June 15, 1955

Massachusetts

A dinner party slowly came to an end, the final embers of merriment fading away. Two men sat apart from the others, sequestered within a smoking lounge behind velvet curtains and thick doors. Dim lights along the walls illuminated the pair, one dressed in casual clothing and the other in professional tweed. The first, a young man with dark brown hair, pale skin, and a hooked nose, passed a cigar to his companion. The second, an older man with sunken cheeks and warm eyes, took it with a smile.

"It has truly been a joy seeing you again, Stanley," the older man said, pulling a box of matches from his pocket with his free hand. "I feel that I've hardly heard from you since you graduated. Your letters have been particularly vague."

Stanley Summers grimaced apologetically. "I'm sorry, Professor. My project required a certain level of discretion."

Professor Marcus Mercury lit a match and held it against the end of his cigar. His breath rose and fell as the tobacco burned cherry red. The wooden chair beneath him creaked as he leaned backwards, savoring the feeling. After a moment he blew out a thick blanket of smoke, raising the cigar to Stanley with a satisfied nod.

"Government contracts. I understand, Stanley, I assure you. The benefits are certainly worth it," Marcus told his former student with a satisfied sigh.

The young man chuckled at his former teacher before producing another cigar for himself. A quick signal had Marcus passing over the matches, and another flash of red-yellow light filled the room with smoke. Dull conversation reverberated from deeper within the house, scattered laughter and the sound of music battering against the insulated room. The two men visibly basked in the relative silence.

"Why are you here, Stanley?" Marcus eventually asked. His question was equal parts curious and cautious. The tone of a man expecting a favor, the voice of an exasperated parent. He turned towards his former student, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Stanley did not disappoint. His returning smile wavered somewhere between shame and amusement. A boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But not submissive, not meek, Stanley Summers was capable of neither.

"I need your help, Professor," Stanley said earnestly, pitching his voice higher in an entirely unsubtle attempt to sound like a young student once more.

"I haven't been your professor for two years, you rascal," Marcus pointed out.

"You'll always be a professor to me," Stanley replied dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "My most magnificent mentor."

Marcus could not help but roll his eyes. "I'm not a piece of toast you have to butter, Mister Summers. You want a favor. Spit it out."

"Not a favor, Professor. A job offer." Stanley reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded document. "Something to change the world."

"Someone is feeling dramatic," Marcus replied dismissively.

Stanley waved his offer in Marcus' face, gracing him with an expectant look.

Marcus sighed. He took the proffered paper and said, "Putting aside your absurd rhetoric, I'm three years from tenure. Why would I want to leave?"

"You've been following the latest developments regarding radiological phenomena." It was less a question than a statement.

"Naturally," Marcus replied, regardless. "When a tenth of the country has manifested superhuman abilities, one tends to take notice of current events."

"Chaos," Stanley hissed with displeasure. "We emerged from the Second World War as a true superpower, yet we are on a path towards destroying ourselves! Men, women even, dressing in cheap spandex, brawling on the streets. Heroes and villains and vigilantes! Unstable and untrained! This cannot continue, Professor!"

"I don't know about all that," Marcus mused idly. "There's a man living around here who dresses like a banana and rescues cats from trees. Odd fellow, but quite pleasant."

Stanley leaned forward, passion filling his voice. "I've seen the projections, Marcus. Within five more years, fifty percent of the country will have been exposed to the empowering effect. These people could manifest any sort of ability. There are no known boundaries on the power or the danger. How long before these street fights become city fights? How long before entire blocks are destroyed over a petty argument. Imagine every idiot that you've ever met, then give them the power to alter gravity by breathing and throw them in a room together!"

"I'm not blind to the problem," Marcus replied stoically. "But I have no means to do anything about it."

"They need limitations. Control. Direction," Stanley enunciated slowly. "The country needs a way to regulate the emergence of superhumans, and the existing ones need to be properly dealt with."

"Dealt with?" Marcus asked quietly.

"Managed." Stanley clarified with a huff. "Preferably in a way that makes them productive. What we need are... pillars. Shining examples of valor and patriotism for others to look towards and strive for. Once we have that, we can move to the next step."

"Who is this 'we' that you keep mentioning?" Marcus asked with bewilderment.

"You and me, of course," Stanley replied as if it were obvious.

Marcus rubbed his brow. "Oh, of course."

"But I'm getting ahead of myself," the younger man decided.

"Only a bit?"

Stanley waved his hand dismissively. "The job offer. I've been working on a way to direct the empowering process. To refine it. My team has discovered a method to control the outcome... more or less."

The professor's eyes widened. "Stanley that's fantasti—" He paused. "More or less?"

"There's a bit of deviation between subjects, but nothing too dramatic," Stanley replied sheepishly. "The method is stable enough for production. It'll be announced by the end of this year."

Marcus sighed. "A tremendous achievement nonetheless, but I don't see what this has to do with me."

Stanley shook his head. "It's about patterns Professor. Each power, each variation, has a pattern. We only found a few of them by the time my contract ended. Simple things, not superpowers so much as upgrades. The effect, it settles in a person; it resists further alteration."

"Meaning every person effected by your work is one less random manifestation," Marcus extrapolated.

"Correct. It's better this way. Simpler. Safer. If it becomes widespread, that is."

"That shouldn't be difficult with government backing," Marcus pointed out.

"Perhaps not, but they are too impatient. We're building the foundation of America here, Professor. Can we really be satisfied with simple?" His lips pulled into a snarl and his voice raised in volume. "For every citizen to be able to stand naked in a snowstorm, to walk across hot coals, to swim through boiling or freezing water; is this really the extent of our ambition? Should we not aim for something greater? Always forward, that's what you taught me."

His eyes landed on Marcus, shining with fervor. "I was so close to finding the pattern, Professor. The pattern for genius. For inspiration. For that... spark, that passion that makes mortal men into legends. Can you picture a country filled to the brim with motivated and brilliant men? Can you imagine what we might accomplish?"

"A grandiose dream," Marcus observed.

"An achievable dream," Stanley countered. "I have investors. A workable plan... with your help. I need a biologist, Professor, and you are the best there is."

"My passion is teaching—"

"You are a young man still, sir," Stanley interrupted. "You have decades left to teach idealistic fools like me. This opportunity has a much shorter lifespan."

He motioned once again to the folded document in Marcus' hands.

"That job offer comes with a state of the art laboratory, more funding than you've ever seen, and the absolute certainty that you are working towards the betterment of mankind."

He extended his hand, firm and unyielding.

"Help me change the world, Marcus."

The door to the smoking lounge opened with a sudden bang, startling both men. A beautiful blonde woman in her late twenties walked inside, wafting her hands at the smoke filled room. She had a heart-shaped face, a full figure, and bore a playful smile.

"Are you two really going to spend the rest of the night cooped up in this dark room? You're making me feel a mite jealous," the woman said, her voice filled with teasing reproach.

A silly grin broke out on Marcus' face. "Sorry darling, we became distracted with business. I'll be out in just a few more minutes."

"That's quite alright," Stanley said suddenly, standing up. "I've said my piece, and you have marital duties to attend to. Think about my offer, Professor, and get back to me. But be quick, won't you?"

He swept out of the room, sparing a charming wink for the blonde woman. "Delilah, a vision of beauty as always."

"Get out of here, you rogue," the woman laughed, slapping Stanley on the shoulder as he passed.

The younger man paused in the doorway, donning a wide-brimmed hat. He turned to face Marcus, who remained in his chair.

"I'm visiting one of those so-called 'Superhero Teams' in Chicago next week. Supposedly their leader, a man no older than I, managed to single-handedly end a thirty man brawl just by showing up. They're gaining a bit of a reputation in the city and I want to chat with them before they get themselves killed. So... I'll need your answer before then."

"Trying to steal away my husband?" Delilah asked with a tinkling laugh.

"Wouldn't dream of it, ma'am," he replied innocently. "The two of you are a picture-perfect couple, and it'd be a fool who got between that."

"And Momma Summers didn't raise no fool," Marcus finished for him, approaching the conversing pair.

"Oh! Speaking of pictures!" Delilah spread both hands in delight. "We have no pictures of you, Stanley!"

"Oh my," the younger man stated blandly, as the energetic woman bustled off deeper into the house.

Marcus watched her go with a gentle smile. She quickly left hearing range and he asked, "Chicago?"

"Pillars, Professor." Stanley tapped his nose with a sly grin. "The country needs pillars. Strong supports for the weakest of us to lean on."

"And you think you'll find that there?"

Stanley "I'm uncertain. I have a good feeling about them, though. They certainly have the power to stand above the rest of the rabble, if the rumors are true."

Delilah reappeared, a Kodak camera in hand. Marcus murmured out of the side of his mouth as she approached, "Maybe don't pitch it to them quite like that."

"I'll work on it," Stanley conceded easily. "I'm trying to appeal to their better natures after all. I'm not looking for people easily lured in by money and fame. That won't work, long-term."

"Yes, well, offering money and fame would certainly help," Marcus suggested.

The pair dissolved into laughter. Delilah, a cheeky smile on her face, raised up the camera to the laughing men. With a click and a flash of light, the moment was frozen in time.