“You’ll have plenty of chances to take it all in on the way there, so grab your things and let’s start this tour.” Mr. Beachwood (I made a mental reminder to call him that and not... anything else) said as he waved us forward. The bus driver had unloaded our bags to the entranceway, but it looked like we’d be carrying them at least a half mile to the school.

  Much grumbling was had by many of the other students, including a scrawny boy in the back whining a bit too loudly. “Really? Why can’t we just get a ride there?”

  Beachwood just snorted, and I suppressed a twitch as he responded to the student’s complaint. “Kids these days, always complaining. You’ll need these muscles if you’re to make it as a hero. Think of this as me giving you your first dose of physical education then.” He turned and began walking, expecting everyone to keep up with their bags. Some of them dealt better than others with his sudden military-style physical training.

  I had no problems, obviously. My shapeshifted strength enabled me to carry my suitcase around with ease, so I spent my time observing my new classmates as we trekked up. My thoughts about Alex’s strength before were proven right as she had no problems carrying not only her own bags but also helping out others who were lagging behind and stacking up a few more bags on top of her own load. Just what is her power? I’m not seeing any feathers or anything involving her wings used to carry them. A transformation type perhaps? That would make the most sense; her wings do have a certain mythic feel to them, and it wouldn’t be the first of that type of power here. I thought, glancing at our coach’s back for a moment before moving on to the others.

  A few of the kids used their powers to aid them, a girl carrying her bags in a suitcase of water, having them hover telekinetically above the hand of one boy, etc., etc. Most of them just seemed to struggle along as best they could, red-faced and sweaty from the exertion. The gravel path was bumpy and uneven, not the kind any wheeled suitcase could easily be dragged through.

  “And you’ll see a couple of supply houses to the sides. There are a couple of them all around the island, but only staff have access to them, so you lot don’t need to worry about them.” Not very structurally protected, I noted, especially in comparison to the extra tough metal bunkers scattered about.

  “I’ll mark off and take you to any of the places you are supposed to go, though I guess you can explore outside as much as you like when you aren’t in class. Provided you follow curfew, of course.” At the sounds of groans, he turned around and shouted, “Don’t you complain! The curfew is for your own safety, and if any of you want to make it as superheroes- heck, as any functioning member of adult society one day, then you should be able to follow these simple rules.”

  As the person closest to the front, I heard him grumble about ‘kids these days.’ Ah, there’s the Derrick Beachwood I know. Clinging so tightly to the idea that society is more than a false and crumbling facade and that everyone will and should follow ‘the rules.’ It seems that leaving the military for the private sector hasn't affected him that much.

  We continued along the path to the school without much further talk or complaints, thankfully. At the end, students rushed around in the back, grabbing their bags from the pile they had set Alex to carry. None of them said anything or thanked her, but Alex still seemed to be smiling at them as she handed them back their things. Helping out someone else without credit or recognition is pointless. And even if she doesn’t care about that, this will only make the others more reliant on you and less able to stand on their own.

  Given the appraising look Derrick had on his face, I guessed he’d be judging them for this too, though he didn’t feel like saying anything right now. Why bother? He can grade and judge us at any time, he doesn’t have to make his displeasure vocal. Though the fact that he isn’t shouting at us already shows he has a bit more restraint than I thought. Still, the level of strength Miss Herron showed, to not be sweating or tired now... in pure strength she may well be stronger than I am.

  Turning my attention away from behind me, I saw the doors that lay before us. Massive, easily twenty feet tall and a dozen across. Reinforced glass, automatic sliding doors, with the swooping blue and red letters ‘SA,’ the logo of Seltron Academy, we had seen from a distance, standing out proudly over them. Overblown, but what isn’t with superheroes? It is impressive and eye-catching, at least.

  At the doors on either side stood two guards, each one decked out in fancy black armor with guns on their backs that almost looked futuristic (modular nozzles for different firing modes, slightly weaker than the rest of the gun, one of my powers told me). They had helmets on with opaque visors covering their faces. In their hands, they carried thin card-looking things, many of them stacked up.

  “And here we are, Seltron Academy itself. The world’s first school for Empowereds,” Beachwood proudly proclaimed to the awe of most of the students. I bit back a scoff and eyed the guards warily. It’s fine to tell a fellow student what’s up, but I can’t question or disrespect a teacher.

  “The guards to your sides have the ID cards you’ll need to move through and access Seltron’s many facilities, so keep them on your person at all times. Take one from the stack and then follow me.” The group broke out into a bunch of questions like: ‘What if it gets broken?’, ‘What if I lose it?’, ‘Are these things tracking us? Why do you need to track us at all times?’ etc., etc.

  “Pipe down!” Derrick yelled at the group. “Argh, alright, listen up. These cards are extremely durable, so they shouldn’t get broken unless you’re trying to break them, which will lead to disciplinary action.” At those words, Alex became ashen-faced and began to look very worried.

  “If you lose it, well, you’ll likely be in a lot of trouble, stuck in some rooms you can’t get out of/into. I guess you’ll have to suck it up then.” He laughed for a moment before adding on “It’ll be uncomfortable, but call one of the staff and we’ll help you out. It should be a lesson for anyone who does, so again, don't be careless with them. Being here is a privilege, and you’re going to have some basic standards to uphold.”

  “Finally, the guards and tracking of the cards are all here for your safety. This multi-billion dollar academy was set up to be one of the safest places in the world, and I hope you’ll all be able to show the maturity to appreciate and understand that.” Most of the class was nodding at his gruff words, won over to his point of view, but I just side-eyed them suspiciously.

  He says they’re here to protect us, but given the island already seems well and cut off from everything else in the world, it feels more like they’re here to guard against us. Though, to be fair, some of the largest threats may well come from within.

  With that done, the students were each handed a blank card, which we entered our names into. When all the registrations were complete, the cards flashed, accepting no further inputs and displaying our names and our faces. Looks like they're getting some mileage out of that photo I sent in with my application. With that out of the way, we entered the school.

  The entranceway was huge, with hallways to either side on the first floor and stairs leading up to the railway-guarded second floor and exits there. It even had in the center an honest-to-goodness bronze statue of Quake I, the first major hero that had been killed. I still remember his death. How tragic it was, shaking the world and myself at the time. It’s an odd choice in some ways to have this at the front of the school, but as depressing as his sacrifice had been, he did die quite heroically, saving a bunch of civilians and taking out the criminals that had mortally wounded him.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Wow, Quake!” Alex exclaimed quietly, having taken the moment to step up beside me.

  “I’m surprised you recognized him; he died over 55 years ago. And even amongst the heroes of that age, he wasn't the most exceptional. You must know your history."

  “Yeah, but you knew it too, so are you just complimenting yourself?” I gave a shrug, and she just grinned. “Well, I’ll take part of that praise too, I know my stuff.” Alex said, puffing her chest out before deflating a bit. “Well, when it comes to superheroes anyway. I hope I’ll be able to keep up with all the classes.” That triggered a couple of other students worrying about the classes before the coach spoke up.

  “Pipe down!” Dickless Derri- Beachwood. Mr. Beachwood, I mentally reaffirmed. He shouted at the class, which had burst into whispers and murmurs as they entered the sleek facility. As hilarious as it would be to call him the other thing, I’m pretty sure it would get me expelled. Not sure if it would be before or after he killed me, but best to stick to his actual name in either case, even in the ‘safety’ of my own mind. Hard to tell what powers are active here.

  “I see you’re all a bit excited; it looks like the journey wasn’t nearly as tiring as I thought it would have been,” he said with an evil gleam in his eyes. Many students gulped nervously before he chuckled and said, “But you could stand to get some lunch first. Follow me to your dorms and drop off your stuff, then we can start our tour off in the cafeteria.” A weak cheer went up from that statement, and the class eagerly followed him to a long hallway with several rooms at the sides.

  “Each room will have your names on them. Find yours, put your things down - except for your keycard! - and come back for lunch.” There was much agreement as the group rushed out, looking for their new dorms.

  I came across my room near the middle of the hall, the name ‘Camila Einsburgh’ in blue digital letters on the front of the door. The doors were odd, not seeming to even have handles, but opening up at my touch. Must be due to the fancy keycards we were given.

  The dorm itself wasn’t spacious, narrow, though long enough to not feel overly cramped, even without any windows. It had a bed in the right far corner, a mat for footwear, a small closet, and a chest at the foot of the bed to put her things. The room had a white/cool blue color scheme and very sleek aesthetics, really showing it off as the ‘school of the future.’ The residence also came with a door at the far end that led to a bathroom and a table near the front with a couple of chairs.

  I was surprised about the chairs and the seeming invitation to invite others into our rooms until I caught a few black dots nestled in the corners of the room. Cameras, obviously. They don’t seem to extend into the bathroom, thankfully, but they’ll be something to watch out for. I made sure to keep a tight grip on my Disruption power. It could mess with recording devices up to a certain range, which might be useful, but definitely not to be used constantly within my own room. It would be too suspicious if only my cameras were constantly on the fritz.

  Putting my stuff down, I went back out and followed the rest of the class to the lunchroom, which was surprisingly ordinary. It had the same sleek, futuristic aesthetic the rest of the school had, but it still had the standard trays and lineups and benches to sit at. Some of the meals are different from the others, probably to match up with dietary restrictions from the questions they asked in the application letter. That’s a relief; I’ll be able to get the extra food and nutrients I need for my power.

  Sitting down by myself, I focused on getting through my meal quickly, as Beachwood seemed eager to continue the orientation. This really is good, in both amount and taste. Mhmm, I hope every meal is like this... and that I get to actually savor them in the future.

  With the teacher breathing down our necks, the other students didn’t have much time to gossip or chat. Again, I get this. We had plenty of time to talk on the bus, and we’ll have plenty of time in the future to connect, this is mostly just nervous energy. I resolved to keep my ‘grumpy old man’ energy entirely internal, however much I agreed with Beachwood (a surprising thought).

  The class wrangled up again, we began moving down the halls to the different classrooms, spotting the occasional guard as we went. There were a fair number of rooms for lectures, at least a dozen, though most of them were empty. One teacher, a middle-aged red-haired woman called Mrs. Sevrein, greeted us distractedly as she played around with a tablet and a projector to some frustration.

  The classrooms were pretty bland, and it looked like someone noticed that, adding posters of various heroes to help spruce up the place... which conveniently happened to mostly be of superheroes, obviously (or that I knew to be), in the military or otherwise working for the Empire’s government.

  “Sooo... who’s your favorite hero?” Alex asked me as we walked down the hallway to the field behind the school.

  “Hmm, it seems like the school is certainly pushing us in a certain direction with their choices of books and materials.” I said noncommittally.

  “Not a fan of the ‘camo-capes’?” She asked, and I gave a shrug. Truthfully, I’ve had problems with Independent, Corporate, and Camo heroes of all stripes. Not that it would help to advertise that. Most of those terms weren’t exactly right, though. ‘Camo cape’ was used to refer to any Empowered working for the government, regardless of if they were in the military or not (though several found themselves pressured to work in or alongside the military), and being independent didn’t mean you couldn’t get some pay or support from the government. Bounties and some contracts were taken on by other heroes, even if they weren’t committed full time to the government.

  We didn’t really go out to the field, but we got to see the large patch of grass where Coach Beachwood ‘assured’ us, “You’ll get to enjoy plenty of my wonderful physical education classes out here often.” The sinister undertone was somewhat undercut by the awe the students felt when he showed off the holographic projector system, turning the field into a variety of sports playing fields, marking the lines for football and baseball, making virtual nets for soccer, etc.

  Heading back inside, this time we went through the halls and down in a large elevator. Not even it was large enough for all 40+ people to go down in one group to the basement, though. I made sure to go down in the second, smaller group to compensate for my extra mass.

  Continuing on our previous conversation, Alexandra said, “I feel ya. I mean, I know we’re going here and all, but I like groups like the Miracle Squad more.” A group that was oddly absent in any pictures of heroes as we went, considering they were the most famous heroes on the planet.

  “I like Homage!” A boy from behind Alex said, looking a bit embarrassed at his sudden intrusion into our conversation, not that Alex seemed to notice, turning around eagerly to engage with him. He wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans, with a red baseball cap on top of his scruffy brown hair.

  “He’s so cool, right?”

  “Yeah, so versatile, and I love the way he beats down demons with their own powers!” He gushed about his favorite hero before offering his hand to Alex and me. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself before, I’m Trevor Hawthorn.” He shook both of our hands, and we introduced ourselves, though I noticed him wincing after shaking Alex’s hand. She didn’t seem to be upset with him or anything, not even noticing it, caught up in their talk of heroes.

  “I totally get it, I love the Miracle Squad too,” Alex said. “Control is probably my favorite hero ever. She’s the leader of the team and always so poised and graceful and takes down the bad guys so quickly and efficiently.” I did a quick double-check to make sure there weren't actual stars in her eyes with how much she was gushing over the superheroine.

  Ugh, the Miracle Squad. Of course everyone loves them - they've been the gold standard of heroics for decades and decades. I might be slightly biased, and yes, they were formidable back in the day, but they've lost four of their founding members. I have no idea how that crone Control is still in the game, and it's only the ludicrous powers of Homage and Blueshift that keep people in awe of them. Though that might be why the Empire is funneling so much into Seltron. No legend can live forever, so why not try and build up the next one?

  We trekked across the overly long hallway (truly, this is ridiculous) as Alexandra and Trevor gabbed about their heroes before turning to me. “So c’mon, who’s your favorite hero? And don’t say you don’t have one; everyone has one who they think is the best.”

  Yes, myself, or at least I will be. Better than anyone currently. I have an awesome power, I’ve honed it for years and have tons of experience. I just need a little training on ‘proper’ heroism and the legitimacy this school will bring, and I’m golden.

  I opened my mouth to say something distracting, trying to pick out an inoffensive, unintriguing ‘choice’ of favorite hero when we came to the mouth of the large chamber we were heading for. Any words died in my mouth, and I stopped cold at the sight of him, standing at the end of the hallway.

  He stood proud, his spine straight and not bent a bit even at 65 years old, and though he had a cane planted in front of him, it was more as a symbol of his authority (and a hidden weapon, as I knew well) than any crutch. He wore an expensive grey pinstripe suit and tie with gold, round-rimmed glasses sitting over disapproving light blue eyes. His lips were flat, his entire posture stern and humorless, the same as he had been when we had last fought, over seven years ago now.

  The man who had been my closest friend as I grew up.

  The man I’d give up any chance of being a hero again to kill.

  “Null.”