The Facility. Lebanon, Kansas. 2027.

“And Dylan, let me introduce you to the others. Here we have Terri. On her left is Brad who you already know. There’s Lucas, The Red Cardinal, Boy Beaver and at the end there’s Reuben and Effie Pruneau.”

Dylan Petersly flashed a perfect smile at the group and gave a fun salute gesture. “It’s a privilege to be here, everyone. I’ve heard and seen so much about you all and I look forward to working with y-”

“With all due respect, sweetie,” Effie interrupted sweetly, “but Rube and I won’t be first in line in working with a dancer at our rodeo.” She smiled so warmly, it was difficult for Dylan to work out if she was joking or not. “But welcome anyway,” she finished.

Dylan could only blankly stare at her before correcting her on his discipline. “Sorry, but I’m actually a gymnast.” Effie smiled, but her eyes didn’t match the warmth of it.

Terri leaned into Dylan and whispered loud enough for Effie to hear, “Don’t mind them. They er… march to a different beat.”

“Well, quite. Yes. Dylan is a gymnast, an incredibly gifted one at that and is capable of some amazing things that I know will serve us well in The Collective. We are lucky to have him,” declared Madam Secretary, regaining control of the meeting.

Dylan sat back and allowed the rest of the meeting to happen around him, a sense of overwhelmedness washing over him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t excited, but being sat in the same room (a highly classified US Government kind of room) with the very people he’d seen on the internet and TV that have something in common with him, was going to take some time getting used to. The human rock chick, the stretchy guy. A part-beaver-part-kid, a real life gun toting cow boy and girl duo and the masked anonymous bird man. And him. A fifteen year old child prodigy, world class gymnast with peak human flexibility, agility and accelerated muscle development and recovery. And don’t forget the difficult childhood, he reminded himself. What could go wrong?

***

San Diego. One week earlier.

“Three years ago man, I was in the same boat as you. I get it. People calling you special. Or gifted. Using the term ‘Enhanced Being’… It makes you feel good. But it’s got to feel right for you. Some of us are born into our strengths, some fall into them. But just because you have them doesn’t mean you have to do anything with them either. With The Collective, registering with us gives it all a purpose. It puts us on a path, bestows on us a responsibility. Are you up for that responsibility?”

Oh my God, Proten is talking to me about being like him! Be cool, be cool. Don’t say something stupid!

“Yeah,” was all Dylan could actually say.

Brad looked expectedly over at him, wondering if there was going to be more, but Dylan could only gaze back and blink, lost for words. “Boy, I give you that whole speech…” Brad muttered, trailing off as he stirred the straw in his drink.

Brad Jacobs-Brown, the man known for being able to stretch his entire body at will, had brought Dylan to a diner for a quick lunch to discuss a possible future for him with The Collective. Dylan had been on the radar of The Collective for a few years but it was only recently that they had reached out to him, identifying his as someone with a real gift, but with a lack of purpose.

“Look, I hate giving ‘the speech’. I feel a bit culty doing it, but it’s an opportunity we have for you to work with the Government, to put your strengths to good use against Enhanceds who maybe choose the wrong path. Or just threats to our national security and communities. It’s also an opportunity to be part of a team. A family. A weird one, which would have strange holiday cards if we did them. But a family nonetheless,” Brad explained, leaning back into the bench of the booth, resting his arms out on the top.

The young, impressionable fifteen year old looked down at his half eaten hot dog and considered the last part about family. Boy could he do with one of them right now.

***

The Petersly Residence. Three years earlier, 2024.

The knock on the door had woken twelve year old Dylan up. From his bedroom he could hear deep, muffled voices he didn’t recognise and then the voices of his parents. Dylan stayed silently still under his bedding, trying to work out the tone of the voices. Hearing his mother cry out caused him to stiffen with fear. His ears pricked and were alert. The strange deep voices got a bit louder. His mom was properly crying now and his dad was also sounding upset.

This scared Dylan, and with some courage, he crept out of bed and onto the landing. His barefoot tread was soft and silent, the voices now a lot clearer from his new vantage point. He rounded the corner to the top of the stairs and crouched down to see all the way downstairs. His mom was still crying out, dad telling her it would be ok. But he couldn’t see who the strange voices belonged to.

Standing up to be able to tip down the stairs to get a better look and listen, he clung to the bannister rail and edged down the stairs one by one. The sudden appearance of a police officer walking into the hallway with his mom in handcuffs caused Dylan to misjudge a step and sent him tumbling down the staircase, landing at the feet of the police officer taking her away.

Later in the Emergency Room, Dylan and his dad were waiting to be discharged. Dylan, now with a blue cast on his forearm, was sat stunned on the bed still in his sleepwear. His dad sat in a chair by his side and he was also in a state of shock. Dylan kept replaying what it was his dad had told him since being at the hospital.

“Mommy made a mistake, little guy. Last night she hurt some people with her car by accident and the police need her to be sorry and make up for hurting those people.”

In Dylan’s twelve year old mind, it was making a bit more sense. That morning he had to walk to school with dad instead of the usual drive in mom’s car. He had guessed that she was probably in bed having been drinking all night, so dad had to also be late for work. Before Dylan went to bed, he had also heard his parents arguing about her drinking and how they couldn’t afford to not have a car.

It wouldn’t be until a few years later and when he was older, that Dylan would find out that his mom had actually crashed her car into another car carrying a newlywed couple, on the way to their honeymoon. Killing them. She had driven off, knowing how steaming drunk she was, and hid the car in their garage. It was that night afterwards, when Dylan broke his wrist falling down the stairs, that the police and her own drinking had eventually caught up with her.

Three weeks after and to the doctor’s surprise, Dylan had his cast taken off. He and his dad threw themselves into their new routines. Dad was encouraging and pushing Dylan further with his gymnastics. It was a welcome release for him, but for his dad, it wasn’t enough to keep him from spiralling out of control. He had become depressed, had let Dylan make his own way to training. And to school. And to competitions. Through life.

His dad hit the casinos hard, spending all of his free time and money there. Fast forward a few months and they had lost the house. A mother in jail. A dad who had gambled the family home away. And a fifteen year old boy now with the chance to compete in the Olympics, achieving and succeeding just like his parents had in gymnastics. Back when everything was perfect.

***

Dylan looked up from his hotdog and at Brad. “Family sounds good to me, so I’m in. Now that I don’t have my gymnastics, I need a new focus.”

“Do you think you’ll miss it, the competing?” Brad asked, wanting to check he was 100% into it.

“Not competing, no. I achieved all that I could. Top of everything. It was almost too unfair to compete against others. We knew I had something special. Maybe it was just good genes from my parents who also both excelled in gymnastics. The Body would keep drug screening me and it got tiring having to keep prove myself. I was simply too good. The offer for the Olympics programme came at a good time but I just lost the thirst for it. Lost my competitive drive, you know?”

“Man, yeah I completely understand. It takes a special person to walk away from something they love and are good at, recognising the advantage you had over everyone else,” shared Brad. “But don’t lose hope altogether, Dylan. I’m sure there’s a way to compromise.”

***

Clestin College. 2028.

Day one of a new start. Dylan strode through the campus proudly in his packet fresh bottle green, personalised Clestin College tracksuit. He had been approached and offered a scholarship a year early, to learn there but also join and coach on the gymnastics team. It was a completely unique and unusual offer to get- a free education and a chance to teach and impart on a programme he was so passionate about… A difficult offer to refuse. Leaving his dad to his lowly existence and his mum to monthly prison visits, Dylan was able to start afresh.

A chime on his phone notified him of a text. It was Brad. GOOD LUCK TODAY BUDDY. LOOK FORWARD TO HEARING ALL ABOUT IT.

A fresh start, with his new family behind him all the way.

***

“So this is how it’s got to be?” Dylan leered as he moved.

“You’ll think twice before you cross me!”

Now, if you were a betting person, the huge Mount Hogon, who is a whole foot and a half taller than his opponent and with a body bursting with muscle, would look like he would wipe the floor with the leaner, smaller guy. But Dylan wasn’t afraid and he knew with certainty that he could run rings round the lumbering meat head. Neither slowed down as they came close to clashing. Hogon swung his truck of an arm and Dylan gracefully dodged it by leaping up and forward flipping over the mountain’s shoulders and landing behind him.

Dylan realised he wasn’t going to win this by throwing the hardest hits and certainly not against this guy, but his grace, speed and twistiness was going to be the thing that did. With every lumbering swing from Mount Hogon, Dylan was able to duck and dive, moving into the space around him. He was able to get in some hits of his own, performing competition perfect somersaults and backflips that ended with a swiftly executed blow from his hands and feet. Dylan had the stamina to go for longer than Hogon did, and the brute was tiring.

Dylan landed just short of a bedraggled Hogon, landing perfectly in a crouch. Seizing the moment and cashing in on the tired confusion, Dylan kicked his feet out and up, bringing them together just as they smacked into Hogon’s face. Dylan’s momentum carried on and as Mount Hogon stacked it backwards like a falling tree, he flipped himself over backwards in a full turn, coming to land on his feet. Mount Hogon crashed to the ground semi-conscious.

“And that,” Dylan said, not even out of breath, “is why they call me Flip.”

Coming up next week in the mid-season finale- Network #2, '‘Byting off more than you can chew: Part One’...

Lucas and Dylan work together to help the San Francisco Police Department solve a mysterious and brazen theft.