Délight's hand was waiting. Jack blinked once before he hastily maneuvered himself and his tray so he could take the girl’s hand. The long way she’d said her name was some crossroads between ‘delight’ and ‘daylight,’ albeit in an accent she didn’t otherwise have. “Jack Laker. Indeed a pleasure.”
Délight bobbed her head as she withdrew her hand. There was an innate visual ‘warmth’ to her, a joyfulness around her like an aura he was basking in. She might’ve glowed brighter; might’ve looked more beautiful. “You’re not sitting alone for breakfast, are you? I’ll invite you.” She gestured and flicked her dark eyes at a booth where two others were chatting amiably — a boy and a girl. She whistled, and they turned to look. Both smiled and waved, the boy with great gregariousness.
It was a bit hard for Jack not to agree — he almost just did so immediately. A pretty girl inviting him? An enchanting one? Would that happen every day?
Good thing she wasn’t pointing at an empty booth. Or should I say bad thing? Yeesh!
“Ah, well, no — I was invited by a friend already, actually,” Jack replied, trying not to wince as he smiled apologetically to her.
Délight only smiled graciously, however. Possibly playfully. Was he imagining it? “Another time, then. I don’t always come here. Perhaps we’ll see you at lunch.”
“Yeah. Ah, sure! I could do lunch. Well, my schedule is tight today, maybe tomorrow is better. The typical place, right? The, uh, one everyone goes to. Whatever it’s called, uh-”
“The central mess hall?” Délight had a slightly incredulous, amused expression on her face, her tone essentially, ‘You mean the obvious term brain-users know?’
Jack snapped his fingers and pointed, nodding. “Yeah. That. That’s the place we eat stuff.”
Délight snickered and studied him with a big smile. “I’ll catch you where we eat stuff tomorrow, then, Jack.” She slid her eyes from his and walked away.
Jack took a deep breath and made his way back to his own table — though not before grabbing some bread rolls.
He felt sweat on his forehead. In truth, it all felt bizarre for him. Uncanny. He’d spontaneously turned into a doofus. It was bizarre. He was a smooth operator, after all! Usually.
Right. Has to be some power. Is that… okay? Using something like that on me?
As soon as he sat down, Auger was watching him. “I saw that. What did she say? Come on, come on!”
Jack blew air out of his mouth and raised his eyebrows, shaking his head at the devil boy. He took a moment to sip some coffee as the boy waited in anticipation. “She invited me to her table. I declined. And then to lunch, I think.”
“See?! I told you: you’re popular! That’s Délight. She’s big. Mission-goer, already. Support missions — no blue coat, yet. Finishing up her time here. She always gets what she wants.”
“I bet. Think she used her powers on me.” Despite the conversation, he immediately crammed delicious eggy stuff in his mouth. Quiche. So good.
“Uh, if you mean you existed next to her existing, then yes. She can’t turn that stuff off. It’s who she is. Tied into the subconscious and emotions.” His voice tried to take on a lecturing tone, albeit a bit too saturated with child-like excitement. And spoiled by a dot of sauce on his nose. “She’s a Charmer, one of the few to ever be considered as a headliner for combat roles. Her powers are visually-based! Or maybe ‘eye-based’ since you can’t just close your eyes. She strikes right where everyone — or nearly everyone — interfaces with the world.”
Jack pondered it as he chewed and finally swallowed the last of the murdered quiche. Where did the rest go? His stomach was the only answer, amazingly enough. “Huh. So like an illusionist?”
“Mmm, kinda. But think more ‘delight’ than ‘light.’ Can you tell me what I might mean by that?” He raised his eyebrows in the obvious imitation of a teacher.
Jack deadpanned Auger at the ‘lesson.’ “Why don’t you just tell me?”
“Don’t be a spoiled sport! How can you learn without using your natural smarts, hmmmm?”
“I’m too busy stuffing my face.” Jack suited these words with a forkful of cheesy egg casserole.
Auger ‘tsked’ and shook his head in imperious disappointment.
Over a small cup he was slowly sipping, Inkblot offered, “Alchemical light. Mood manipulation dialed to eleven.”
Auger slapped the table and bared his teeth, glaring at Inkblot in indignation. “Don’t interrupt my discussion, chalkbrain!”
Inkblot didn’t even flinch. He shamelessly sipped his drink in its little cup.
“Yeah, makes sense,” Jack mused. “It has to be mind-altering to some degree. Like hypnotism? She’s not psychic, right?”
Inkblot’s brows furrowed, perhaps unsure whether to nod or shake his head — he might’ve been about to say something, but-
“No, she’s not psychic!” Auger said in a rush, and scooched closer, leaning over the table to draw Jack’s attention. His tail lashed around behind him. “Hypnotism is a reasonable comparison. Specialized to awe and, um… the ecstatic! Like drugs. Probably sex, too.”
“Auger,” Inkblot admonished darkly, dropping his cup to fully empower his warning glare.
“Whaaat?! Just telling the truth.”
“ ‘The truth’ is not an appropriate excuse for an inappropriate subject.”
Auger rolled his eyes. “Whatever. How much do you wanna bet Jack wants to make out with her and other nasty stuff? Huh, Jack?”
Jack chuckled and shook his head in incredulity. “So, is her beauty a lie, then?”
Inkblot shrugged. “I doubt anyone short of the Mother knows. Maybe not even her. Maybe she doesn’t remember the old child’s face. Even doesn’t want to. Because of their nature, her powers entrap her internally as much as the external.”
Auger was incredulous. “You’re really reaching! It’s not like you know her.”
His blank eyes turned to the devil boy. “I know the dark seeds at the beating heart of this club. We are the talents formed into jagged shapes. Dangerous but flawed.”
Auger dropped his eyes, frowning and picking at his food.
Jack turned his head around, as if he might catch sight of Délight, but she was blocked by innumerable rows of booth walls and heads. He gave up and turned back to his food, his appetite still fierce. The food was almost gone. After wolfing most of it down, he said, “It occurs to me, the way you put that, Inkblot — jagged shapes can fit together to make a stronger whole.”
Inkblot blinked for the first time Jack had seen. He nodded thoughtfully.
Auger thrust his fist up. “Teamwork!” If it was sarcasm, he had pulled off a surprisingly ambiguous display. “That’s exactly what Délight is focused on this late in her stay here, by the way. Months ago, a falling out happened, and her former teammate and boytoy moved on. Think he graduated, but it isn’t clear. Anyway, please tell me that you see where I’m going with this.”
“There’s no food on my fork,” Jack replied with a grin, “so yes. She’s interested in me as potentially filling a gap?”
“Boom, critical hit! Correct.”
“Oh boy. I am a piece of meat!”
“Huh? Oh. The boyfriend thing? Hahaha-rrrgh!” Auger giggled and groaned at the same time. He flopped backward and facepalmed. “Okay, seriously, I don’t know about that, though. She is mission-going, remember. Might have a boyfriend outside the club.”
“Or two,” Inkblot added significantly.
“Huh? Really?” He looked from Inkblot to Jack, as if to check whether he was being tricked. “They do that?!”
Jack held his hands up, laughing. “Alright, alright, let’s just drop this angle, guys. I was half joking. I say half because who knows what she is thinking, right? If she doesn’t know my powers, this is probably a big toss-up, anyway.”
“Well, it isn’t something to be secretive about, Junior Agent. You might go up against people in training, but that’s all to make each other better. Developing familiarity with as many as possible is ideal. You need that even more.”
“That’s true.” Jack wolfed down more grub, nearly finishing it off and feeling like he could eat another three or four trays. But he was probably going to call it. He needed to get going soon. “I’ll chat with her at lunch.”
Auger grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “Promise you won’t forget about me when you’re a superstar cooouple.”
“Who are you again?”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Auger punched him in the shoulder. “Auger! Don’t you forget it! Hmmph.” He turned his head and crossed his arms, chin raised. “You know, actually, I might be your commander in a few years, being the prodigy that I am. I’m a natural general, after all. So you might want to be nice to me.”
Inkblot sighed long-sufferingly. “I thought we talked about this false hubris of yours.”
“It isn’t false!”
Jack controlled his amusement long enough to nod respectfully to Auger just as he was stuffing the last piece of bread in his mouth and saying around it, “I’ll defunitely buh nice t’ya, Futur Generah Augah.”
Auger ‘tsked.’ “It’s not proper respect with your mouth full, you know. But I guess I’ll take it.”
Jack nodded sagely as he chewed, then washed it down with some coffee.
“Anyway,” Auger continued with an elbow propping his chin, “what about you and Lindsay?”
“What do you mean, what about me and Lindsay?”
“Did you make out yet?”
Jack burst out in incredulous laughter. “Dude, why are you painting me like some kind of playboy?!”
“Auger is always too preoccupied with irrelevant details,” Inkblot commented, “especially relational ones between others.”
“Shut up!” Auger exclaimed with a glare. “I’m not, Jack! I just assessed you had strong chemistry, as they say.”
“Who says?”
“Those dating shows talk about it all the time! It’s an intangible factor, yet remains an important point of data.”
Inkblot just closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.
“Look,” Jack said with the sweep of a hand, “I told you already: she sees me like a brother.”
“She must see you principally as a student,” Inkblot added. “A professional assignment. Romance would be a distraction and out of the question while training so intimately and regularly.”
Jack gestured emphatically at Inkblot while raising his eyebrows at Auger. “See? That.”
Auger frowned as he looked between them, blinking. Then he perked up and pointed a finger upward. “Aha! I get it! You’re gonna make out after graduating!”
Jack facepalmed. He stood up with his tray. “I gotta run. See you guys later.”
Auger hopped to the edge of the booth. “Breakfast tomorrow?” he asked hopefully. “Well, I know you’ll be busy. Too busy for visiting much after hours, probably. So.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “I dunno, are we gonna talk about my love life too early in the morning, again? Or I should say, my lack thereof?”
Augur’s ears drooped, then picked right back up. “No, no!” he promised, shaking his head emphatically. “You don’t like talking about it. Sorry. We won’t.” Hesitant eyes stared up expectantly.
Jack nodded. “Alright then. I’ll see you in the morning, if not before.” He also nodded to Inkblot. “Have a great day, yeah?”
Inkblot raised his little cup. “I’ll try. You too.”
As Jack wandered around trying to find where to dispose of his tray — Why is it so inobvious?! — Inkblot sent a Mem-text link request, which Jack promptly authorized.
It read,
As Jack checked a compass and turned himself entirely around to find the spot, he replied,
Momentarily, he found a small opening through the wall and a countertop, where thankfully, there were a few other trays to verify he had the right spot. He stacked his tray and exited the cafe.
Time to get the show on the road.
?? ?? ?? ?? ??
He went for another run through the park with Lindsay. An hour of alternating speeds, including a sprint just as before, racing each other. He lost again. She was ruthless about unfairly betting on herself again, too — probably to get him angry and motivated. The dessert debt accrued. He wondered what else he’d inevitably owe. Despite how he knew her ulterior motives, he also knew it was working. He was going to run his ass off. Run everywhere until he was faster!
Lindsay allowed only thirty minutes for some pretty boring, directed power practice. Nothing new, just nearly meditative ‘stretching’ in the direct intention of warming him up for later. A break was called far too soon for Jack’s liking, but when he sat down in the mess hall for an ‘early lunch’ and was confronted with another mini-smorgasbord of food, he quickly grew a new appreciation for such breaks.
Lindsay excused herself shortly thereafter and wished him luck with his Lindsay-less midday schedule, promising more power training at the end.
His personal trainer was a muscularly statuesque bald man chewing mint bubble gum, who went by the name of Mike Tower. He was not a powered Champion, but was a veteran Exemplar nonetheless, and understood the bodies of the Nonpareil better than they did — or so he claimed. Bubblegum-chewing temporarily paused, his other key claim was stated with the supremely serious, sincere stare only a personal trainer had when coming up with an otherwise ridiculous phrase out of the blue: “We’re gonna break those training wheels and get Jack jacked, ya hear me?”
Indeed, he did.
They hit the gym — a nearly private construct labeled ‘Tower Training Services’, nonetheless stacked with sleek, sophisticated equipment. So many motivational posters on the walls. One read, ‘Our Religion is Hydration: Make an Offering.’ There were a few other guys on treadmills, and another trainer-trainee duo doing some lifts. Mike brought Jack through his paces in an occasionally frightening experience, attacking every muscle of his body.
There was nothing comparable to a typical, mere mortal workout, because Mike knew exactly what Jack’s body could take. A lot, apparently. Pushed to the limits of strain, it then healed even as Jack lay exhausted in a puddle of flesh he thought would never rise again. But to the tune of the endless, energetic hype of the minty-breathed Mike Tower, to the ascendant state of ‘Feel the Burn,’ it did again and again, ready for more.
Muscles tore and rebuilt in hours as he chugged an endless supply of handed-off water and energy drinks. Could enough of them make a Non’s heart explode? The answer was an unequivocal ‘no,’ or his definitely would have. Instead, he felt gains in strength even as he worked. Benches, curls, suspension trainer exercises, roll outs, medicine ball slams, squats, leg extensions — Mike was like a kid showing off his toys. He slapped each machine or object as he introduced it and laughed like it was his pride and joy.
Rep, rep, rep, rep, rep… rep-rep-rep! More. He could go all day. Something in him started to want to, even.
But, ultimately, Mike called it after five straight hours of intensive training — almost certainly too long for homo sapiens, but ‘perfect’ for their Blessed brothers. Jack was not disabled by any means, but he was certainly exhausted and burning all over. Starving. He was advised to eat a bit, rest, eat again, and then do whatever he wanted other than weight-lifting. He could run in a matter of hours. He was also warned that the first few days were what Mike called the ‘cement’ stage. Lots of development in a short time, but after the cement was laid, the ‘sculpting’ stage would be quite a bit longer.
Jack went home to cram food in his mouth, take a magnificent shower, and then hit the bed with the intent to lie down for a little bit, but instead, he instantly passed out, like his body had just been waiting for the opportunity to entrap him.
He awoke to a chime in his head from Lindsay to wake up and get ready to train. Eat. He’d missed lunch, which was apparently expected. Just as he was getting dressed, bags and bags of hot food arrived at his door, including his final ‘special’ steak. After devouring enough sustenance for five people, Jack headed off for Power Park and his next training session. There was a slight ache in his muscles, but also a flagrant greater strength wrapping tightly around his bones, evidence that his bootcamp of a lifting session had accomplished gains.
Lindsay was all business right off, ready and waiting to instruct him. They began with the same regimen as the day before, creating clouds and flows of memorite, then pushing, lifting, and throwing objects. Attempting to make tendrils out of loose ‘cords’ to minimal success. Still, he was better at it all thanks to the Control stat boost, and his training made him a little better still. When he stretched himself to form his desired ‘sphere,’ he was a little closer to the goal — the cloud was smaller; the shape held a little more definition. Meanwhile, his assessed GIFT percentage pushed up to 30%.
On to Lindsay’s Demonstration Center in the virtual mindscape arena, to work with ‘Jill.’ They focused entirely on ‘cord work,’ making strong metal cords and wrapping around pillars, ensnaring moving targets, tossing up the ground, and so on. On one occasion, an intensely focused Instructor Jill chattering on and on didn’t foresee Jack’s sudden shift into an ambush, and he wrapped a massive metal tentacle around her waist and legs and lifted her up, to her sudden yelp.
“Gotcha,” Jack declared smugly in victory.
Jill glared at him from above for a moment. She then sighed, propped her chin with a fist and elbow on the tentacle, and replied, “Okay, fine, you got me. Using my own power — simulating your power — against me. Great job. Now put me down and let’s focus on what we’re doing, okay?!” She drummed her fingers impatiently.
He indeed let her down, and they shifted to making blades and clubs on the ends of cords and swinging/jabbing them around. He aced it. This led to accuracy training against stationary targets that Jack had no trouble with, and then big wooden mannequins as moving targets. He quickly aced it all.
But then Jill created fast, small mannequin targets — these acrobats were a different story. They dodged, dove, and somersaulted away under her expertise, over and over and over, enough that Jack was sweating in frustration even though he was in a hallucinatory realm. Miss, miss, miss!
Jill teased him ruthlessly. “Tsk, tsk, so much single-mindedneeess! It’s like tunnel vision. So easy to avoid.”
Jack glared at her, but he forced himself to calm internally and consider her words more carefully. She wants me to multitask. Leverage my advantages. He formed four separate tendrils with blades on the end and launched them at a mannequin. Two swept in, slashing and stabbing, going for broke to spear or slice the little figure apart. Miss, miss, miss-miss-miss. It dodged every strike as it evaded.
Where it moved, the two other metal tendril-blades waited, the others having steered it into a trap even as they kept attacking. The mannequin adjusted quickly, leaping for a gap at great speed…
Jack shifted his control of the metal, linking the four tendrils suddenly, their combined mass in the vicinity of the mannequin now extensive. He split them all into a matrix: a net. The mannequin had nowhere to go and was caught. Jack collapsed the knot completely, making multitudes of blades and swiftly shredding the mannequin into many pieces.
Jack yelled wordlessly in glee as he thrust a fist up in victory. He laughed and pointed at the shredded remains. “Got your little ass, motherfragger! Hahaha!”
Clapping. He turned to see Jill beaming at him. “Nicely done, Jack. Remember the control you have over things, the versatility. Your powers aren’t a virtual combatant made to play with others on their terms, on their playing field. See them as pawns on your board, you the chessmaster, reaching in and manipulating. That is how a Controller dominates.”
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