The view nauseated him. Like clockwork, the city rebuilt, as it always did. Humanity was resilient, the poet might observe, though the real work was being done by contracted workers and companies with gifted in their employ. A small percentage of people. Every time a disaster occurred, people made money. This was just the way things were.

The plan had been months in the planning, weeks in execution. Paulo had toiled alongside Henry to organize and defend each and every component of its implementation. Maybe it was the blood of the Ramos-Ortega line, but Paulo found himself naturally blending into a leadership role, directing people while standing in the forefront like a general. It had almost gotten him caught once. But Oscar Landry had seen them coming with his telepathic sight, and they managed to slip away, though in order to sway the agents of the bureau they needed some people to remain behind. A limb to be cut off, proverbially speaking.

He had done well. The organization had noticed. And now he was to wait in the condo for the arrival of the boss. He was actually anxious. Was he really that trustworthy? Then again, if he wasn’t, they would have a solution for it. He eyed the bracelet they had given him, suddenly aware of what lied in wait inside.

Henry sat on the kitchen table, playing some game on his laptop where dozens of characters moved about in seemingly random directions. That more or less summed up Paulo’s understanding of what Henry’s role was.

The front door opened and he stiffened. Two men entered first. They were tall and appropriately wide, barely fitting in their suits. Then came the boss himself. His entrance, in a word, was enigmatic. Paulo saw an average man, dressed the same as his bulky bodyguards. But that was not the full nature of his averageness. Try as he might he could not focus on the man’s face. If he glanced away, he immediately forgot the specificities of the man’s features. Were his eyes brown or grey? Was his hair speckled blonde or of a darker shade? He could tell surely enough when the boss smiled.

“Let’s sit,” the boss said. So they moved to the sofas in the living room.

“Introductions,” the boss said. “Call me Clark.”

“Paulo,” he said uncertainly.

“It has been a while since I stepped foot in this city.” Clark took in the prodigious view the condo afforded. “In a way, nothing has changed. The air sings with the sounds of construction while the notes of the recent, harrowing past continues abated, the answer to our subject. Construction to destruction. I don’t blame us Americans for creating this world. In the absence of leadership, history plods along under its own stagnant momentum. It needs spark, impetus, to truly move in the right direction.”

“…I suppose,” Paulo said.

“You don’t really care of course,” Clark said matter-of-factly. “I can see your eyes glazing over. I am told you hate America. And that you’re here to exact vengeance on our people.”

Paulo stiffened.

“Sir, I must be absolutely clear. I want recompense from those directly responsible for the deaths of my family. That is all. If I may be frank…”

“You may.”

“What we have done here bothers me. We’ve upturned the lives of innocents.”

“I want to know,” Clark said. “What exactly do you think we’re doing and why do you think it will get you closer to those in power?”

“To my knowledge, what we are attempting to do is nothing less than revolution. Eventually, you will rub shoulders with powerful people. I would like to be there.”

Clark smiled again, as though he was bearing over a schoolchild’s answer to a simple question.

“That is certainly a perspective,” he said. “We’re not trying to ‘drain the swamp’ or some other inane nonsense. The zeitgeist is damaged in a way I’m sure the fine colleagues you’ve been working with have already explained. We’re trying to repair it, make things more equal between gifted and ungifted. If we succeed, you will certainly get what you seek. For now, I want you to lead our work in this city.”

“Me?”

Clark nodded. “I’ll be busy elsewhere. I can’t be in this city for long.”

“The smell is quite tangible.”

“Haha, no.” A chuckle. “My gift belongs to a very particular subset of abilities. My kind tend to stay apart.”

“I don’t believe I understand.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The boss stood and gave Paulo a firm grasp on the shoulder. And then the meeting was over. Without a goodbye he and his guards left. The moment the door clicked shut, Paulo was already finding it hard to remember even superficial details as to what the man looked like.

“What a strange person,” Paulo remarked.

“What do you think of him?” Henry asked.

“I can’t really say.”

“Exactly. Anyways.” He left his chair and headed for the fridge. “Guess we gotta celebrate your promotion.”

Paulo felt emboldened. Little by little he was making progress. Though the outdoors still smelled of ash and smoke, and the Doppler wakes of sirens echoed between the buildings at least once a day, he would eventually get what he had come here for. It would all be worth it then. He bid his sisters to wait, and to tolerate the things he had had to do.

Besides, if ‘Clark’ was right, the people here needed this. It was for their own good.

--

She came home to a dour mood. Penny was on the phone, speaking quietly, but her legs paced. Eyewitness accounts from her roommates told Lyssa that it had going on for the better part of an hour. When it was finally over, Penny seemed to deflate from the tension escaping her body.

“My parents,” Penny said. “They really want me to transfer out. New Langshir isn’t safe, they said. They’ve been freaking out about it. I dunno sometimes it’s so frustrating-” The phone creaked in her hand. She forced herself to relax. “Whatever.”

“That’s the job, isn’t it? This is the kind of thing we’re training for,” Carrie said.

“They’re oldschool,” Penny said. “Gen Z’ers. Everything was a disaster for them. Every day an apocalypse. They’re over-exaggerating. I’m not going back home.”

“Mine just told me to take care,” Carrie said. “Benefits of being the middle child I guess. There’s only so much concern to go around.”

The sounds of cutting from the kitchen suddenly stopped. Amelia wiped her hands and picked up her phone.

“Shit,” she said. She tossed her apron on a dining chair and rushed out to the balcony.

As common as it was to have dead relatives, Lyssa was reminded that being an orphan was not a natural state of being. Then again, she was not a natural state of anything. All she felt was gladness that she was not the one being harangued with calls.

“You taking this whole thing alright?” Carrie asked.

“Better than I thought I would,” Lyssa said honestly. Perhaps too honestly. The city had been in ruins only weeks ago. The games were suspended. Who, how, and why, couldn’t be answered. The official reports from the Institute of Supergene Research were unequivocal. A telepath of moderate power had been making rounds throughout the city, implanting hidden instructions in the heads of particularly destructive gifted to explode with rage. Science had confirmed it was not the fault of the gifted genes, so why were people angry at them?

Lyssa couldn’t turn on the news for a day without a story about another low-category gifted being jumped by gangs of normal men. She was thankful those stories still stirred something visceral in her. A deep anger. What a strange thing to be grateful for.

But necessary if one day she was to go out there and…

Lyssa.

She nearly leapt from her seat. Whitworth’s voice did not knock, it was simply heard. Luckily, Carrie did not notice Lyssa squirming with discomfort.

“Sir?” She said in her head.

We’ve been putting this off for far too long. I need you to come to my office.

“For training?”

Apparently you don’t have enough electives. Nothing else at our school catches your fancy?

“Sorry.”

Well you need more credits. I can arrange a ‘course’ for you that should cover it. Call it Intro to Clandestine.

“Okay?” Lyssa shifted in her seat. She had no context as to what that word meant. And she did not have the benefit of Bildungsroman’s insight. The Self had not reemerged from the depths of her mind. “What will I be learning?”

Gift-hunting.