Police are calling it a crime of passion. The victim, a twenty-eight year old male, was stabbed forty-two times by what was determined to be bone blades from the perpetrator’s knuckles…

Reports of missing children and teenagers increase with parent eyewitnesses saying they saw someone dressed in black phasing through walls, carrying their loved ones with them…

Increased sightings of masked individuals stopping crimes in progress. As you can see behind me, a group of them are violently attacking thieves attempting to break into a local convenience store. It’s hard to tell which is which…

Do I think seeing young people use their gifts like weapons to win games inspire crime? I do not know. There is no sample space for data like that. But it’s undeniable that they’re correlated, if not causative. So the question is can we afford to take the time to find a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer all while doing nothing about it?

Some might even find the humor in this very conversation, doctor. We are discussing whether or not to continue discussing a question.

I don’t find it very funny at all. If I were in charge, I would suspend the Annual. What data we do have, shows that the spike in crime happens every year in the same month. Either level minds conclude, or the citizenry will.

--

Lyssa had spent the weekend building a quiet resolve, not quite sure as to what she needed to do, but certain in knowing what she lacked. The attitude would have to suffice, for she saw that a qualifying filter had been passed through the contestants. She could see the difference in numbers between the beginning of the Annual and now. Even with the second game providing a second chance for the losers of the first, the count had been visibly halved, perhaps more, leaving behind sterner stock.

They stood in front of M.A.G.E’s outdoor facility, a massive track flanked by buildings, trees, concrete blocks with obvious seams; a siren’s warning of the traps and tests that laid in wait in the shade. This game would no doubt train students, entertain crowds, and test equipment; the brutal efficiency of the school’s regimen on display once more. Though the atmosphere had changed.

“Apparently, viewer count dropped proportionally relative to the first game,” Amelia was saying. “Might be related to the increasing anti-gift riots and the similar topic of discussion on the news.”

“Do you think they’re going shut the Annual down halfway?” Penny asked.

“On account of negative sentiment? I do not know. There are still more viewers than ever. As for the implications of such an event…” Amelia crossed both pairs of her arms. “We would always need heroes. The anti’s would be remiss in believing this world would be safer without us.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Lyssa had read up on Amelia’s family, the Linnaeus line. One of a few distinguished lineages of rare, combimorphic gifts which visually appeared as human hybrids. They performed the role before the cape and cowl, and perhaps before the title itself. Of course she would never believe the ‘hero’ would ever go away.

It cannot be unacknowledged that the populace have only gotten more apprehensive of gifts ever since Twenty-Four.

“What do you think they have in store for us?” Carrie asked, looking onto the field before them.

“There’s a long dirt road between the starting line and the empty buildings ahead,” Penny said. “How much do you want to bet there’re mines buried beneath the ground?”

“There’s a lot of flyers with us,” Carrie said as she glanced at the other students standing in wait.

“Could be Dirty Monroe’s,” Amelia said.

They turned their heads to her inquisitively.

“It is a similar class of device as the S-mine,” Amelia explained. “Or Bouncing Betty as the Allies called them. Except the Dirty Monroe launched missiles upon sensing aerial motion, such as from those with flying gifts. Though gifts have gotten a lot more potent since World War Two.”

“I hear a lot of speculation going on,” a familiar, deep voice said on approach.

“Xiaoshu!” Carrie said. “Glad to see you here. It’s been a while.”

“A few weeks,” the large man said. He turned to Lyssa. “Nice to see you’ve made it. You’ve surprised a lot of our compatriots from high school since we’ve begun here.”

“I’ve surprised myself,” Lyssa said. In negative ways as well. She kept silent on that.

It was no surprise to see him at the starting line. At category 3, superstrength was one of the most versatile and simple-to-use gifts.

They did not have much longer to wait. The sun had long risen. There were five minutes left till seven. The giant, red digital projection in the sky made sure they all knew the time. Dozens of camera drones flitted about, with a large zeppelin in the distance serving as the hub. The announcers were no doubt beginning to bring their hype-speech to a climax.

Lyssa paid closer attention to who would be competing alongside them. She recognized a few people from the entrance practicum though she could not recall their names. She especially remembered Ironhog. His massive form was difficult to miss. Allison, or Vortex, hovered a few feet off the ground in the distance, appearing as determined and powerful as ever. However Lyssa remembered the look on Vortex’s face when Giantsbane dispelled her hurricane in an instant; even she was capable of despondence. Burnout smoked in the observable distance as well, giddy with spouts of flame coming from his custom nozzle boots. Ecto could not be seen, but was without a doubt present.

Her old team was recognizable enough. There were a few other notable players Lyssa felt instinctual wariness for. Sticking out like a sore thumb, one particular student stood islanded by the berth given to her by her own gift. She shone white in the morning sun, her long, side bound ponytail blending seamlessly from silk to icy fog, a frigid aura that made the other students avoid her by necessity lest they want to start losing fingers and ears.

Another student to watch out for could not be seen, but Lyssa could feel as easily as an oncoming storm: a telekinetic. She could feel the presence of their mind survey the students. It was not a weak mind.

And of course there was Colossi, the protégé of one among the top three ranked heroes by contribution. He stood, monolithic if not for the host of other competent-looking young aspirants around him, ready to strike. They were already calling him the hope of the current generation. Lyssa had seen footage of his work during the first game. While she barely lasted a minute, Colossi managed to keep up his momentum throughout the last part of the first game, defending his comrades and attacking the enemy without taking a single hit himself. Even she looked forward to seeing what would happen today. She did not have long left.

The minute counter had hit zero. Seconds were left. Hundreds of students primed themselves to advance.