Think about it. Sure, teleporters are regularly given a bonus by Proteus to deliver teams to and from the Siberian rifts but think of how the Supervillains could have leveraged their powers.

What if Cyborg had decided to create an army of trucks instead of killers? He could have dominated European shipping. Endless cash, with no salaries, fuel costs, or insurance. What if Gorillaguy decided to help out construction sites by carrying loads of concrete and construction materials up half-finished buildings instead of hostages?

Meta abilities are like having your own endless mint. If you have class E fire control, imagine the money-making opportunities for being a welder without needing safety gear that could help put up a skyscraper in a week! Compared to what, tapping into a bank vault for maybe ten grand of half-torched stuff that you have to fence, and maybe eventually get killed by some trigger happy vigilante that is convinced you are his perfect nemesis?

Yes, crime is an easy way to collect cash in a hurry, but it puts you on the radar of every vigilante and registered super group almost instantly. Your abilities have incredible potential to make you successful, totally legally, with no risk of calling down the Prometheans on your head. All you have to do is use your mind, or talk to one of literally a million employment councilors that would be more than happy to help you figure out how to exploit your abilities to make you both wealthy and popular, even as ex-cons. Some of your powers, I can see even now, would have made you a thousand times as much profit legitimately as trying to use them illegally, with even less work, and a lot more fun and girls.

Father Michael Marquette, to a Seven Locks prison preternatural criminals wing assembly.

I stepped fully into the ring and fist-cupped my light gloves with a small nod of my head toward Calliope. She looked surprised for a moment, and then did the same thing, cupping one fist in the other and giving me a nod. “No timers?” she asked.

“You said twenty minutes a round, right? That’s a pretty long time, but I figure you are used to longer fights with supervillains or something. I have a pretty good internal time sense. If I am staggering or unconscious I assume the round is over, so I can let you know when it’s time to rest.”

She smiled and took a step back, bounding on her toes with one hand in a low block position and the other one curled slightly back as she bounced. She was wearing a short, sleeveless exercise top that left her tummy exposed and biker shorts with wrestling boots, but it had enough elasticity that while she was bouncing, she wasn’t bouncing. I was glad about that because I hadn’t been close to a girl except Brandi for quite some time, and would have been incredibly distracted if she’d looked like one of those left4ded volleyball girls. All of the bare skin was bad enough. The only parts of me that were exposed were the insides of my calves and upper arms, the rest was well padded, but unless I wanted to be even slower than I usually was, I had to make some concessions somewhere or dress up in a rubber fake Sumo suit.

My footwork was good, my balance was good, my dodging was good, and my blocking was good. I could have certainly contended in the UFC a few years ago, back when the Gracies were owning it with Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, because back then height and strength were an asset with ground work. After their upset, though, foot and fist work was a lot more important, and ground work had become the domain of the short and stocky types. No more lying on your back with your arms and legs tucked in like the Gracies used to love. Nowadays, trying that tactic was a good way to get your ankle grabbed and flung out of the ring or get the living shit kicked out of your ribs.

She came in quickly, throwing a few jabs that I barely had to twitch to block. She was faster than I was, and I guessed she was taking it lightly because it barely jostled me. She was hitting a lot harder than her fitness model build suggested she could, but that was par for the course with metas. She hit in a pretty regular 2-1 combo, and I guessed she was trying to lull me into assuming I could anticipate her attacks.

I wasn’t caught by surprise when she went for a high punch and then a knee, lifting my left leg slightly to intercept the shot with my outer thigh and lowering my head so that her shot caught the top of my helmet, slightly rocking my head back. She was wearing light sparring gloves, but I took a step back as she started hopping around cradling her hand. “Ow shit. That hurt. ow.” I knew the feeling and realized that she wasn’t quite as skilled as I had assumed. “Are you alright?” I asked her.

She nodded, wiggling her fingers inside the glove and shaking her hand. “Yes. Mostly punished for my own arrogance. Jim said you were one of his best defensive types, and I should have expected it. Your head, even with the helmet, is really hard, and when he said you were slow I figured it would be like fighting a brick.”

I shrugged a little, the motion barely visible inside of my pads. “I hit slow. I can hit fast, but when you are dealing with UFC fighters fast hits mean they start to ignore you. Whatever magical gift it is guys like Tyson have to hit fast and break anything they touch, I don’t have. That didn’t mean I was slow, though, just not as much of a hitter. Not enough to be a serious Ultimate fighter, anyway.”

I grinned, “I will try to take it easy on you though if a headbutt got you through the gloves. You might want to change into some more pads, though, especially if you work the knees and elbows a lot. If you had tried to plant an elbow without padding like that, you might have broken something.”

She looked at me suspiciously and then nodded, hopping out of the ring. Jim was there with a set of pads for her knees and elbows, and a set of light boxing gloves rather than the bag gloves she had been wearing before. As she pulled the pads on I asked her conversationally. “Are you on a team? I haven’t heard of you before, which is a little unusual for someone like a storm. You guys usually draw spotlights quickly, especially women.”

She nodded, “yeah, I am on a team out in Jersey called the Sensation. North of that there aren’t many training opportunities, and around New York, well, the old guard are kind of stuck on themselves.”

I nodded, “So you came down to the beltway area to pick up hoodlums and Navy guys?” I asked her curiously, “Quite a bit of slumming going on.”

She giggled, making sure the knee pads would hold, and pulling on a helmet and breast guard, something I consider mandatory for female fighters. “If I were trying to pick them up it would be slumming, but mostly I am just looking for good training away from Atlantic City locals who might wind up on the wrong side and know my moves.”

I nodded, “Can I make a suggestion as an outsider?”

She nodded, “That’s what I am here for.”

I nodded, “You are strong as any meta, but you don’t have much in the way of mass. You are fighting like you were trained by a 300-pound roller girl, lots of overhead work, but you are short and should be keeping low, especially against a big guy like me. You are more likely to surprise me if I am spending too much time worrying about the family jewels. Every time you go for the high stuff, even if it’s just a light jab, you wind up overextending, and even with my speed, I could have made you wish you were wearing chest armor. You aren’t a brick, a normal with a tire iron that knew how to use it could have screwed up your ribs.”

She nodded, curiously. “How do you know this?”

I chuckled, “I have been beaten up more times than you can imagine, by people of all heights. You know, big guy, someone jumps you and suddenly everyone tells you if you do anything but take it, you are the bully.”

She nodded, so I asked, “Do you usually wear armor?”

She said, “Not usually. It’s heavy and interferes with my flying.”

I nodded, “If you can afford to drop ten grand for a sparring session, add some polyprovantus armor to your outfit. It only weighs six pounds or so for the full vitals protection, maybe another three for arm and leg plates, and five or so for a helmet. It’s not the best, but it is the lightest and will protect you from the kind of firearms most thugs carry. If you can afford another 15 pounds you will be a much tougher nut to crack. Also, never go for the overhead unless you are adding meta powers to the hit or you are doing a death from above. A low uppercut with meta strength behind it can send someone like me flying even if it’s blocked, but an overextended hit is like a kiss from a butterfly when you don’t have mass or super-speed behind it.”

She laughed, “Are you trying to talk me into adding powers into my attacks?”

I shook my head, “Not here. But I was a huge fan of superheroes a while back. If you need to practice air to ground attacks give me a call and we can set up a place. I am not tough like a supertype, but I have my own set of pads and can work something out for you. Jim is also a good source since he used to train professional wrestlers, and while a lot of their moves are pure show, he has a lot of experience with nonstandard and flying attack type training.”

She nodded and hopped back over the ropes. “You guys both seem to know an awful lot. Ragnarok is, in fact, a 300-pound derby girl. I am starting to wonder if I have been missing untapped resources sticking to metahuman trainers exclusively.”

I grinned, “Well, just remember that unpowered normals have been training in how to kill each other for upwards of all of recorded history, while capes have only had to worry about it for seventy-something years. Every year dozens of capes are getting killed by unpowered dudes with guns, swords, and sometimes even bare hands. I would hate to see you join those statistics.”

I tapped my gloves again and bowed, “The best part is, I am the bottom of the barrel. Good for sparring against, but not great for training. You can afford a real trainer, and frankly, it’s kind of fun.”

When we were done training, she seemed incredibly grateful. After focusing on her low game, she got a decent uppercut past my guard that sent me flying over the ropes. I hopped right back up since I had taken worse hits in pads, and we ran over the twenty-minute mark several times. We were both peeling off our sweat-stained pads and tossing them into the pad bin and I quickly looked away when I noticed her mask tilted revealingly while she took off her headgear.

She tapped my arm and I noticed she had returned her mask to its position, and said “Thanks. I am Calliope, but you seem to be a decent guy. You can call me Callie.”

I nodded, tucking my mouthpiece into my pocket. “Yeah, alright. I am Louis, Louis McCarthy.” I stuck out my now-ungloved hand out to her. “Good fighting. I hope I see you in the news.”

Her eyes crinkled again, “You might see me even sooner than that. This training has been invaluable, and if I get a chance I will definitely be back.” She pulled off her glove and shook my hand, and I was suddenly shocked at what appeared in my mind’s eye. I had forgotten completely about my scan.

Caroline Aster Vellman (Calliope)

Metahuman 12%, class E(B)

Aspects: body, nature, electricity, air, water

Power: 133

Conditions: 46 days until menses

Projected lifespan: 125 years barring mishap. Current age: 19

healthy, pleased, aroused, surprised, somewhat exhausted

Powers: Lightning burst, wind flight, mist

no current abnormal infections

What. The. Fuck.

I was a little numb as she took her hand back and crinkled her eyes at me again. We tapped phones to exchange numbers and then she headed out.

Crap. Had I just totally penetrated her secret identity? Investigating a registered hero’s identity was a serious felony with a mandatory 5-year sentence, and releasing it without consent could get you 15 years, more even than cold-blooded murder. I was walking around with two jail sentences, plus, if they found out it was my power that gave me the information, another 5-year mandatory sentence for using powers in the commission of a crime.

Also, she had aspects. What in the hell did that mean, and why did I know it? I could tell what her powers were?

She was only 19. I thought people weren’t even permitted to register until they were 21, and in some states, 25. technically, if I were living in Las Vegas, I wouldn’t even have to register until next year.

Last but certainly not least, aroused? Was it the fight, or was it me?

It was late, but Jim kept it open until after midnight for us late workers and looked almost surprised as I went back into my normal routine, working leg presses, overhead presses, and then using his pull-up bars until I couldn’t do any more, waiting a few minutes, and then doing more.

Jim wandered over while I was doing my pull-ups and asked, “What the hell’s gotten into you. I would have thought you would be wiped out after that sparring session.”

I dropped down and started doing more bodybuilders. “Well, I was a little, but she took it easy on me. I like a strong woman. I need to burn it off before I go home or I am going to sprain my wrist.”

Jim laughed. “I could see that. I wish I could see her face, she was hot, even for a cape. Are you going to spar with her outside of here like she was suggesting?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I want you to get your cut since you did set it up and I have been coming here without paying for a while, but I like her. As she is if her power ever craps out on her like if she gets exhausted, some street thug is going to end her. I’d rather she get her training from a professional instructor, especially in something like Krav Maga in case she ever gets into really deep shit, but she’s already on a team. It would be impossible to stop her from street fighting until she gets trained up a little, and the worst I am going to do if she loses is umm…”

Jim grinned at me through his beard, “Yeah, umm. Remember she’s a super and can turn you into hamburger if she doesn’t like it, not that I think you wouldn’t stop if a girl says no, but there’s no, there’s no, and then there’s meta-sized no. She doesn’t look like she’d break you with her thighs though.”

I shook my head. “Naww. She’s strong, but not that strong. To be honest, I am not really a player, and I still have way too much life going on to afford a girlfriend. She came in and dropped ten grand on a spar. How the hell do you impress a girl that can drop ten thousand on two hours of third-rate training?”

Jim shrugged. “Maybe she’s a muscle bunny? Likes the real thing more than padded suits?”

Ah. Apparently, he had picked up part of the conversation. “Like I said, I am not a player. Muscle bunnies aren’t my thing. I mean, sure, it’s nice when your hard work is appreciated, but I would prefer a girl that was also interested in other things.”

He grinned, “You mean like your skill as a cunning linguist?”

I laughed and shook my head, starting to speak more slowly as the bodybuilders took their toll on my breath. “Naww, more like a nerd girl. One who was into star wars and fantasy books and the like. Most of those though, don’t like to stay healthy. So I guess I am just eternally stuck desiring girls that do not and can not, exist.”

Jim looked thoughtful. “You know, usually you don’t go all out when you are playing punching bag. You didn’t throw much, but you were damned close to a machine in every other area.”

I nodded, “I have lost a lot, and she didn’t want me to throw more than occasionally to keep her off balance. Some of the holes she had, if I’d thrown, I might have actually hurt her. I learn well from losing.”

He nodded, “I have always said you threw too slow to do the UFC circuit, but after watching your control, I am starting to wonder if I was thinking wrong. You don’t throw fast, but when you do you are a real breaker. UFC is constantly changing, I mean ten years ago no one could touch the Gracies, but now they get stomped like a cockroach if they don’t throw, that’s why two of them won’t go into the ring anymore. Hell, Shamrock was slow but he owned the ring. You might want to consider starting to play the game, lord knows you haven’t been hurt no matter the punishment in a year, at least.”

I chuckled, “No way. I’d make better money staying at Home Workshop. You know as well as I do that even the best of the best make less than six in the ring, and UFC still doesn’t do the kind of sponsorships boxing and even MMA pull.”

He nodded, “Yeah, but it’s not about the money.”

I shrugged, “I just got my feedback from school. It’s bad. Money is a real thing for me right now.”

He glared at me, “What do you mean?”

I sighed. “The pooch is waddling away, seriously pregnant. Between my injury time and...not being able to care about anything, UV has officially declared me persona non grata on campus.”

Jim let out a big sigh. “Oh god man, I am so sorry. I know you wanted to get into medicine. Hell, if the school thing is a bust, you might want to get into it even harder. You are young enough that you might even be able to land Pepsi or something to help pay the bills and find another school.”

I grinned at him, “They’d disqualify me for cheating.”

He narrowed his eyes and raised one eyebrow at the same time. “What do you mean, cheating?” He asked suspiciously.

I chuckled at him, “Well, considering that twice today perfect tens have hit on me, they’d claim I was seducing all the women in the audience, including the judge’s wives, with my perfect body. Probably seducing the judges too, if I won on points.”

He laughed, “Shit man, I thought you were going to tell me you were a meta or something. So I think Calliope there was seriously jamming on you, but who else?”

I shrugged, “Another girl.”

He started chuckling, “You mean Brandi? Dude, she’s cute, but not even close to a ten. Maybe a good strong 7, or even an eight if you are drunk.”

I shook my head. “You forget. Redhead fan. Redheads automatically get 3 free points. If Mama June were a natural redhead she’d be a four.”

Jim looked like he was going to be sick, and made gagging noises. “You redfans are so fucking weird. Still, based on that, if we get any more cute supers in here looking to train, I am sending them right to you so you can shower me with moist money.”

I chuckled, “You do realize that you only made about 800 bucks, right?”

I switched to free-weight bench presses, and Jim spotted for me while we talked. “How do you mean?” he asked curiously.

“120 bucks a month fee that you haven’t been charging me, times ten months.”

He shook his head. “Nonsense, young Flanagan. There are at least eight regulars that still come here because you spot for them. That’s why I said if you were cool you were free. Hell, if I could afford it, I’d hire you as a full-time trainer. Plus, you are decorative, I am betting at least half of the muscle bunnies come in here because you are part of the décor.”

I shook my head, “Dude, I am covered with freckles and look about as Irish as you can get without being drunk and wearing a soccer uniform while I kick in people’s heads."

Jim nodded, “Still, you are a draw. Hell, one guy comes in just to watch you work out. He said that if you ever taught a jazzercise or dance classes in the back, he’d pay to go.”

I widened my eyes at Jim. “You are totally fucking with me.”

He shook his shaggy head, “Not even a little bit. HE wanted to fuck with you though, flat out asked if you were gay, and if so, did you like black guys?”

I sighed. “Please tell me you didn’t mess with him and just told him I was straight.”

Jim smirked as he helped me put the bar back on the rail. “I don’t know. The way you ignore the Gym bunnies was starting to make me wonder, especially with the way they were throwing their asses at you.”

I sighed and shook my head. “Dude, dick move.” I didn’t want to tell him that since the accident I hadn’t been interested in anything, not even porn until I got into a fight with a girl that was NOT my type a few hours ago. Even Brandi, cute and doable as she was, didn't flick my switch. I had a sharp nose, and she just didn't smell like something I'd want. Not that she smelled bad or anything, just something was missing.

He shrugged, “I let him down gently, told him you were mourning your family. Totally the truth.”

I sighed and sponged off again, starting to clean the machines I used. I was going to abuse the hell out of Jim’s showers.

“And then I told him in a couple of months you might feel better, and only dated men with gigantic cocks.”

I laughed, “You are a total douchebag, dude.”

He nodded, “Yes. I know. Seriously, though. I don’t know what to suggest. I know, wise old fart, but in this case, I mean, yeah, you need to get back in the saddle, but a cape chick? Even if she doesn’t accidentally suck your dick till it comes off, Registered capes tend to have a whole host of people gunning for them. I mean, if you knew her mild-mannered alter ego, and were dating her, that’s a whole different story. Much less likely to be taken hostage by an angry rabbit with a robotic penis. But if you date the mask? Not only will your life basically be a big set of question marks, but if a supervillain catches you together you could find yourself as a giant cat toy in no time.”

I chuckled, “Jim, honestly, if I want to try CrossFit I will ask you first so you can kick my ass, prop my unconscious body up, and then violate me with a sledgehammer. If I am wondering about which martial art I need to learn to break up bar fights, you’d be the first on my list. If I ever need to break up with a girl, I will introduce you to her… hell, even knowing you were my friend would send any sane woman running.”

He nodded sagely, “Good point, good point.”

“But if I want dating advice, or gift advice, or even advice on how to make a woman scream my name without pointing me out to the police at the same time, you are definitely the absolute last person on my list I would ask for advice. I mean, you aren’t even on my list. I’d probably get better advice asking Kieran.”

Jim nodded, “Fair point. You probably should ask Kieran. God’s greatest Irony is that gay dudes tend to know more about chicks than straight guys that want to nail them. All I know is that tab 'A' goes into one of the wet spots, just about any wet spot will do.”

I nodded, heading to the showers, “The second greatest irony is that You of all people just said that.”

Jim grinned, “You betcha. If you ever decide to head to the dark side, just remember that you will be at the top of my list.”

I nodded, “Noted,” and I headed into the showers to get cleaned off. Despite all his bashing on Gym bunnies, he was one of the biggest of all.

I checked my account. Yep, Jim had made an eight thousand dollar deposit. Taxes were my problem. Despite not being particularly interested in girls, he knew hot ones when he saw them. I pulled my gym bag out of my car and then moved around the house to the back basement door, unlocking it and slipping inside when the automatic lights came on.

Fairfax was not a cheap place to live. It was where I grew up, but I considered again if I should just leave. Now that school was a total bust, and my family was gone, there was nothing left here but memories, especially memories of a rainbow-hued motherfucker that decided to use my mom’s car as a battering ram, while we were still inside of it.

I hated being a meta. It wasn’t just that my powers sucked, but it reminded me that if I had better powers, I could be exactly like that superhero monster that killed my mom and little brother. I appreciated Callie’s decision not to use powers on normals. Using superpowers on normal people, even if it was by accident, was pure and unremitting evil. Most metas were more physically fit and capable than normal people, and that was a little unfair, but then again Wilt Chamberlaine could use most normal-sized people as a basketball. That was just the normal sort of unfairness of life. Baselines, though, couldn’t defend themselves against a lightning bolt or someone using their rainbow telekinesis to hurl their car like a baseball. It was so far beyond unfair that it wasn’t even worth mentioning.

I sighed. Yes, I hated being a meta, but I hated the fact that my family was dead too, except for my older brother, and he might as well be dead. Hating it wasn’t going to change anything. I was a meta whether I liked it or not.

Fortunately, I had a little money now. I quickly transferred two thousand dollars to my school debt, because if they started prorating my account, they would take out huge chunks and add all sorts of extra charges that equaled, easily, ten times the debt. That was the big secret of school loans. Once you got one, unless you got a job like a lawyer or doctor that had huge returns, they pretty much owned your soul forever. Fortunately, before she died, my mom had paid a big chunk of my college debt herself. I could have used my inheritance to pay off the rest, but my older brother had gotten to the house before I even left the hospital, and miraculously produced a new will, the ink barely dry, that declared him the sole beneficiary of all her worldly goods.

If we had split the proceeds of the house, I could still have paid off my debt entire, but I had been living in it at the time, to save money for college. When I finally got out of the hospital, not only did I have a huge hospital debt, but the place was locked up and completely empty. All of my stuff, my comics, my books, thousands of dollars worth of warhammer miniatures, and even my school books had been sold. Knowing my brother, he was probably broke again already.

Proteus had paid off my hospital debt and given me a ten thousand dollar settlement. Ten grand to pay off the loss of my mom, and brother. A billion dollars wouldn’t bring them back. I would have turned it down if I didn’t have school debt looming over me, and when I found out that I had a power, I would be damned if I would register myself with those freaks.

Right now, I was very lucky. I only owed about eighty thousand more. For the first three years, I had done fairly well and had high hopes of becoming a surgeon with only 3-4 more years of specialized education. My last year, though, was two solid flunks in a row. I had the knowledge, hell, I generally had the knowledge of the entire course within a week of starting it except for the lab work, but that was the way I learned. There was no possible way in this universe I could scrape together enough for even a bachelor’s degree, let alone a master’s or a doctorate. With a master’s degree, I could become a specialist, but I had dreams of becoming a doctor that were now as dead as my family.

It was a good thing my brother didn’t know I had gotten that money from Calliope, or he would already be looking for a way to steal…

My phone started ringing.