—to be sold off later. Rick Caperno lived on the property next door to the scrapyard, which Rick owned, and served as the chief operator of.
“Hey Alex,” Richard said quietly after he had walked up to the gate.
“Hello, Richard,” Alex replied.
Alex hadn’t seen Richard coming, because of how the brick fence blocked his view—Alex could only see through the rusting steel bars of the gate—but Alex hadn’t heard Richard’s footsteps either. Richard could be really quiet when Richard wanted to be.
Undoing the padlock on the gate by entering the combination, Richard pushed the thing open, and let Alex inside. Soon—after closing the gate behind themselves, and locking it with the padlock—Richard and Alex were immersed in the scrapyard’s interior, which was a labyrinth of walls and mounds composed of scrap. Alex guided Richard through the passages—canyons, really—of scrap to the desired spot, their feet stirring up clouds of the sand beneath them.
“Hey, where are we going,” Richard asked softly.
“Stop here,” Alex replied, eyeing the hollowed-out remains of a car. It was rusted and windowless; the doors were all either open or missing, and all the wheels were missing—replaced by the cinderblocks it now stood on.
Now’s the time, Alex thought.
“Okay, what are you trying to show me,” Richard asked Alex.
“This,” Alex stated, swinging his right arm out in front of himself, and launching a ball of fire from his right hand, hurling it at the wrecked car. The car was almost instantly engulfed in flames, filling the air with the odor of burning metal and rust. Then, with a flick of his right wrist, Alex solidified the fire into a mass of dark, orange crystal.
“You’re a Variant?” Shock doused those words as they left Richard’s mouth.
“Yes, I am. That okay with you,” Alex inquired.
“Are you kidding me? That’s fucking awesome,” Richard declared.
“Good,” Alex replied, “good. I want you to join me in a certain endeavor. I will not lie—it will be risky, dangerous, and difficult. But I truly believe we can make the city, hell, the world, a better place.”
“What’s the endeavor,” Richard eagerly inquired.
“There’s plenty of criminals and abusers out there, who the cops are either too incompetent, too underfunded and understaffed, or too corrupt, to bring to justice, and that’s before you even get to how under-equipped they are to handle Variant criminals. So the endeavor is that we do it for them. We protect the innocent and put down the abusers. That simple. With my Variant abilities and your hacking skills, we could be nearly unstoppable,” Alex explained.
Richard’s face lit up as he excitedly responded, “Hell yeah! Let’s do it!”
Alex was actually surprised. He hadn’t expected it would be that easy to convince Richard to join him.
Then again, Alex thought, who am I to question such good fortune?118Please respect copyright.PENANAYlw0eS7Qk4