Good, he was still on pace.
He wasn't worried about districts, but if he had any hope of making it past regionals and to states for track, he needed to put in the work. Alone it wasn't a problem, but when he threw in his SAT prep courses, homework, and volunteer work at St. Mulligan's Homeless Shelter… the hours after school just weren't enough.
Thankfully, Arcadia was a vocational school, and half of his school day was off campus at his internship, which was more than happy to let him use the time to catch up on his other work.
It probably had something to do with his name being on the building.
Did he feel bad about interning at his mom's company? Sort of. Some of his buddies actually had to apply to places, and that sucked. But his 'job' had been created with him in mind, so it wasn't like he was taking someone else's spot. It also didn't pay great at only 12 dollars an hour.
His watch beeped again, and he huffed as he lengthened his stride. Rounding the next corner, he eased up slightly but made sure to keep a slightly faster than normal pace to make up the lost time.
At least, he was pretty sure he was behind. Brockton Bay city blocks were not the most consistent when it came to length, and while he had used his phone to measure the distance before planning this route, he knew it wouldn't be exact.
He wouldn't encounter this problem if he just used the track at school, but he'd run it so many times during the team's regular practices that any more laps might drive him insane.
His mom was surprisingly okay with him going out in the city alone. And by that he meant he didn't tell her.
For someone who came home at 10pm every day, she worried way too much. He wasn't some out-of-towner and knew how things worked.
That was why he avoided the streets when Bakuda was out there snatching people. Now that she was on her way to the Birdcage, he was confident enough to stretch his legs again. On this part of town, that is.
The ABB, which had become a staple of the bay, was gone.
Poof.
And in only a matter of weeks.
It beggared belief. Every night, he checked his phone while in bed, expecting to see something about Lung escaping.
Nope. Not a peep.
That might sound like good news to someone not from around here — and it was. But in Brockton Bay, good news kept bad company
They couldn't have the "ABB Defeated" headline without also having the "Brockton Bay is Suffering" one. It was a non-negotiable buy one, get one.
Which explained why the natives started boarding up their windows the second the first one hit the papers.
Craig was only about 5 years old when Marquis had been captured, but foggy memories had their way of crawling out of his psyche. He could be taking a shower one day and then remember how he used to crawl into the tub with his mom whenever they heard shots.
He'd thought it was a game, and it wasn't until years later that he understood why she worked so hard to move them out of the docks.
It had been a smart call because history was repeating itself. With Lung and his cronies out of the picture, there were at least two, maybe three gangs carving up the north side of the city now. One of them was even led by Diet Simurgh.
The performance she put on at the local college had been confusing, but he wasn't falling for that relatively harmless act and was keeping to this side of the tracks.
Speaking of the devil, the song he had been listening to ended, and the opening chords of Bad Canary began playing. He'd been meaning to delete it from the playlist but kept forgetting to. His hand moved to his armband that secured his music player. He'd just pressed the skip button when there was a flash of grey in front of him.
Craig's chest hit the ground. He lay there for a split second before getting his hands under him and pushing himself up. Unsure of what was going on, but knowing being on the floor was a bad idea, he stood unsteadily.
He blinked. His vision was clear, and yet he was having trouble focusing on anything. His hands felt oddly tingly, and he looked down.
Red.
Blood.
His blood.
Fingers flexed, and he winced as his body finally registered the torn flesh, sending spikes of pain his way. He reflexively wiped them down on his shirt, deepening his sour expression as the salty sweat made the stinging worse. His sight traveled further down, and there was another jolt of pain as he noticed his bloody knee.
What had happened? He must have fallen somehow and gotten scraped up.
Crap.
Mom was going to kill him.
How had he even…
Realization hit him like a lightning bolt, and his head snapped to the side. There was a grey car, the same one that had almost run him over. It had hit the curb hard, flipping the vehicle. Smoke was spilling out of the crumpled hood.
The sounds came next: the yelling, the screaming, and the incessant honking of a horn.
It wasn't a long, drawn-out one, but a rapidly tapping one. As if someone were banging on it like their life depended on it.
The driver. Why hadn't they escaped yet? Shit! They must be trapped.
He took a step forward, only to come to a jerky halt, and he noticed he wasn't alone. There was a crowd on the sidewalk, taking pictures and videos.
That was a lot of people, and his urgency plummeted as he realized someone else would help the driver.
A second passed, then two. At the fifth, he began to get jittery.
When the tenth passed, he broke his silence.
"H–!" He couldn't hear his own voice over the incessant horn, and he did his best to raise it. "Hey! Someone help! There's someone still inside!"
Flashes went off, a few people looked away, and others screamed like he did.
No one moved forward.
What the hell? Why wasn't anyone doing anything?
Why wasn't he doing anything?
He tried to move his legs, but they were locked.
A flame flickered to life, poking out from the upturned car's bonnet.
Craig rounded the car, coming up on the driver's side. He wasn't even sure when his legs had started working again or when he'd begun moving — but he was here now, and he could see why no one had left the car.
The door was crumpled, and he could clearly see it was jammed shut. The cabin was filled with smoke, and all he heard were a woman's screams.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
That and the horn.
"Go through another door!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, holding his hands to his mouth to amplify his shout.
Craig reached for the back door. His fingers wrapped around the handle, and he heaved with all his might.
It didn't budge.
He went around the car, trying the other doors.
They were all sealed shut. The tomb wouldn't open.
"Help!" His voice felt hoarse, and he grew conscious of the fact that he hadn't stopped yelling the word. "Help!"
No one moved, and he ran back to the driver's side. A fist was banging on the window, and he got an idea.
"Move back!" He tried to instruct, swinging his foot back. "Watch out!"
He didn't give her more warning, acting before he could lose his nerve. His sneaker bounced off the window, and pain shot through his toes.
Craig gritted his teeth, reeling back the foot again and slamming the glass again.
A light caught his eye, and he watched as fire consumed the undercarriage. It traveled quickly, and a faint odor entered his nose.
The smell of smoke was prevalent, but underneath it was the scent of gasoline.
His mind connected what the following sequence of events would be, and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground again, curling into himself after throwing his body away from the soon-to-explode car.
Eyes were squeezed shut as he tried not to think about the woman he'd just abandoned. Craig couldn't do anything to save her. The most he could do was try to save himself.
He waited for the sound of an explosion. For the burning heat on his back.
Neither came, and his eyes peeled open.
Remaining on the floor, he twisted his neck.
What?
Craig turned onto his back and then sat up as he took in the tranquil street.
There was no screaming, there was no crowd, and there was no car.
The only sign anything had happened was the stinging of his various scrapes.
That and the horn that kept playing in his head.
"Shoot," Minion commented, snapping his fingers. "I thought for sure he would be the one."
The pair of them were sitting in the cloaked Megamobile. Minion was at the wheel while Megamind was jotting down the last of his notes. With a swipe of his pen, Craig Robertson was stricken from the list. It was a loss, but a minor one, given how many names he had available.
A little over six hundred candidates clicked on his survey link, and of those, two hundred had completed it. He was rounding that last number up in the spirit of optimism.
That was the minimum standard he had set. After all, a hero needed to be able to finish what they started.
Was it fair to those who had not received the link in the first place? He supposed not. However, he was already going the extra mile by personally administering these practical tests. It simply wasn't feasible to do the same for everyone within his selected age bracket.
Oh, sure, he could do it if pushed. However, the amount of time and effort to do that would necessitate taking certain sacrifices he was not willing to make.
Namely, that of eliminating his already limited free time.
Was that selfish?
Absolutely, and he relished the feeling.
"Someone's in a better mood," Minion said with a smirk. "See, I knew getting you out of the lair would do you some good." Megamind was about to correct his minion when he realized, yes, they were out here doing good. What else could you describe searching for the next great hero?
But it was for a bad reason!
Well, not actually…
Maybe he should make the test simulations more realistic? Cause some real chaos to balance the scales in his cold heart?
No.
That would taint the results.
Megamind had developed a number of trials to administer to potential candidates. They were mostly the classics. Saving an old woman from being run over, stopping a mugging, dashing into a burning apartment to rescue a litter of kittens—those sorts of things.
That last one was tough to simulate and involved not just Brain Bots equipped with holo projectors, but ones with heat and smoke emitters as well.
Despite the varying scenarios, they were all the same at their core. They required quick action and stalwart resolve.
That last boy had hesitated. To make matters worse, he fled in the end.
It was a decisive failure if he ever saw one. Still, it was better than the most common reaction, which was to freeze in place.
Megamind pulled up his watch, checking to see who was next. It was an Immaculate High student.
"What do you think, Minion? Shall we do another mugging?"
Minion drummed his fingers on the wheel in thought. His scrunched-up face turned into a brilliant smile, and he almost hopped up in his seat.
"Oh! I know! How about a purse snatching?"
It was more banal than a traditional mugging, but he could make it work.
A few hours and traumatized Brain Bots later, Megamind added self-restraint to the assessment.
Some of these children were animals.
The week had progressed with more names being crossed out. His impatience had grown, but it was stymied by his other major project.
Finding out how to replicate Parahuman powers.
Megamind had taken his work to the couch, sitting with his feet propped up on the coffee table. His laptop rested on his legs, and he used a trackball mouse by his side to leisurely sort through his existing data while keeping a watchful eye on the real-time data he was receiving.
The data was courtesy of Trainwreck, who was currently inspecting the teleportation pad.
DNA, as Megamind discovered, was not the way he was going to build the next Metro Man. Yes, he had analyzed the sample from Triumph and was confident in being able to bring his future hero a step above what normal humans were capable of.
However, the path to being a world-class hero was a long one, and a single step wouldn't do it.
To go the distance, he needed to understand more about a unique piece of biology not found in the humans of Metrocity.
The Corona Pollentia.
It was an aberration in the brain that almost all capes shared. Most of the exceptions to that rule came from Case 53s, but as his scans showed him, Trainwreck had a functioning one.
It was his working theory that this region of the brain was responsible for the expression of powers. It would explain why Triumph's DNA didn't have any hints as to what powered his sonic blast and why Canary's and Dinah's were completely baseline. That was discounting Canary's odd plumage, of course.
Trainwreck's own DNA sample was a complete mess, but Megamind was almost certain his body shape had nothing to do with the actual tinkering the man was capable of.
And so he'd pointed every scanner he could get his hands on toward that growth and waited. He could have taken a more active approach, but this was doubling up as downtime.
"Hey," the man whispered to him, beckoning him with a hand. The quietness was uncharacteristic, but he'd already been shushed by Minion twice. "Come over here."
Megamind set down the laptop, tiptoed around the couch, and approached Trainwreck. He'd half expected the man to pry the teleporter open and was prepared to allow it in the name of science.
Strangely, no alterations had been made. The only difference was a sack sitting in the middle of the pad.
"Yeah, can't make heads or tails of it," Trainwreck said uncaringly. "Power don't like it, I guess."
Megamind frowned, a thought coming to him. Powers did seem fairly arbitrary. Was it possible they had egos of their own? It seemed farfetched.
"Then what did you call me for?" Megamind asked skeptically, sensing something was amiss.
The yellow grin he received was telling, and the control tablet was shoved into his hands.
"Those look good to you?"
Megamind stared at the pad, raising an eyebrow. Trainwreck reached out, swiping the screen to bring up the feed from a surveillance bot.
Ah, that's what he meant.
He considered the proposal. It was juvenile and a complete misuse of his technology. That alone tempted him.
"And maybe I need to see it work to get the juices flowing," Trainwreck followed up after seeing his silence, tapping his pale head.
Perhaps. There were documented cases of tinkers being inspired after seeing powers in action, so a demonstration might be called for.
"What are we looking at?"
Megamind jumped and was promptly caught by Minion's arms, who he regarded with annoyance.
"Don't sneak up on me," he said while not pouting. "Weren't you watching your soaps?"
Minion gently lowered him to the ground and pointed at the TV.
"This is just a rerun, and it started going on the fritz again."
That was another mystery he was having trouble with. If there were more of him, he could tackle both problems at once. However, there was only room for one handsome blue supervillain in this world.
The interruptions themselves were a mild inconvenience, and he felt better about it after not being able to detect any bugs in the unit's software. There also hadn't been any signs that it was recording them.
"Switch it to Channel 5," Megamind instructed while making a few adjustments to the tablet. "I've already synced it with surveillance bot 43's live feed."
He passed it back to Trainwreck, who eagerly pressed the activation button. The pad behind them lit up.
Minion must have realized he was on a timer now, and his arm stretched out, pressing on the TV's built-in buttons to flip through the channels.
Once the number on the top right switched to five, an aerial view was displayed. It was night out, and on the street below, there was a crowd of people surrounding a car.
A man was standing on top of it. He was dressed in a trench coat and gas mask, and while he was currently acting as Krieg, his real name was James Fliescher.
The sack entered the frame, falling from a great height. It tumbled in the air, and by the time it was only a few feet above their heads, its contents had been set free.
Pounds of glitter poured over the group, dousing them in the shiny particles. Megamind watched as they slid off the primary target. It was an expected outcome; Krieg's power had partially been the motivation behind his kinetic-sensitive barrier.
Still, it didn't stop the rest of the group from their luminescent fate. They scrambled back, diving for cover for an assault that never came. Krieg didn't move from his position on the car. His head snapped back and forth as he tried to find the source of the attack.
Megamind had to wonder where Trainwreck even sourced the messy substance, but there was a more pressing question on his mind.
"Did it work?" Megamind asked, giving Trainwreck a side-eye.
The man blinked, seeming to be at a loss before emphatically nodding his head.
"Oh, yeah, sure. The ideas are just flooding in."
Somehow, he doubted that.
Megamind sighed and made his way back to the laptop when his watch beeped. Glancing at his wrist, he saw another survey had been filled. Pulling up the results, his eyebrow rose at the score.
It was on the higher end of things.
Intrigued, he delved into the answers themselves. His anticipation grew with each one before a single response sent it diving off a cliff.
This one could never be a hero.
"Another test?" Minion inquired. "Do we need to make a night run?"
Megamind shook his head, collapsing back on the couch.
"No need, we'll get him tomorrow."
It would be a quick test. Still, in the name of fairness, he'd get his shot. Even if that meant Megamind had to watch a child riddled with self-doubt fumble his way through a practical exam.
Theo Anders… that name was oddly familiar.
Wasn't that the same last name as Purity?
It must have been a common one.
- Late, again. Didn't get longer though, so small upside there.
- I know the corona doesn't give powers and only helps the cape regulate them. Megamind doesn't.
- A part of me considered having the opening sequence be Theo himself in the test. The reason I didn't is that the pacing felt off. It's a difficult thing to judge because I have to consider both the release schedule and how it reads if someone binges.