This simulation was unlike any that I had experienced before. I was plunged into a deep ocean. The sudden shock of the cold water subsided as I surveyed my surroundings. The depths below me were pitch black I glanced upwards and saw ribbons of dancing light. It was beautiful and strangely serene…for a fleeting moment.
KA-PLOOSH!
A massive shaft of metal crashed into the waters. I scrambled to get out of the way as it descended into the dark abyss, nearly taking me with it. The currents near me were churned as it sank. Other bits of metal fell afterward. They were pieces of twisted plating and servos. It soon became clear what this all was. It was an airliner. The fuselage was slipping away from my sight, absorbed by the blackness.
A burst of air escaped my lungs as a terrible thought crossed my mind. Surely some of the passengers onboard were still alive, trapped in their seats as they were led to their watery graves. My mission was clear: reach the civilians before it was too late.
All of my thoughts were concentrated on this goal. “I must not fail! I must not fail!” I repeated to myself over and over again. The ribbons of light kissed my hands. Their energy was absorbed by my body. My cells were rejuvenated, forgoing the need for oxygen. Hopefully, my muscles could propel me through the water in time. With each passing second, my target was sinking further and further away.
My hands dug through the currents like I was burrowing into soil. If I could, I would’ve pushed the entire ocean out of my way to reach the airliner. As I forced myself down into the depths, I created a plan of action in my head. What would I do when I reached the plane? Suddenly, page 170 of “Daring Deeds” sprang to my mind. “For any rescue, have a route. Have an exit in mind and use it to safely transport civilians out of the danger zone. But it’s most important to not trap yourself in the danger zone.”
Creating a large opening in the side of the fuselage would allow me to easily free as many civilians as I could without locking myself inside a sinking cage. Once outside the plane, the main obstacle would be to bring the civilians to the surface as quickly as possible. It was a simple plan, but the real questions were how to create an opening and how to rise to the surface immediately. If only I could harness my powers like I did nine months ago. With that amount of energy, I could accomplish both tasks. Perhaps when I reached the outer hull of the plane I would get in the zone…somehow.
The muscles and sinews in my arms and legs were burning like white-hot cords of iron. I was slowly, but surely, nearing the sinking plane. It helped that the airliner was pulling me down with it. In just a few more seconds I would touch the outside of the plane. Almost there. Made it! Gripping onto a lip of metal, I tried to manifest my powers. Besides increasing my speed and stamina, my strength was not enough to tear open the fuselage.
Time was running out. The water around me was growing darker and darker. Despite my best efforts, I could not pry apart the sheets of metal, nor channel thermal energy into my hands. All I could do was continue and pray for a miracle. No miracles occurred. The longer I persisted the more fatigued I became. Energy was radiating out of me and my muscles grew lax. My grip weakened.
Alas, my struggle was all in vain. My fingers, of their own accord, released the plane from my grasp. I watched it disappear, leaving behind streams of rising bubbles. Pausing, I listened to the echoing sounds of creaking metal rise from the deep. Once again, I had failed.
Just when my lungs began to burn the simulation ended. The ocean vanished, leaving me in the middle of the empty Arena, gasping for air. Johnny Fox appeared before me in a flash.
“Well,” he began, trying to think of the right words to say, “You understand that these tests are meant to challenge you, right? We need to see where your limitations are so that we might push you past them.” He placed his fists on his hips and spoke to me in a stern tone. “So before you start beating yourself up again, don’t!” I slowly rose from the ground, realizing that my training uniform was not soaked at all. Yet, I still felt the need to dry myself off.
“So, what exactly is expected of me at my debut?” I asked.
“Not sure,” said Fox, “They haven’t told me yet. The big wigs over at Allegiant TV and the DAA usually like to play their cards close to the vest. ‘Loose lips sink ships’ and all that jazz.”
“Why the secrecy?”
“There are a lot of weirdos out there,” said Fox, “Renegade sympathizers, even here at D.C. Can’t be too careful. But, we just need to get you prepared for anything. Most likely, you’ll be making an appearance during the halftime show at the Ultradome. They bring you out, you show off your powers a bit, and then you leave. Easy peasy. At least that’s what I think it’ll be. Hopefully, Armstrong doesn’t expect you to pull a plane out of the ocean anytime soon!” I chuckled, but I was hiding a stinging jolt of anxiety. What if they really were expecting me to do that? Suddenly, Fox’s communicator watch started beeping. He glanced at the message.
“Well, speak of the greasy-haired devil,” he said with a crooked smile, “Seems like Clint Armstrong is arriving soon.”
Minute-Man and I exited the Arena and moved to the observation windows. From our vantage point, we could easily see the Potomac River, the skyline of Washington, D.C., and the perimeter surrounding Allegiant HQ. Our facility was located on Columbia Island, a stone’s throw away from the Pentagon and Arlington Cemetery. Memorial Bridge stretched out before us. A motorcade was proceeding towards our entrance, flanked by dozens of police and Ultraguards. It was Armstrong and his entourage.
Since Commander’s death, barricades had been placed along the sides of the bridge, and for good reason. Hundreds of protesters congregated behind them, jeering and cursing at the armored vehicles as they drove by. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it didn’t take a very colorful imagination to guess what it was. Most were dressed in black or gray and wearing masks. In their hand, they held crudely made signs and banners. Some read, “Allegiant equals Gestapo”, “Commander was a fascist!”, and “Renegade liberation now!”. A few random signs had an “X” roughly scribbled on them. Amidst the crowds were stuffed effigies of Commander, Minute-Man, and Lieutenant Lonestar hanging from nooses. A few were set on fire and smoldering. My blood boiled at the sight of it all. Disgusting.
Several protesters hurled rocks and garbage at the passing vehicles. They were immediately apprehended by the authorities. Scuffles began to break out between the crowd and the police. From where I stood, I could see a handful of officers fending off countless attackers with their batons. Those men needed help! Minute-Man could sense that I was vibrating with agitation, so he put his hand on my shoulder.
“Easy now, kiddo,” he said, “This isn’t our fight. Leave this mess to the police and the Ultraguard. It’s their job to handle stuff like this.”
“And we handle the big stuff, right?” I asked. Fox nodded. The thought didn’t sit right with me. If riots like this were considered small stuff, I shuddered to think what the big stuff would be like.
Eventually, Armstrong’s motorcade arrived. The vehicles passed through the massive steel doors and were free from the harassment of the protesters. I was brought to the antechamber of Allegiant HQ to greet Armstrong. With me were Johnny Fox, Will Washington, and a few handlers. Will’s posture was straightened as if he were about to meet his superior officer. I took notice and tried copying him. Johnny, on the other hand, had less decorum and stood with his arms folded across his chest.
The doors before us opened wide and in marched Clint Armstrong accompanied by his small army of attendants and assistants. Strange. I had met him once before when I first arrived in D.C. He seemed so tall back then. Now, he seemed short and unimpressive.
“Next time, we’re taking the helicopter,” said Armstrong, his voice echoing through the marble halls of Allegiant HQ, “It’s more scenic and not as much roadside trash!” He extended his hand to Will, who was still standing at attention. “At ease, soldier,” he said, clasping Will’s hand.
“Colonel,” said Will. I turned to Fox and mouthed “Colonel” inquisitively. Fox shrugged and accepted Clint’s handshake. Then Armstrong settled himself in front of me.
“Hello again, Ms. Cruz,” he said, “It’s always an honor to see our newest Allegiant.”
“Pleased to see you too, Mr. Armstrong, sir,” I said awkwardly, still trying to keep my back straight. He shook my hand and studied me from head to toe. I blushed.
“The nation is eager to finally get acquainted with the famous Mystery Girl from Miami,” he said, “Are you ready to introduce yourself to the American public?”
“I think-” I stopped myself. My answer needed more confidence. “Yes sir. I’m ready.”
“Good!” he said. He motioned to his entourage. “We’re eager to see what you’re capable of too.” A gulp crept down my throat. He pointed to the Arena and we all followed suit. As we marched down the halls of Allegiant HQ, I started to sweat profusely. This was it.
Armstrong and company gathered in the observation deck above the Arena. I stood alone at the base of the dome, waiting in an agonizing silence for my first trials to begin. I prayed silently and tried to stop my hands from trembling. Then I heard a booming voice from above.
“We are ready to begin, Ms. Cruz,” said Armstrong. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and then held it in place for a moment before slowly releasing it.
The simulation began. To my delight, we were starting with my first trials. These were simple tasks: avoiding incoming debris, repelling basic attacks, and traversing meager hurdles. Rather than creating a realistic environment, the simulation depicted simple blocky shapes and vectors. Next, we moved on to level two trials. These were a bit more challenging. A civilian waited for me at the end of an obstacle course. There were pitfalls, monkey bars, swinging ropes, and non-lethal hazards along the way. I overcame these quite easily and rescued the civilians each time without failure. By this point, my confidence was boosted.
Level three trials were combat-based. Holographic opponents appeared all around me. Some were brandishing weapons like sticks, pipes, or daggers. The first attacker lunged at me with a punch. I blocked it and countered with a round kick to the head. The second tried a running jump sidekick. I grabbed his leg and spun him around before slamming him against the floor. The remaining foes struck all at once. With some quick maneuvering and footwork, I was able to overcome them all in a matter of seconds. The opponents vanished, leaving me alone, breathing heavily and grinning. Perhaps this would go well after all.
Then the level four trials began. The simulation became more life-like. The environment was a bustling highway. Cars were beginning to careen into one another. One rolled towards me, but I managed to duck out of the way. I leaped over another with ease. A truck collided with a jeep and sent it my way. I channeled all the energy I could into my arms and legs. My plan was to stop it in place using my enhanced strength. Unfortunately, I was too slow and the jeep slammed against me, sending me tumbling back several yards. Flustered, I looked up at the observation deck, wondering if Armstrong and company were disappointed by that.
The simulation ended and a level five trial began. This one was very familiar.
“Help us! Please!” cried the little boy.
“Save us!” said the little girl.
Oh no. Not this one. Anything but this one. I sighed and prepared myself for the challenge. I began sprinting towards the children, absorbing as much energy as I could along the way. My eyes darted left and right, anticipating some falling debris or some low-lying obstacle. However, my race was halted by an unexpected hazard.
An entire section of the skyscraper crumbled and fell before me. The earthquake had completely removed it like a slice of bread, creating a gap a hundred feet in length. Miraculously, the other half of the building was still standing. The children were waiting on the other side. But how in the world would I reach them?
The judgmental eyes of the observers above were upon me. I could feel their gaze as I faltered, trying to think of what to do. After pacing in front of the chasm for a good while, I moved back several steps. My only choice was to jump like I did before. But that gap was nowhere near as large as this one. Still, it was all I could do. All of my thoughts were focused on this task. I must not fail. I must not fail.
Heat from the environment was transformed into biochemical energy. My powers were manifesting. It wasn’t the zone, but it was close enough. Would it be enough for me to traverse this gap? In a matter of seconds, I would find out.
My legs propelled me forward. The edge of the building drew closer and closer. An empty expanse was below me as I vaulted over the ravine. This was the farthest that I had ever jumped. But, it wasn’t nearly enough. The sense of weightlessness left me and I fell abruptly. That descent seemed to last an eternity. I had failed once again. I had failed in front of Clint Armstrong.
WHAM! A concrete floor cushioned my fall. The simulation had placed me back on the brink of the gap. They wanted me to try again. Surely they couldn’t be serious! There was no way for me to cross that gap. Were they wanting to torture me? But, I remembered what Minute-Man told me. Perhaps they wanted to test my limits.
Like before, I took a moment to harness as much energy as I could then ran with all my might. And like before, I plummeted down the ravine. The simulation reset. Third try. Third failure. Fourth try. Fourth failure. With each attempt, I got a bit closer. My fingers stretched out towards the children as if to grab them, but it was no use. I fell over and over and over again.
By the seventh attempt, the simulation came to a sudden end. There were no words of acknowledgment from the observation deck—just silence. Eventually, I was told to vacate the Arena and wait for further instructions. That did not bode well with me.
In my quarters, I waited for what my next assignment would be. No communications appeared on my computer monitor. The lights were flickering above me, no doubt due to my anxiety. To expel some of my excess energy, I decided to go for a stroll through the halls of Allegiant HQ. There was no use sitting around for nothing.
Down the corridor from me were muffled voices. They were familiar. As I approached, they became clear. It was Will Washington and Clint Armstrong. From the sounds of it, it wasn’t a friendly conversation. I stood out of sight and listened to their exchange.
“You promised me the next Commander, Lieutenant!” said Armstrong.
“In nine months?” said Will, “Nine months is far too short a time for this level of training. One year…minimum. Maybe two.”
“And like I said before, we don’t have that kind of time,” said Clint, “The country needs its next Allegiant.”
“If you send that girl out there she will be eaten alive!” said Will, “You think the American people need to see that?” Clint growled and slammed his hand against the window. It was eerie to hear Armstrong act in such a way. His cool, calculated words and calm demeanor were completely gone.
“I don’t get it!” said Clint, “Why can’t she use her powers? She did it before. She was strong, she was radiant…she was iconic! Now she can’t even jump over a ravine for crying out loud!”
“She has come far,” began Will, “but if you want her to be an effective member of the team, you need to postpone her debut.”
“That’s not an option at this point, Will. You may think nine months is too short but it has been a very, very long amount of time.” Clint paused as he paced back and forth in front of the windows. “Nine months…nine months of riots, civil unrest, global tensions. And it’s only getting worse. Surely you know better than most. These aren’t just renegades anymore. They’re revolutionaries. And this ‘X’ they keep mentioning, my sources tell me he may not be an urban legend after all. Of course, you probably figured that out already.” Will did not respond. “We need to counter this ‘X’ with our own legend, one that the public can see in action.”
“She’s not ready, sir,” said Will, “And even if she were, there’s no guarantee that she’d survive her first mission.” There was a long pause as both men mulled over each other’s words. Then Clint spoke, his voice sounding more enthused.
“If you can get her back to how she was in Miami, shining like an angel of vengeance, then Allegiant TV can handle it from there.”
“You’re not suggesting-” began Will, but his sentence was interrupted. Perhaps Armstrong nodded or put his hand on his shoulder or gave him a meaningful look. “No. You know my position on that, sir.”
“I’m not thrilled about it either, Will,” said Armstrong, “But it might do the trick. The arrangements can easily be made.”
“It’s dishonest. Not to mention risky.”
“You swore an oath to defend this country by any means necessary,” said Clint, “As a soldier, you must uphold that oath…and so must I.” Will sighed.
“And what would Adam think of this?” he asked.
“Adam would agree with me,” said Clint, “He was a man of honor. He understood what had to be done for the greater good.”
Quietly, I crept away. I couldn’t stomach any more of their conversation. Another word would set me off. Besides, my body was already buzzing with energy. The gym would be a good place to let off some steam. At that time of the day, it ought to be empty and I could be left to my thoughts.
Alone, I practiced my martial arts forms. They were a good method of channeling my energy. In particular, I tried converting electrical and biochemical energy into thermal bursts. Having a long-range attack would prove useful out in the field. At least, that’s what one of my textbooks said. The aim was to fire a projectile at the nearby training dummy. My cells tingled as the energy was converted, causing my palms to glow red hot. Unfortunately, I was unable to conjure thermal bursts, no matter how hard I tried or how loud I groaned. The dummy remained in place, completely unharmed. I tried again. Upon each attempt, voices could be heard in the back of my mind.
“You promised me the next Commander, Lieutenant!”
“If you send that girl out there she will be eaten alive!”
“These aren’t just renegades anymore. They’re revolutionaries.”
Their words haunted me; tormented me. For a moment, I imagined the training dummy to be Clint Armstrong. His smirking face was begging to be struck. Still, nothing happened. Then I pictured it as one of the masked protesters from earlier that day. Again, no bursts of energy. Lastly, the dummy transformed into the image of Malacoda. His arms were outstretched proudly, challenging me to attack. I couldn’t muster a single spark. I struck at the dummy repeatedly with my palms, crying aloud.
“Don’t hurt yourself, kiddo,” said Fox, appearing from nowhere as he always did. I ignored him. He drew closer as I continued my training. It must’ve been apparent that my entire aura was emanating with negative energy. “If it’s any consolation, I thought you did pretty well today.”
“And what about that greasy-haired devil?” I seethed, “Did he think I did pretty well?”
“Ah,” said Fox “I see you’ve met the real Clint Armstrong. Didn’t take long for his mask to slip, did it? I’m sorry about him.”
“No. I’m sorry,” I said, my anger boiling over, “I’m sorry I can’t get in the zone. I’m sorry I can’t live up to Commander’s legacy. I’m sorry I’m going to disappoint everyone in the world in a few days! I’m sorry people are going to die because of me!”
“Calm down, will ‘ya?” said Fox. At this point, I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to. The rage was pouring out of me like tears.
“Why? I heard what Armstrong said. Nine months of training and what do I have to show for it? Nothing! People are counting on me. People are dying out there! Good, innocent people. Officers today were hurt by the protesters! My parents were almost killed by the renegades and they’re out there running amuck! And there’s nothing I can do to stop them!”
I turned and punched once more at the dummy. Fox stepped back suddenly, looking perplexed. His reaction confused me. At the far end of the gym was the training dummy, half-burned and smoldering. Fox’s jaw was still agape. A sudden rush of excitement came over me, giving me tunnel vision. Could it be possible?
“Did…did I do that?” I asked. Fox nodded without saying a word. I looked down at my palms. They were still glowing red. Eager to try it once more, I focused my sights on a second training dummy. With a clenched fist, I redirected all energy into my arm and swung it at the air. A blazing ball of white fire launched outwards, striking the target and vaporizing it. Fox started laughing in delight. All the while, I was breathing heavily, still fueled by a burning rage coursing through my veins.
Then something even more strange happened. My feet weren’t touching the ground. Somehow, I was floating. It wasn’t too high in the air, but it was enough to catch Johnny’s attention. He clapped his hands in celebration.
“I don’t want to rush to conclusions,” said Fox, “But I think you’re in the zone!”
“Really?” I said, “How is that possible? I thought we tried recreating every emotion from the night I first used my powers.” Fox contemplated on this for a while as I continued to float before him. He then snapped his fingers.
“That’s it!” said Fox, “It wasn’t desperation or fear that triggered your powers. It was anger.”
“Anger?” I said.
“But not just anger,” continued Fox, “A pure anger. Anger motivated by justice. Righteous indignation.”
“Righteous indignation?” I repeated softly to myself.
“Turns out your trigger is a very specific emotion. But, thank goodness we found it!”
“Yeah,” I said, “Thank goodness.”
Flight. Energy projectiles. Who knew what else I was capable of now that I could enter the zone? What I did know for certain was that being in the zone felt amazing. It was a wild and liberating sensation. No challenge seemed impossible. No opponent seemed too daunting. The only thing left to be done was to pass my final trials in the Arena. Once Armstrong and Washington saw me in action, they would recognize that Cassandra Cruz could be the next Commander. Perhaps I really could make a difference. Maybe I could save lives.
But, what I was looking forward to the most was bringing the renegades to justice. The Imps, the sympathizers, “X”: they would soon feel the wrath of my righteous indignation.
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