Hyperbowl, Whateley Academy

The Survival course evaluation from their Baffin Island excursion had been a mix of harsh criticisms and complements for unique solutions to formidable situations, resulting eventually in a favourable outcome: Northern Lites as a whole was excited to have passed the semester. However, a cabal of instructors was going to review the video provided to assess if individual marks matched the team effort to determine if combat finals would be needed.

As it was, yesterday after arriving back at Whateley, and enjoying a hearty meal in Crystal Hall, everyone decided that a nice long hot soak was warranted down in the team’s spa, they’d cranked up the hot tubs to get the cold out of their bones.

Today, classes had been grueling, as teachers pushed each member of Northern Lites to make up for lost time while off playing games. So, now, most of Northern Lites sat at the tables in the cafeteria area at Hyperbowl doing homework, misery loves company as the saying goes.

Cameron was puzzling over his long-standing assignment from Chemistry, he was to combine differing elements to see what resulted: the translucent Aluminum he’d concocted previously was novel, but that been theorized for ages, he’d upgraded his dorm rooms windows a while ago with the material.

Lynn had been struggling with calculus and sat with her arms folded, huffing about when would she every use this in real life. Rho had calmed her down and was helping Lynn work through the problem that had stymied the Were.

Rachelle had been tutoring Charlotte at another table, but came over and sat beside Cameron, she gave a cursory look at Cameron’s project, raising her eyebrows when the chunk of material in front of Cameron burst into flames.

“Is it supposed to do that?” she asked.

“Maybe?” It wasn’t much of a reassurance, but new things always came with surprises. Cameron was having fun, but he let the compound burn out rather than extinguish it to see what it did. “Something on your mind?”

“I wanted to talk to you about those four guys that visited us up on Baffin Island.”

The topic caused Lynn to curtail her math exercises to join them, as she sat at the table she added: “There’s something going on we need to address.”

Cameron looked at them both with a growing degree of curiosity, to then agree: “All right, good idea. I’ve been wondering about them myself. It was too odd to be circumstantial.”

“Exactly. They had orders to arrest you, but when you showed that letter, it took the wind out of their sails. But deciding to shoot at you – at us, it was unwarranted,” summarized Rachelle.

Cameron nodded in agreement: “A touch extreme to be sure. It was their body language that worried me; aggressive, and assertive, a bad combination.”

“The guy with the camcorder; Johnathan, he had no premonition that that was going to happen. He knew the others had a burning hated for mutants, he’d already asked for a transfer – twice, but he hadn’t considered they would resort to trying to kill us.” Revealed Rachelle, she’d sensed much psychically during the exchange.

Cameron voiced a concern: “Had you determined if they would’ve gone after all of us, had their guns worked?”

Rachelle didn’t skip a beat. “Definitely, and Johnathan as well. He would’ve been blamed for the whole thing. As it was, they wouldn’t trust Johnathan with a gun in the first place – they didn’t want mutants to be armed.”

“So those three? Are they Humanity First?” Lynn’s question stunned her companions, it was a worthwhile question but considering who asked it – it seemed inappropriate coming from the Precog.
“What?” Lynn balked, “I can tell you the when and how, not the why.”

“Fair enough” assured Cameron, turning to Rachelle in case she had more information to impart.

“No, they just hate mutants,” explained Rach. “They feel inadequate, believing that mutants are taking over. Disgruntled that the military is putting too-much emphasis on mutants, leaving normals behind as lowly grunts instead of being the elite.”

Perspicacious continued: “Mutations have skewed the potential. The high school football star is just an average joe in comparison to an Exemplar now. Of course there is going to be animosity. But that is no excuse to resort to murder.”

Lynn added her two-cents worth: “History is rife with examples of bigotry, hate anybody different than you, anyone who looks, sounds, or lives outside your established circle is ostracized and targeted.” As a Were she knew too well the results of being an outcast.

“Again, it’s no excuse for murder,” ruminated Cameron, to then add: “It’s sad that hatred is a learned condition, man’s not born that way.” Looking across the table, Cameron asked Rachelle: “In your Psychic course, have you discussed what the precursors to violence are? Is there a way to stop hatred?”

“The root is all environmental” started Rach. “If a parent is hateful the child picks it up as quickly as language and the cycle continues. It’s a disease that easily infects. A person only stops hate with conscientious effort to break the chain.”

“No magic pill that suppresses the urge?” Lynn said it in jest, but it carried a poignance.

Rachelle shook her head as she spoke: “Oh sure, but the person becomes a vegetable, and you’d have to gas the whole planet because everyone hates everybody else – nobody has a monopoly on hatred, at least it seems that way. Some day’s it sucks to hear other people’s thoughts.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask you to read someone disposed to violence.” Confessed Cameron, seeing how it effected his friend.

“I appreciate that, but I’m trying to protect my family, and friends. To do that, I need to know who means them harm, and those three had evil intentions. I’m glad you stymied them.” Revealed Rachelle.

“It should never have come to that.” Claimed Cameron.

“Not so.” Interrupted Lynn. “If not those three, then somebody else. We’re at the cusp of a new arms race; nations are beginning to gather empowered individuals. The face of war is changing, and they want us to be the weapons of mass destruction.”

“Is that why the military is hellbent on conscripting me?” mused Cameron.

“Afraid so” cautioned Lynn. “Not just you, Parliament is debating conscripting all who mutate in Canada.”

“After the MCO decimated mutant numbers, Canada has few mutants remaining to fill the ranks,” reasoned Cameron. “A perfect example of the blind leading the blind.”

“You should talk.” Teased Lynn, bumping Cameron's shoulder.

“It’s a truth, one bad decision leads into another. It’ll mean governments need to segregate mutants from the general population. The MCO wins and Humanity First gets to sow discontent,” mused Cameron. “Why did I even bother,” he muttered reflecting on his past battles.

“Because you believed in humankind, you offered hope to people – people like me, my brother and sister. We had few options – no choices really, until you opened a door and let some light shine in,” encouraged Rachelle.

“Exactly,” supported Lynn. “You shouldn’t expect those who you’ve given a black eye to will just roll up and wilt away. Their going to rise up, again and again, until the will to fight has been entirely extinguished or no life is left in them. Should that happen through reason; as you’ve tried to do, or by might, you need to be prepared for either eventuality.”

Cameron sat in silence as Lynn’s words rattled around in his brain, this wasn’t idle talk -it was premonition, he finally spoke: “I’m not authorized to kill, that’s a judgement reserved by God. I can, however, try to appeal to reason, and hope an intervention like what happened with the Brotherhood of the Shard isn’t necessary.”

The Tunnels

Cameron entered the small space he’d rented to function as an office, and the second secret entrance to Northern Lites clubhouse in the tunnels underneath Whateley. The outer door had been tampered with, so it came as no surprise to find his office had been robbed.

Not that anything important had been taken, just that most everything had been tossed in a search for something worth stealing. Notably the safe on the far wall had it’s covering picture cast aside, and the safes surface marred from attempts to force it open.

Lynn stood back and surveyed the room, that it wasn’t neat and orderly said things weren’t right, Cameron never left a mess – intentionally.

Cameron did a walk around, the damage done to the office was minimal, overturned furniture and hanging pictures left off kilter. The false safe having drawn all the attention, a pry bar had been used on it, leaving gouges in the metal surface. To his thinking, it just didn’t warrant reporting the intrusion, besides no fingerprints had been left.

Cameron and Lynn righted the furniture and straightened the pictures before his appointment showed up: Razorback. The kid had mutated into what looked like a raptor – a fierce looking dinosaur.

Cameron mentioned to Lynn that he’d ask Werx to install a security system later for the office, as a greater deterrent to prevent the entrance to Hyperbowl being discovered.

Razorback knocked before entering, the large reptilian had to duck to squeeze through the door but gave a friendly wave once inside. Behind him came Jericho, not too great a surprise, the two were inseparable: like peanut butter and jam.

Cameron motioned for Razorback to have a seat in the examination chair in the main rooms center. The dinosaur straddled the chair to hold out his hand, showing four teeth resting in his palm.

“Tried biting more than you could chew again I see,” commented Cameron.

Razorback made some whimpering sounds and gestured at the enormous size of whatever he’d bit onto.

Jericho provided colour commentary: “The goof tried to rip into a titanium hardshell construct during a sim.”

Razorback huffed, then snorted, it was at either being called a goof – or saying he’d tried, when in fact, he’d completely obliterated that sim construct into no less than four pieces.

“I’m sure,” concurred Cameron. “Let me take a look” was directed, resulting in Razorback tipping back his head and opening his mouth to display a mouthful of sharp teeth – minus a couple.

“Hold still” requested Cameron, the missing teeth dissipated from being held in Razorbacks hand to reform in a blue swirl inside Razorback’s mouth. “You cracked three others,” informed Cameron as the blue swirl expanded. “Shall I give you a full cleaning to remove any plaque and polish them up as well?”

Razorback considered the question, to then nod agreement, opening his mouth even wider.

It took less than five minutes all told, and Cameron gave Razorback a handheld mirror to inspect the work done, he admired his gleaming pearly white teeth, without any gaps, chirping a sound of happiness.

“You’re welcome,” affirmed Cameron.

Razorback squeaked a couple sounds and used his hands to question what the bill came to.

“No charge, just remember to refrain from chewing on things that might not taste good – like me for example,” said Cameron, giving the dinosaur a pat on his shoulder.

Razorback barked a laugh, and hopped off the chair, for Jericho to slid on in discomfort.

“Teeth?” asked Cameron.

“My back,” informed Jericho. “I twisted it, I can barely bend.”

“Oh, I see. You’ve got a couple displaced vertebrae. I can pop them into place, but the surrounding muscles are inflamed. Take a long hot soak, then take it easy for a couple days but do some gentle stretches to keep in limber.”

“Thanks,” said Jerico when Cameron motioned for him to get up.

Before the two could leave Cameron asked: “The offer still stands, if The Outcasts would be willing to do a joint emergency training session with Northern Lites?”

Razorback nodded his assent, but Jericho interceded to say he’d ask his teammates if they would be willing. Both teams were on the Search and Rescue track and avoided combat training, so I was a possibility.

After the two Outcasts left, Cameron closed his office door out into the tunnel, to then open the secret door into Hyperbowl through which Lynn and he exited.

Today was a holiday – in the States anyway: Thanksgiving, so no classes. The majority of Whateley’s students had gone home to gorge on turkey with family over an extended weekend without school. Those left behind either couldn’t make the trip home, didn’t have a home to go to, or didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving: like the Canadians, not in November anyways.

Northen Lites had planned a bowling tournament, but with Rhododendron going home to spend time with her family – taking Tricia with her, and Max busy writing letters, they fell short on enough players.

Still they could make a couple teams and have some fun.

Rachelle and Charlotte were already at Hyperbowl, they’d been making some snacks in the café. Butterscotch Gems were a simple treat but a classic, and as they cooked in the oven the sweet and salty smell was enticing.

Tim and Debbie were working in her workshop, Werx had come up with some new additions for Tim’s uniform, some braces to give him more support and a means to prevent tripwires from severing a leg or arm when at speed.

Cameron went behind the drinks counter and began mixing up some orange whips. Tim arrived to show off his new suit replete with new black knee, ankle, elbow and wrist reinforcements, and a pair of gloves that looked similar to hockey gloves. All intended to prevent injury when Swift ran at top speed.

Tim let them know Werx would be a while yet, she had some tinkering to finish. They had just sat down and begun munched on the still warm treats and began sorting out who would be on which bowling team when Cameron’s Special Investigations satellite phone rang.

Cameron answered it: “Outlook here.” The thing hardly ever rang when he was at school, so he was curious as to what it meant.

“Cameron, oh thank heavens.” It was Ken Tallman, Bossman had assigned him as SI’s second in command, help was needed to run things after oversight of the MCO had been added to the boss’ plate. “We have an active shooter situation at a high school in Moncton, New Brunswick.”

“Why is SI getting the call?”

“A woman, dressed all in white, floated into the school. Smith confirmed the report off the school’s security camera’s.”

“Was she alone?”

“No, two others, dressed in trench coats followed her in, they appear to have multiple firearms and body armour.”

“Any word on powers? Ratings?”

“Nothing yet, Smith will keep looking.”

“How soon can Leap get here?”

“He’s waiting for a ‘Go’, if you’re able to help.”

“Give us two minutes and come to my location.” Advised Cameron, he hadn’t asked but the concern written on his friends faces said all he needed to know. “Suit up, if you’re coming with.” Was all that Cameron had to say in way of an invitation.

The teleporting jump from New Hampshire to Moncton was quick. Leap brought them out a short distance across the parking lot away from the school’s main entrance. They arrived in the midst of two RCMP cruisers, that Leap was in RCMP uniform lessoned the shock of the sudden appearance.

Camerons asked Smith over Com: “Any updates?”

“It’s bizarre, everybody is just sitting there, nobody’s running around – it’s like they’re in a trance.” Replied Smith.

“A Mage’s trance, or a Psychic’s block,” mused Cameron. “Perspicacious, everyone inside is motionless. Can you sense why?”

“She’s a powerful telepath, the people are mesmerized into a mental state that keeps them stationary, like their watching TV and can’t shift their attention.”

“How far does the effect go?”

“The whole school is under her control.”

“Dandy. So, to even get close we need to block her.”

“I think I can protect my brother and sister, we have a strong bond. I doubt I can extend any sort of interference beyond them I’m afraid. Not with any certainty.”

“Okay, good to know,” asserted Cameron. “I can see that the woman is floating up in the central staircase, I’d guess the height lets her cast a wider net, and I’m supposing telekinesis is what lets her fly. One gunman is positioned at the main floor’s corridors intersection, the other gunman is in the gymnasium. Both have high powered rifles and at least two handguns each.”

“How do you want to handle this Outlook?” sought Ken over Com.

“Can you protect your brother and sister, if they are apart?”

“I think so, why?”

“I need them on different fronts. But first; Lynn, lets try walking up close to the school, see if the telepathy affects us."

Rachelle walked with the couple, as they approached the schools exterior Cameron started to waiver and couldn’t focus, his mental shields didn’t withstand telepathy the same with psychic attacks – a different side of the spectrum. Rachelle also complained of a headache. The proverbial line in the sand had been determined.

Lynn, for her part, suffered no ill effects, her mind too busy to be affected. She helped the others to get distanced and regain clear thoughts.

“Our problem is three-fold” explained Cameron as they formed a huddle around him. “The telepath needs to be neutralized, then the gunmen get taken out, we’ll have a very short window before people start panicking. Excelle; since she’s flying and out of everyone else’s reach – that’s your assignment. Swift, you’ve got the gunman in the gym. Aware, you have the gunman in the corridor, it won’t be easy to take her by surprise.

“Her?” questioned Lynn.

“They’re all female,” claimed Cameron, yet another anomaly they faced for a tense situation. “Any communication from them? Do we know what they want?”

“No,” responded Ken. “there’s no rhyme or reason for this standoff.”

“I’ll find an opening to get Aware inside. Then take Swift down to the Gym to open a door. Perspicacious, on your signal, everybody moves.”

From a safe distance Outlook dissipated a window into a classroom on the main floor, before leaving Lynn grabbed Cameron forcefully and kissed him.

“Should I be worried?” asked a surprised yet concerned Cameron.

“No. But I wanted to say I appreciate your faith in me, trusting me, letting me face danger on my own.” Confided Lynn.

“It’s not easy for me to ask this of you, but you are more than capable, and I do trust you - just, be safe.” Cameron’s nerves showed in the waiver of his voice as he spoke the words.

Lynn gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. In housecat form Aware slipped into the building, the classroom was filled with students, but nobody moved, they just started off into space without noticing her.

On the backside of the school, Swift and Outlook found an emergency exit for the gym, staying back a safe distance they waited for the signal.

Charlotte rose into the air behind the trees that lines the school’s perimeter. She faced the school’s main entrance with the central staircase just to the side. She could see the outline of the woman through the windows on the third floor.

Perspicacious gave the commend, and Excelle straightened out as streamlined as possible to build up as much speed as she could. She smashed through the windows creating a huge noise in the otherwise quiet school. Charlotte grabbed the floating telekinetic / telepath but the scruff of her white suits collar and waist belt, driving her forward.

The woman didn’t even have time to utter a scream before her body was pushed forcefully through a cinderblock wall – face first, then another, and finally out the exterior wall on the buildings far side.

Excelle dropped the unconscious woman at the policeman’s feet.

On the signal, Outlook disappeared the locked and chained emergency door, leaving a wide-open doorway for Swift. Fully charged, Tim ran into the gymnasium, he quickly disarmed the gunman – gungirl, whichever. The semi-automatic rifle was torn out of her grasp, breaking a couple fingers in the process, to also be relieved of her pistols, without a single shot being fired.

As armour clad girl stood in complete disbelief, Swift wrapped her up tight in a thick tug-o-war rope he’d found in a storage bin. The girl was entirely engulfed by the rope wrapped around her like a python capturing its prey, when she tried to move, she became unbalanced and fell over, she even bounced slightly when hitting the gyms wood floor.

Lynn had stayed in her housecat form, creeping silently to the rooms entrance that faced out into the corridor. A quick peek around the door detailed the situation; she was forty feet away from the gunman standing at the corridor’s intersection.

Two corridors met at the corner of an L, where the gunman alternated looking down each corridor, her position provided a clear line of sight down both lengths of hallway. Lockers lined the hallway giving little cover, and bright lights illuminated the distance Lynn needed to cover. Stealth wasn’t going to be much use under these conditions.

A frontal attack was the best option.

Shifting to human, Lynn waited for the signal. When the mental alert from Perspicacious was given, Lynn stepped into the corridor, exposing herself, walking with a measured pace toward the gunman.
In response the startled gunman began firing her rifle, single shots began to assail the Were.

With seemingly minor effort, simple twists and turns of her body prevented any bullet from hitting its intended target, Aware evaded each shot with graceful precision, her fluid movements happening mere seconds before a bullet could make contact.

The closer Aware got, the more exaggerated her movements became, she started to flex in ways impossible for a mere human, but for the feline Were getting special training in Were fighting techniques, possible needed new definitions.

Lynn bent, jumped, rolled, and spun at speeds the eye couldn’t follow, aided by her precognition which kept her a step ahead of the gunman’s aim.

Aware closed the distance separating them, the hallway was riddled with bullet holes, but none had landed even close to her. Lynn came up from sliding the last couple feet on the polished floor, to land a single punch on the gun wielding girl’s jaw. There was a loud crack, and the girl slumped unconscious into Aware’s arms.

The school’s three assailants had been brought outside to be handed over to the local police, the resolution to the crisis had happened so fast media hadn’t arrived on the scene yet.

Cameron walked the school’s halls, fixing broken windows, repairing damaged walls, and filling bullet holes. If the security cameras hadn’t caught the action, you wouldn’t know anything had happened. Students started milling about in a state of confusion, but fortunately no-one was hurt – from the school that is.

Outside, the local RCMP had called in medical services, and arrested the perpetrators, but the white clad woman remained immobile, strapped down on an ambulance’s gurney. Cameron returned from the school, removing his glasses as the restrained woman stirred.

“Who are you? Why did you attack a school?” asked Outlook.

The woman looked around her with unfocused eyes, when Outlook snapped his fingers, it drew her attention onto him, and she saw the golden eyes.

“I am Apollonia, goddess of festivals and beauty.”

In a hushed voice, Excelle whispered: “With that face, she’ll be called Alpo now.”

Cameron bit his tongue; the woman’s face was messed up, being used as a battering ram - although effective, might have been a touch excessive. Excelle would need some more training. Still, the question as to why the attack remained unanswered.

“Why did you attack a school?”

“Canadians are a bunch of idiots and act all superior about it. They don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving – the ungrateful louts.”

“Canada does celebrate Thanksgiving; it’s a time of gratitude for a bountiful harvest. It just happens to occur in October – not November, since our fall comes earlier in the year.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Apollinia, settling back into the stretchers pillow as she got loaded into the ambulance.

Cameron shook his head in disbelief, there’s no accounting for crazy.

“Come on, let’s head back to Whateley,” suggested Cameron. “I believe turkey is on the menu for dinner tonight.”

99 Arena, Whateley Academy

Tricia walked down the ramp to the underground entrance of 99 arena, her already gloomy attitude wasn’t dispelled by the cave like appearance, the set of double doors she approached looking like the gates to hell, or at least what an artists rendering of what hell would be like, for that matter – Whateley’s gated entrance fit the bill too.

She walked the hallway, passing closed doors along the way, to be met by Cameron leaning against on opened door frame, his smile was warm – even friendly, he showed no trepidation of what was to become of them.

“Morning Passport” he called out to Tricia.

‘Ugh’ codenames, what a bother. But privacy comes at a cost. Tricia was never sure when personal names and codenames were to be used, at least Cameron had given her a heads-up with his greeting.

“Hi Outlook,” she replied, her dourness evident in her speech.

“Cheer up, I found out which obstacle course we’ve been given.”

“Oh, joy.” Her voice had a ring of sarcasm laced with defeatism.

“Honestly, this is gonna be fun.” Spouted Cameron, Tricia didn’t know if he was being serious or just trying to improve her mood. “Really. It’s called ‘Locked Room’, I’ve heard about these, people pay good money to have an adventure like this.”

“Uh huh.” Doubt seeped through her comment, said tongue in cheek.

“It’s pretty easy, you go into a room, find a clue to open the door to go to the next room.”

“Right, and Whateley is going to make it that simple?” Tricia knew Cameron meant well, but sometimes a clouds silver lining is the shine off a well sharpened blade.

“It wouldn’t be much of an obstacle course if you didn’t have to work for it. Don’t fret, we’ve got this.”

“Not according to the odds we’ve been given. What were you thinking: five against two?”

“Winning or losing isn’t as important as you imagine, what other people think means nothing. Doing the best you can so you can feel good about what you’ve accomplished – that’s what’s important.”

“Can we just get this over with?” was Tricia’s reply, she was tense, and scared, and ready to scream bloody murder or cry her eyes out – whichever came first. Life wasn’t fair.

“We just need to be briefed, then we’re ready to go.” Confided Cameron, he directed her to a chair and closed the door behind them, then sat beside her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“What if we lose? I don’t have any money to build a church.”

“Don’t worry about it. Focus on the who and why, this is where we need to be, and the when is now. What comes - will be dealt with later.”

“But …?”

“No buts, a butt is the remains of a cigarette that’s all burned up, I’m nowhere close to being finished,” Cameron exuded positivity, it was positively infuriating. However, he kept at it: “I don’t know where the expression comes from, but it sounds right: ‘Let’s kick this pig’, and some butts while we’re at it.”

As pep talks went, it wasn’t one for the ages, but it did bring a smile – a small, barely visible uplifting of the muscles around the mouth, so it helped.

The briefing was brief, it was as Cameron had explained, each room required answering questions – knowledge based; it’s a school after all. Passage to the next room would be physically taxing, hence the obstacle in obstacle course. In all, seven rooms would need to be completed for the run to finish. The team with the most points claimed victory.

Tricia and Cameron were told to stand by a door, a red light above the door said to wait, the door would open on green to start the race.

A green light and the door opened; Tricia allowed Cameron to go in first. The room they entered wasn’t large, just a couple steps to the opposite side where the next door awaited.

The whole arena was recessed down below ground level. Above them, Tricia could see what looked like stadium seating with people seated in clusters, all of them looking at her, entertained by her misery.

Then she heard Charlotte’s voice yelling: “Northern Lights shine!” it wasn’t that inspiring of a chant, but it reinforced Tricia’s resolve to at least try.

Above the door was the same red and green lights as before. However, beside the door was a computer screen, which had text displaying a question: ‘The world is divided into four hemispheres: North, South, East, and West. Which nation exists in each hemisphere?’

“Geography, I’m no good at geography” exclaimed Tricia. However, she recalled in her History class the saying: ‘the sun never sets on the British Empire.’ So that was what she postulated as the answer, to then ask? “What-do-ya think?”

“Most of the places that made up the British Empire are their own country’s now. Same with France, Germany, and Holland. The question specifically uses the word ‘exists’.” Ruminated Cameron, to then add: “So, I’m gonna say Kiribati, it sits on the International Dateline and the Equator.”

“What if we get it wrong?”

“I’m guessing the door doesn’t open” remarked Cameron as he typed in the answer.

The red light switched to green with a horn making a short blast. Then the door swung open, revealing a rock-climbing wall. The twenty-five-foot-high flat surface had assorted knobs affixed at random spots and distances; the floor at least had foam padding. Looking up above the wall Tricia could see a single door on the upper level, it had a red light glowing.

Cameron made an audible gulp.

“Let me guess, you don’t like heights?” sought Tricia of Cameron, who just kept looking up.

“Yep, not gonna lie. I’m afraid of heights.”

“Then its not altogether unexpected that Whateley would throw at us whatever we fear. Are you gonna be okay?”

“Give me a minute, I’m trying to plan a route up.”

Stepping up near the wall and grabbing a handhold, Cameron asked: “If I go first, can you stay close behind me – in case I freeze up?”

“Fer sure.”

Cameron climbed with some difficulty; Tricia found that some of the handholds you could grasp firmly in your hand while others required purchase with just your fingertips. Getting to the top wasn’t simply going straight up either, at places you needed to go sideways to find suitable handholds.

Tricia found that speaking to Cameron while they climbed, assuring him of her location, made it so he didn’t need to look down at her. At times Cameron stayed motionless with his eyes closed, those breaks didn’t last long and then he was climbing again. Nearing the top they heard a horn blow; the Holy Rollers had finished a room.

The route they took had a short section of wall extend above the platform so you could swing your legs up onto the floor. Cameron breathed a sigh of relief when he rolled onto the raised platforms floor, Tricia followed his lead for them to then lay there panting from the exertion it took.

“You good?” was Tricia’s question to her teammate, once she’d gotten to her knees.

“Can we not do that again?” begged Cameron, as he looked up at the ceiling high above them.

“No promises,” confided the girl.

“Did you notice the scoreboard up there?” questioned Cameron.

Tricia hadn’t, she moved to sitting to be able to check out what was above them. The scoreboard was divided into two, one portion for each team. The information displayed showed where there were situated in the course – as in, how many rooms they’d completed. Under Northern Lites it listed who they were:

Outlook: a) Powers: N/A, b) Classification: N/A, c) Status: Active.
Passport: a) Powers: Mage, b) Classification: Unknown, c) Status: Active.

For the Holy Rollers, the board said they were also into the second room, their display read:

Sanctuary: a) Powers: Exemplar, b) Classification: Level 3, c) Status: Active.
Crusader: a) Powers: Exemplar, b) Classification: Level 4, c) Status: Disqualified.
Spellbinder: a) Powers: Mage, b) Classification: Level 3, c) Status: Active
Choir: a) Powers: Siren, b) Classification: Level 2, c) Status: Active
Smitten: a) Powers: Energizer, b) Classification: Level 2, c) Status: Active.

“Why would one of them be disqualified?”

“Sorry, what, I was laughing cause I think the guys name is Smitter.”

“I asked why someone would be disqualified?”

“I think it’s because there’s a provision that if you get a question wrong, you can forfeit a team member as a pass into the next room.”

“Let’s not resort to that, okay?” expressed Tricia, worried that Cameron would drop her at first chance.

“Deal” was her teammates assurance.

Approaching the lit door, the panel asked: ‘What famous document was proclaimed by King John in June 1215 AD?’

“I know this one” delighted Tricia. “The Magna Charter.”

“I think your right, but believe it’s called a Carta.”

“Sure, whatever. Just type it in already and let’s get going.”

The light turned green, and the horn sounded, resulting in the door swinging open. The duo stepped into a long corridor with many doors along its length. A light indicated which door they were to proceed to.

“Why the hallway?” sought Tricia, why not have them enter directly into the room.

“My guess is this way they can mix up who is in what room. They don’t want two teams in the same room at the same time.”

They could enter the next room without having to answer a question, they entered to walk onto a narrow catwalk that spanned the rooms width, another door was at the other end of the catwalk but had no light. However, across the room separated by a chasm, was another catwalk and it was over there that they saw a red lighted door.

“It’s nearly thirty feet across to the other side” advised Cameron. “No jumping over that” he further commented.

“How do we get across? Fly?"

“No, from the looks of it, blocks are raised up to create stepping stones.”

“So, how do we get them to rise?”

“Likely by answering questions” revealed Cameron, stepped up to the display panel. “Math” he said with disgust: “They do love their math.”

‘Convert 0.6667 into a fraction?’

“Basic enough” commented Cameron, as he entered 2/3.

A block five-foot square rose up to met them, it didn’t touch the catwalk they stood on, leaving a two-foot gap between it and the catwalk, as well as being offset from the space in the railing by half the blocks width.

“Oh, this just keeps getting better” snarked Tricia. “Next question?”

‘What is the area of a right triangle, with a length of eight feet, and a width of six feet?’ a figure of the described triangle joined the text on the screen.

Tricia recalled: “The formula for a triangle is length times width times one half”

“Your sure?”

“Of course I’m not sure, but I’m taking two math courses this term, and they’ve been hammering this stuff into me.”

“Okay, okay. I’m just asking. All right, so 8 times 6 is 48 times 0.5 equals 24 square feet.

Another block rose up again separated by two feet and once more offset to the last.

“What’s next?”

‘What is 113 times 3 minus 85 divided by 12 plus 37?’

“Fifty-eight” answered Cameron.

‘You just did that in your head, no calculator or scratch pad?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Fine, type it in then.”

A third block settled into place, the positioning stuck to the theme of being offset and apart.

“Don’t keep me waiting, what’s the next question?”

‘How many gallons are in 952 litres?’

A horn sounded, interrupting their train of thought.

“The Rollers have moved onto another room” concluded Tricia. To then get back on track: “How many litres are in a gallon?”

“They didn’t specify US or Imperial gallons.”

“There’s a difference?”

“There’s 3.785 litres in a US gallon, 4.546 litres in an Imperial.”

“Okay, why? And how do you know that?”

“I’m taking a Civil Engineering course. As to why, American merchants decided to sell less product at the same price to increase profit.”

“Right then, so which answer do we give?”

“How about both, we can’t help that the question wasn’t specific.”

“What’s the answer then?”

“Gimme a sec. 952 divided by 3.785 equals 251.5 US gallons, and 952 divided by 4.546 equals 209.4 Imperial gallons. Wow, imagine being shorted 42 gallons, no wonder they called them ‘damn Yankee’s’.” concluded Cameron.

“Hey, I resemble that remark.”

The answer was entered as discussed, there was an extended pause – no doubt as someone needed to check the dual amounts provided. But sure enough, a fourth block rose up to fill in the last big gap.

“You go first” suggested Cameron. Tricia didn’t disagree. She lined herself up to make the first leap, two feet isn’t the biggest of jumps to make but due to the angle of the block it needed to be done properly.

Tricia’s jump was good, she landed successfully on the block and the block remained solid under foot, so she then moved to the far corner for Cameron to join her. Cameron’s jump was also good so they could now get ready for the next block.

Tricia made it across but looked down after her landing, there was netting strung below, but it was at least a ten foot drop. You may not die if you missed, but it wouldn’t be pretty. Cameron joined her on the second block – halfway through now.

The third block was no problem for Tricia, but Cameron flubbed his landing, sprawling out over the five-foot square surface, his legs dangling over the edge. Tricia grabbed onto him, and helped pull him back onto the block.

Cameron sat cross-legged for a moment to gain his composure. Tricia gave him the time he needed, before she leapt to the last block. This block rolled beneath her feet and tilted a few degrees making it harder to stay on. Tricia quickly jumped to the catwalk while still having some balance to make the final distance.

Tricia called out a warning to Cameron: “The last block moves, get off quick.”

Cameron nodded his understanding and sized up what he needed to do. He took the couple of steps on his current block to get a little speed, his jump getting him near the last blocks middle, to then spring forward head-first to cross the last hurdle.

Cameron didn’t even try to land on his feet, rather he spun in midair to then land on his back onto the catwalk. It was a risky move; he could have easily been hurt. Looking down at him Tricia was worried he’d broken something, Cameron for his part smiled at her saying: “We did it!”

After helping him to his feet, Tricia walked up to the red-light door, it had another panel, and a waiting question. “Wasn’t that enough?” she complained.

“What’s it say?” Cameron asked.

‘Define Pi (3.142)?’

Tricia boggled at the question, to then spout out: “Whadda they mean, define Pi, Pi is 3.142, why give us the answer?”

“You need to use Pi to figure out the area of a circle, and volume of a cylinder. I think they want us to tell them why Pi is 3.142,” reasoned Cameron.

“I’m still struggling to make the calculations, I don’t know why Pi works, only that it’s what we use.”

“Fair enough, but Pi is a circles circumference divided by its diameter. Equaling 3.142 when rounded, otherwise it goes on endlessly.”

“Does it always come out to 3.142, no matter the circles size?”

“That would be an interesting experiment for later.”

“Okay, you better type what you said in.”

Once Cameron hit enter, the horn blew, and the light changed to a flashing green. The door didn’t open though, so they we’re wondering what was up, but shortly thereafter the door opened for them.

“Why the delay?” pondered Tricia.

“I’d say the other team was transitioning just then, we had to wait for the corridor to clear.”

At that, Tricia looked up at the scoreboard, another Holy Rollers member was listed as disqualified, they were down to three but now onto their fourth room, just like her and Cameron. They didn’t have far to go in the corridor to the next lit door.

Walking into the narrow room, on the room side at the center was what looked like an entrance into a revolving door. As with most revolving doors this was partitioned into four sections, with each section being no larger than holding two people – if they were friendly that is. In the center of the revolving door stood a pedestal that could be touched from each section, but the shared opening was so small it wasn’t possible to get to another section.

Looking at the revolving door, Cameron asked: “Do we share a compartment, or take one each?”

Tricia bit her bottom lip, the last thing she want was for them to be separated. “Let’s stay together.”

At that they both climbed into a single section.

The pedestal held a disc divided into four coloured paddles.

Tricia exclaimed “It looks like a ‘Simon Says’, I played this game all the time – in my room – when my parents were fighting.”

“I’m sorry” commiserated Cameron, to then ask: “What’s it do?”

Tricia hadn’t meant to make that revelation, her family was dysfunctional, but it was all the family she had. But she nodded in acceptance of the erstwhile comment. “It plays a series of notes with accompanying lights; you have to remember the sequence and then play it back.”

Tricia’s explanation was interrupted by the disc flashing the colour in front of them, which she responded to by depressing the same paddle, a clear plastic panel slide into place locking them into the section. The revolving door rotated to the next section and moments later that section’s colour flashed, but since it was empty nobody entered an acknowledgement. The same happened for all the remaining sections.

Once the game console knew how many were playing, the unit started by playing four notes, each of the four paddles lit while sounded a tone for each. Tricia replayed the sequence exactly.

The revolving door began to turn, not like a centrifuge so’s they’d be thrown to the outer wall, but fast enough to disorient them. The door stopped turning, and then another series of colours and tones played.

Cameron tried to memorize it, but Tricia rapidly began the playback immediately after the unit had stopped after a sequence of eight. Tricia was a master, she didn’t hesitate and nailed it.

The door spun once more, and the process repeated, another series of lights and notes played over the console, this time twelve individual lights and colours flashed, but much faster.

Again, Tricia made the reply, and the door spun. Cameron decided to close his eyes to prevent becoming dizzy and upchuck.

The next sequence sounded like a refrain from the song ‘Popcorn’, with a total of twenty-two notes and lights. Tricia hit all the right ones, yet again.

When the revolving door stopped turning, the panel slide back to allow them to exit. Tricia wobbled a little, the rotating having an effect on her equilibrium. Cameron grabbed an arm and led her over to the red lighted door, on the opposite side from where they’d entered.

The panel by the door asked: ‘What are the primary colors?’

Cameron took the reins and typed in: Red, Blue, Yellow.

The door opened right away, with the horn sounding and a green light letting them exit.

Three doors down was their next room, and upon entering they spied a balance beam strung across an expanse, above them was a heavy-duty strut with ropes hung off it, on the right wall there was five large balls looking about the size of medicine balls. The balls were tied to those ropes but being held back by mechanical hands.

A panel was waiting near to the start of the balance beam, it had a display to enter text, but also a big button.

It read: 'Complete the next lyric. Push the button for year selection.'

That didn’t sound ominous in the slightest. After Tricia had pulled their bacon out of the fire in the last room, she motioned Cameron to step up. Cameron pushed the button and a digital counter spun on the display coming to stop on ‘1982’

The screen read the lyric as a musical score could be heard:
Hold me now
It’s hard to for me to say I’m sorry
I just want you to stay

After all that we’ve been through
I will make it up to you, I promise to …

The music ended and a flashing cursor was their cue to finish the line.

Tricia looked dumfounded at Cameron, saying: “I’ve never heard it before. Which of us is getting disqualified?”

“Neither” assured Cameron. “The band is Chicago, the songs “Hard to Say I’m Sorry.”

Cameron then typed in:
And after all that’s been said and done
You’re just the part of me I can’t let go, ooh

The screen went blank, then an arrow pointed down to the button. Cameron pressed it again and the dial spun once more. When Cameron released the button, the dial came to a stop on ‘1971’

The music started and on screen came:

Hey girl, whatcha doing down there
Dancing alone every night
While I live right above you?

I can hear your music playing
I can feel your body swaying …

Tricia excitedly said: “I know this song; I’ve heard it before – something like - knock three times?”

“Yeah, your right. My mom would laugh out loud when Dad would play it. I think the next lyric was: ‘One floor below me, you don’t even know me, I love you’

“Well, type it in.”

Again an arrow pointed to the button, Cameron allowed Tricia the honours. She depressed the button for an extended time, when she let go the dial stopped on ‘1987’

What came on the speaker was entirely unfamiliar to either of them, as they looked gobsmacked at each other:

And Texas is a place I’d dearly love to be
But all my exes live in Texas
And that’s why I hang my hat in Tennessee

Rosanna’s down in in Texarkana
Wanted me to push her broom …

The flashing cursor begged for an answer, but none could come from the two contestants.

Cameron shrugged his shoulders saying: “My Dad wasn’t a fan of Country. Sorry.”

When no answer was forthcoming, a buzzer sounded, and one of the medicine balls dropped from it place against the wall. The ball swung across the balance beam at a height sure to smack anyone crossing the beam, its momentum was kept up by the mechanical hands.

“Wonderful” exclaimed Tricia. “At least we didn’t get a disqualification.”

Cameron motioned for her to press the button since the arrow had returned. She waved him off, willing to let Cameron take the fall if another dud song was chosen.

The dial came to a stop on ‘2000’

The music began to play:

You might been hurt, babe
That ain’t no lie
You’ve seen them all come and go, oh
I remember you told me
That it made you believe in …

Cameron was at a loss, he’d missed that decade. Tricia however was nearly in tears.

“What?” asked Cameron.

“It’s my favorite band – back when I was … well, before.”

“Okay” was Cameron’s response, he wasn’t judging no one, especially over their choice in music.”

“It’s NSYNC, and the songs ‘Its Gonna Be Me’. The next verse is:

No man, no cry
Maybe that’s why

“That’s it?”

“Whaddya mean by that?”

“Nothing, its just so short – doesn’t seem very inspired.”

Tricia stuck out her tongue and moved Cameron aside to type her answer. A ball didn’t drop so that’s good, and the button showed on screen again.

Cameron spun the dial, and it stopped on ‘1993’ and the music started

And some days it don’t come easy
And some days it don’t come hard
Some days it don’t come at all
And these are the days that never end

And some nights you’re breathing fire
And some nights you’re carved of ice …

“Oh man, I’ve heard it before, but don’t remember what comes next” Bemoaned Tricia.
"Some nights you’re like nothing I’ve ever
Seen before, or will again”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure, It’s a Meatloaf song. My Dad really liked his stuff and would crank it.”

After typing in the lyrics, the display beeped and went blank. Across the other side of the balance beam the doors red light began to flash.

“I guess we cross” surmised Tricia. “Who goes first?”

“Rock, Paper, Scissors?” asked Cameron, to receive a head nod from Tricia. “On three.”

Cameron chose Rock, Tricia picked Paper. She wrapped her hand over Cameron’s giving him a smile.

Cameron tightened his shoelaces before stepping onto the balance beam, he focused himself, recalling the figure skating training she’d received on how to hold a tight line. The beam might only be a couple inches wide, but Cameron didn’t waiver in the slightest.

Getting close the medicine balls arc, he paused to let the ball go past the beam as it swung upward. He stepped past the danger zone and continued all the way across.

“Show off!” called Tricia, she had slip on runners which were very comfortable, but maybe didn’t give the traction this task required. Nonetheless, she began to slowly cross. She would move her left foot forward to pull her right foot along after, it was slow but steady.

As Tricia approached the medicine balls path, Cameron called out: “Whoa!” to then add, “Wait for it to pass, then move quick.”

She’d seen what Cameron had done, and was gonna do that anyway. But inside, it felt good that he cared about her.

As the big ball went past her, it glanced off her arm, she’d gotten too close. She was imbalanced and started to flail her arms to keep from falling off the beam.

Cameron yelled: “Run, now!”

The balls trajectory had been altered, it was wobbling, instead of a discernable straight path back and forth, it now began a more circular route that doubled how often it crossed the beam.

Instead of running, Tricia dropped down straddling the beam, wrapping her arms and legs around it. The medicine ball just barely skimmed overtop her, an advantage of been small.

Tricia began to shimmy along the beam like an inch worm, the medicine ball grazed her back on one pass, but it didn’t impede her progress, she was hanging onto the beam with all her might. She kept moving forward slowly.

Eventually, Cameron tapped her noggin’, to then say: “Your across. Give me your hand, I’ll help you up.”

Together they got her up off the balance beam, and standing on the platform. Tricia hugged Cameron, her nerves badly frayed, and the adrenaline was pumping. She hadn’t even realized what she’d done, it was instinctual.

Cameron for his part hugged her back – no where near as tight, but patted her back, saying: “Your okay, you did great.”

Trica let out a sob and a sniffle. Then, slowly released Cameron. She dabbed at her eyes to wipe away tears and looked at Cameron with big doe eyes. “I …”

“You are amazing” smiled Cameron. “You’ve passed where so many others have failed” he encouraged. “I doubt anybody has ever managed to hold on like you did.”

She smiled; she wasn’t sure if she deserved to be complimented, but she hadn’t quit either. Knowing that about herself felt good.

“Come on, we’ve only got two more rooms to go” enticed Cameron, noticing they had a green light to proceed to their next obstacle.

Entering the next room, it was another platform overtop a shear wall down to a lower level, Cameron mentioned it was over twenty feet down but down was where the red light door waited for them.

They found a panel and the question it asked was: “Who wrote ‘Paradise Lost’”?

Cameron didn’t know, but fortunately Tricia did, she was a reader – she hadn’t read the book, but had seen it on many ‘must read’ lists: John Milton.

When the answer got entered, they heard a block move into place below. Looking down a segment on the wall had extended out creating a level several feet up off the floor. Still too far down to jump, but better. Upon closer inspection, the five-foot-high block had rails to hang onto to make lowering yourself down easier.

More blocks were needed, so back to the panel.

The next question on display asked: “Who said: ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’?”

Cameron mulled the question over, as did Tricia.

Cameron spoke up: “I heard the Kimba’s teasing Tennyo about not being able to keep a boyfriend very long, saying it was her namesake’s fault. So, the only person I can think of would be Tennyson.”

“I got nothing” confessed Tricia. “I’ve heard it quoted, but don’t know where it came from. Might as well go for it.”

Cameron entered ‘Tennyson’ to be rewarded with another block moving into place.

Things were looking up, but a ten-foot drop could still mean a broken or strained leg, time for yet another question.

The panel asked: “Who wrote, in which novel, the expression: ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.’?”

Tricia almost bounded over Cameron in her enthusiasm to type the answer. “I know this one, I know it.” She joyfully cried out.

She said it aloud as she typed it in. “Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.”

A third block moved into place.

Tricia suggested Cameron go over the edge first, she would help lower him down, then he could keep her from dropping down too quickly. Tricia lay on the floor holding Cameron’s hand as he moved his hips over the floors lip. Using one hand to try and keep a hold on the floor, Tricia lowered him down. A sign of relief came from Cameron as his toes touched the block.

It was then Tricia’s turn, Cameron was able to hold onto her ankles to give assurance that she wouldn’t fall, to then hold her by her waist as she came further down.

The railings made the next drops much easier, Still, Cameron went first to help steady Tricia. When they both finally reached the bottom, they gave each other a high five. To then hear the horn saying the Rollers had completed their seventh obstacle.

The door’s red light reminded them they hadn’t ended their challenge. And both nodded in agreement that they would finish the obstacle course with heads held high.

The panels question read: 'The Israelites’ were tasked with maintaining the integrity of the Holy Scriptures. To that end, the Hebrew scribes would count the number of words written into each copy. How many times did the Tetragrammaton (YHWH) appear in the Old Testament?'
a) 1
b) 7
c) 50
d) 5410

“Multiple choice, they give us a multiple-choice question now?” shrieked a frustrated Tricia. “Bloody hell! How about back – there” she pointed behind them, at all they’d endured.

“It’s designed to push us to our limits, mentally and physically” countered Cameron. “We didn’t need an easy out, we met the challenge head on. And I don’t need to be given the answer here either; it’s 5410.” Stated Cameron, to make the entry on the panel.

The horn sounded, the light turned green, and the door opened.

Clustered in the room was the other members of Northern Lites. Congratulatory hugs and handshakes were given.

Lynn held Cameron’s hand, whispering in his ear: “That went better than I’d thought.”

A silly smirk spread across Cameron's face, his quiet reply was: “Tricia really shone in there, it was exactly what she needed to bolster her confidence.”

Tricia and Cameron got ushered into a conference room for debrief, already sitting inside was the Holy Rollers, each of them gloating in their victory, mocking Tricia and Cameron through word and action.

Standing at the front of the room was Gunny Bardue, a stern man, with a no-nonsense attitude. When he spoke, he wouldn’t tolerate any disturbance. Gunny smacked the table with the pointed stick he held.

“Cut the chatter, this exercise isn’t over till I say it’s over,” the man bellowed.

“Firstly: Northern Lites, what a couple of sad sacks you are” Pointing to the screen behind him, tapping it with his pointer was a picture of Cameron sprawled out on a five-foot square block with part of him hanging over the edge. “Care to explain this?” demanded Bardue.

“My feet got tangled and I missed the landing,” explained Cameron.

“Right! A quadriplegic could’ve made that jump. What’s your excuse?” barked the Instructor.

“Considering not even a year ago I couldn’t walk” began Cameron. “Your comment about a quadriplegic isn’t all that far off.”

Gunny Bardue huffed at his reply, it wasn’t said sarcastically, but he was damn well going to check the kid’s medical record.

“What about you missy?” the picture changed to show Tricia wrapped around a balance beam. “What’s your excuse?”

From the other team came the comment: “They only had one ball? We had three!”

“Quiet!” shouted Gunny.” I’ll get to you lot in a minute.” Turning his ire back onto Tricia, he barked: “Well?”

“I miscalculated where the ball would swing, I had to regain my balance, but by then the ball was coming right for me, so I dropped down to keep from being knocked off.” Detailed Tricia.

The man was frustratred, not at her so much but that his test had an unexpected loophole. “We’re going to have to redesign that room because of you, we’ll need to scape the beam of hangers-on after this.”

“But I made it across.”

“Fine, whatever.” He floundered at having to grant her surviving that situation. “Do better, next time.”

Tricia reeled at the comment, a next time! Is he joking – I’m not doing that again, no way!

“Northern Lites: you had no disqualifications and no penalties. Your time was twenty minutes and forty-three seconds – not the worst time, but far from the best. Your quiz score was nineteen out of twenty. Well done, you set a record. Your total score comes to eighty seven out of a hundred.

“That’s unfair! If they got asked the same questions as us, there’s no way they could have gotten nineteen right!”

“For your information Mr. Myers, you were both asked the exact same questions. Each run of this course has new questions generated. So go ahead, share what you answered, the next group will be as clueless as you.”

Only he saw the humour in his comment, it went over the Rollers head, but Tricia and Cameron shared a mirthful look.

“Now for you: Holy Rollers. Gods, the Reverend should be shot for having you use that name.” Mr Bardue took a moment to restore his game face. “Sanctuary and Smitter, you were the only members of your team to finish, with a time of nineteen minutes and fifty-four seconds. Ahead of the Northern Lites …” Gunny Bardue was cut-off by whooping and fist bumps, as the Rollers claimed victory.

Gunny blew a whistle – loudly, it rang in the eardrums forcing everyone to simmer down. “Obviously, you bunch are too full of yourselves for a debriefing, so I’ll cut to the chase.

You finished forty-nine seconds before Northern Lites. However, you only answered 10 of the twenty questions. As well, accrued two disqualifications from substituting team members in lieu of correct answers. Plus, a penalty for a team member failing to complete a task. Your score, after tallying up all the points, is fifty-eight out of a possible hundred."

The Holy Rollers were shell-shocked, it couldn’t be, they’d been robbed.

“Before you go all postal on me” stemmed Gunny Bardue, before the accusations could fly. “I understand a bet has been wagered on the outcome of this challenge. Just so you know, I’ve posted your scores as well as the scoring matrix so the whole school can see the results.” The Instructor’s comments were to the point, and hit hard. “Holy Rollers, I’ll be in touch with my critique, you’re going to want to bring your teams benefactor.”

Cameron and Tricia prepared to leave the room, the hatred emanating off their opponents was – laughable. Cruel to say such a thing, but victory is sweet, and all the stares and grumbling coming from them tasted like an all-day lollipop, tutti-fruity flavour at that.

After exiting the conference room, Cameron ducked back in to quickly say: “I’ll be in touch to collect your vows.”

~o~O~o~

“I, Kenneth John Myers do solemnly vow before God and men, that I shall henceforth no longer harangue, harass, or ridicule: Tricia Conners, Cameron Burke, or any other members of Northern Lites. I do not hold them responsible for the destruction of Dillon Chapel, nor will I support or engage in any argument or gathering that stives to lay blame upon them. Breaking my vow is upon penalty of dismemberment or death.”

Sanctuary was the last of the Holy Rollers to make the vow Cameron had prepared, not just him but his lawyer: Mr. Paulson, had checked it over so that what Cameron wanted said was concise, plus adding some polish. Mr. Paulson doubted it would hold water, people give their word but never mean what they say, they just speak what they think you want to hear – politicians come to mind.

Cameron knew that, and having a spoken and signed vow likely wouldn’t stop a Holy Roller from being a pest. But it did give him a release to act as he saw fit if they ever threatened Tricia again.

Of them all, Tricia had the hardest time keeping a smile from etching across her face. She was jazzed to be part of a group, how that she’d been asked to join, and given access to their hideout. More that that, she’d overcome a major hurdle in her life, her hatred of her ability didn’t weight her down nearly as much as before.

Chemistry Lab, Kane Hall, Whateley Academy

“Outlook. Please come to Doyle Medical Center immediately. Outlook to Doyle Medical: Immediately”
As public address announcements went, it left much to the imagination, of course every student turned to look at Cameron because their imaginations ran wild. But Cameron did as requested, he stopped working on his chemistry project just as it was getting interesting, and waved to get the teachers attention before leaving class, he was shooed out the door by his teacher motioning him to get a move on.

Chemistry class was being held in Kane Hall, being just a short jaunt over to Doyle Medical Centre. Cameron kept to the cleared walkway rather than muddle through a foot and a half of snow which had accumulated.

Steeping into the school’s hospital never filled Cameron with happy thoughts, too many past experiences with injuries – his own and to his friends, it never made the place welcoming. As for a welcome, he was met at the entrance by a dour looking Dr. Paul Tenant.

The doctor didn’t offer a hand in greeting, and his countenance didn’t reflect pleasure at seeing Cameron, it gave Outlook a bad feeling and heightened his cautionary impulses.

Dr Tenant sighed, and his slumped shoulders looked as though the weight of the world rested on them. “Cameron, I hate to inform you that your friend Geoff has suffered three consecutive, debilitating heart attacks.”

And the five-ton weight dropped square onto Cameron’s shoulders – that is what it felt like anyways. Cameron joined the doctor’s posture. “Is he …”

“We have him stabilized, but the prognosis isn’t good. We knew it was only a matter of time. But we thought …” stammered the doctor.

“That I could fix him?” interrupted Cameron, he’d do anything to help his friends.

“No, that you’d want to say goodbye.” getting the comment out was like knocking the wind out of the doctors’ sails.

“Where is he?” sought Cameron, not seeing him an any of the Trauma rooms.

“We have him down in the Loading Dock, it’s the only door we could get him through.” The doctor admitted with chagrin.

“Can I see him?” choked out Cameron.

“Of course.” Dr. Tenant led the way to where Max was being attended to.

“What about our teammates, shouldn’t they be here too?” Questioned Cameron as they climbed down the stairs.

“He only asked for you.” Revealed the doctor.

Entering the loading docks service area, a large space had been cleared, and medical equipment had been spread around Max. Max lay on a huge bed, he was intubated and had wires crisscrossing his body connected to monitors. His pulse was weak, both the monitor and Cameron’s sight confirmed that.

Max’s heart had sustained massive damage, so much of it no longer continued to beat out that life sustaining rhythm.

Cameron sized the situation up, he could maybe repair a small amount of damage at a time, but a beating heart would need to be paused for that to happen, the risk was that a body could starve of oxygen deficiency in the time it would take him. So this, this was beyond what he could safely do. Cameron could not deal with the possibility of having killed someone – especially not his friend.

Cameron stepped up to be beside Max, grabbing the big guy’s hand and squeezing it. Max opened his eyes, turning his head slightly to look at Cameron, when recognition showed in his eyes a single tear welled up and tracked down his face.

Cameron had multiple tears streaking down his face. “Hey buddy, is there something you need me to do?”

With herculean effort, what with a tube stuffed down his throat and despite his twisted mouth, Max managed to say: “Payy.”

Cameron nodded his understanding as he blinked away the tears that clouded his vision. Bowing his head, he commenced: “Dear God, I approach you on Max’s behalf, his life among us is coming to an end. Grant him peace, knowing he is loved, and let him slip quietly to sleep. Remember him, please, for his kindness and good humour, and allow those of us he leaves behind to recall his friendship and the gift of having gotten to know him.”

Raising his head, Cameron heard sniffles from those attending to their patient. Max held a smile, the last gift he could impart, his eyes closed and he went very still. The heart monitor gave a couple blips then the line went flat, the heart monitor sounded an alarm.

The alarm was silenced by Dr. Tenant, to then have the nurses begin disconnecting the wires attached to Max. In an orderly procession, items no longer needed to treat a patient were removed and the space surrounding Max vacated.

“He held on to say goodbye,” was the only thing the doctor could think to say to Cameron, who could only stand there as grief washed over him. “Let me walk you upstairs, administration will want to speak with you.”

Cameron allowed himself to be guided back to the main entrance, he had some release forms to sign. When the hospital needed nothing more, at the door was Ms. Claire, waiting for him.

“I’m so sorry,” she offered.

Cameron was only able to nod his acceptance, he’d lost a friend today, he felt numb.

“Mr. Merril had left instructions with the school, in the event of …” Ms. Claire couldn’t finish what she had started to say, but Cameron got the meaning.

She handed Cameron a packet with his name printed on it, looking inside without opening it, it held letters, one to each of Northern Lites members. As well, it contained Max’s will.

“Can you notify my teammates to meet me after class in my room?” asked Cameron.

“I can do that” assured Ms. Claire.

~o~O~o~

Only after everyone had arrived in his dorm room, and found a seat, did Cameron tell them that Max had died. Cameron had made sure that tissues where distributed around his room, and they were made good use of.

Once the tears had abated, Cameron handed out Max’s letters. Each one neatly typed out and addressed to his teammates, using their personal names. Rho asked Lynn if she would read her letter otherwise it would burst into flames in her hands. Debbie was so emotional she trembled holding the paper envelope and couldn’t bring herself to open it. The Trifecta of Trouble had all sat on one couch and were sharing their letters between them: laughing, crying, struggling with a shared loss.

Tricia came to stand beside Cameron, asking him: “How are you doing?”

“I’m worried about all of you. About losing any of the people I care about” admitted Cameron. “But mostly, I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

“Hadn’t you warned us Max was living on borrowed time?” questioned Tricia.

“Yeah, but …”

“But nothing. My letter from Max told me he had never been happier than being with us, that we made his life fulfilling and bearable. He thought of us as his family and loved each of us very much.” Revealed Tricia. “And He told me I was to make sure you didn’t go off the deep end. So damn-it, smarten up or I’m gonna slap you.”

Cameron laughed, because it sounded exactly like something Max would do.

~o~O~o~

“I’m needing to speak with Mrs. Carson, can that be arranged please?” sought Cameron standing at the school’s administration counter.

May I ask what the nature of your request is about?” inquired Ms. Hartford.

“I am tasked with making funeral arrangements for Geoff Merril and need the school’s permission to proceed with some of Max’s wishes.”

“I see. Most understandable then. One moment,” acquiesced the administrator.

Cameron didn’t even have time to sit on the wooden bench situated in the hallway before getting called.

“This way” directed Ms. Hartford, pointing to an open door.

Cameron was shown into the conference room, not the headmistress’s office. Ms. Hartford offered a chair to Cameron, then took another seat across the table from him. After that, Mrs. Carson entered along with Security Chief Delarose.

“The Chief and I were already having a discussion; I hope it isn’t inconvenient for him to be here?” asked Elizabeth Carson.

“Not at all” assured Cameron, he actually welcomed having a known and trusted staff member present. That, and Mrs. Carson wasn’t allowed by court order to be alone with him, so the more the merrier.

“I am sorry to hear of Geoff Merril’s death, my condolences.” Offered Chief Delarose.

“Thank you Chief,” Cameron sighed as painful memories of Max’s passing flashed up, but Cameron persevered: “Ma’am, I had hoped you’d be able to help me with some of the funeral arrangements Max requested.”

“What do you need?” sought the Headmistress.

“Max wants to be cremated, and have his ashes scattered off campus – I may need a school pass for a day of two to accomplish that. He also wished to have a rose planted in the schools rose garden – with a small service held there.” Supplied Cameron.

“Most of that is pretty standard, what do you really need me for?” directed Ms. Carson.

“Max asked if his mom could be present for the service in the rose garden.” Sheepishly responded Cameron, he didn’t know the whole story but had discerned Max’s mom was in prison.

“That’s a big ask” whistled Mrs. Carson. “If, and I can only provide you an ‘If’, where did Mr. Merril wish to be interred?”

“Before arriving at Whateley, we camped beside a stream. He wants his remains to be placed there.” Illuminated Cameron.

“Why?” Asked a doubtful Ms. Carson.

“I imagine its because it was peaceful, serene, and nobody bothered him. If I’m not mistaken, it was the first time in a long while that he felt happy.” Detailed Cameron, hoping he understood Max’s motivations correctly.

“What do I tell his mother?” Was Ms. Carson’s next hurdle to overcome.

“I can provide a photograph and a map of the location, so she knows where it is.” Suggested Cameron.

“Alright, do you need the number for a mortician?” That such a question was asked said that this wasn’t the first time the Headmistress had such a conversation.

“I found one online; in Berlin, which is where his body has been sent.” Said Cameron, holding back an emotional outpouring.

~o~O~o~

To say that Reverend Englund had been peeved when his expectation to officiate a funeral service had been declined was a mild understatement. Max had been very clear: he wished no involvement from the man.

Rather, Max had sought for Cameron to say a few words. It was a burden that Cameron laboured over, to find just the right words, to depict who Max was, what he meant to those who knew him. To say goodbye.

Cameron was still working on his notes the morning of the service, and skipped breakfast to keep working on it. Lynn brought him a hot-box of food to tied him over as the gathering was to be held a one o’clock. His girlfriend stayed with him for encouragement until it was time to meet up at the rose garden.

It was too early in the year for roses to be out, but in lieu of a flowering bush, beside the bare stalk were pictures of what the blossoms would look like. Placed beside the rose bush was an old school photo of Max – taken before he’d become deformed by his mutation.

Cameron studied his friend’s picture, hoping to find something of the person he’d befriended. It was the eyes, there was that spark of mischief that made him fun to be around.

Rows of chairs had been set up in the rose garden, and slowly a few people drifted in, talking in small groups with hushed tones. When any of the Northern Lites arrived, they would give Cameron a hug and wish him well, to then move away from the gatherings front.

As the hour neared, Cameron noted that many of Max’s teachers had come along with some of Whateley’s support staff. Interestingly, two of the former Holy Rollers came – the training team had disbanded shortly after losing the challenge. As for rest: the Outcasts, the Kimba’s, and members of other training teams made the effort to attend.

A good number from Hawthorne Cottage came to pay their respects to a former resident. With them, they brought Max’s school uniform, neatly folded and placed it on a table near Max’s photograph.

With only a couple minutes left, Cameron watched with intrigue as Mrs. Carson walked up followed by a lady clad in black. Three security guards escorted the lady – not supplied by Whateley, the uniform and insignia were unfamiliar, but the three guards kept the woman under close watch. The lady had discreetly draped a coat over her hands, hiding the handcuffs she wore, and a scarf wrapped around her neck covering the neck restraint. Her long dress covered over ankle cuffs, which slowed the speed at which she could walk.

Cameron nodded to Mrs. Carson, a thanks for pulling off a miracle.

He stood behind the podium at which people took their seats, Cameron waited for everyone to settle before speaking. “Thank you for coming,” he said in welcome. “We’re here to celebrate Geoff Merril, or as most of you know him by: Max.”

Cameron spoke about Max’s wholeheartedness, that he did nothing by half measure, his humour made him a joy to be around, his gentle nature, his fondness of poetry and literature, to emphasis the point Cameron read a poem Max wrote about watching rain fall, the words were bittersweet.

Cameron told the story of how they met, and the friendship that they formed that day. To then unabashedly say: Max would be sorely missed by all who knew him, and that his mother; who he loved dearly, had raised an amazing son.

Stepping away from the podium, Cameron was tearful, Lynn came to stand beside him, planting a tender kiss on his cheek, and took to holding his hand. Well wishers gave their condolences and thanks for the endearing service. Cameron was waved by Mrs. Carson to come near to Max’s mom, she wasn’t allowed approach people in general but had gotten permission from her security detail to speak with the boy and her son’s friends.

“Hello Mrs. Merril. I’m so sorry for your loss,” greeted Cameron.

“Please, call me Heather,” invited the woman. “My son wrote such delightful things about you, he said you were the best friend he had ever known. Thank you, for being there for my baby, and saying such wonderful things about him.”

“The honour was mine. Geoff was a special person; we’ll miss him deeply,” confided Cameron.

“And this lovely young lady: you must be Lynn. Max told me so much about his teammates, he said you scared him – at first, but you won him over by being kind and caring, he was taken by your beauty.”

The comment flustered Lynn “Yes ma’am, I’m Lynn” she stumbled out, to then recover with: “Max loved you so much, and we loved him for his willingness to help however he could. You could say your son gave to the max.”

Hearing that brought a deeply emotional smile to the woman’s face. “That’s kind of you to say, thank you. Can I meet the rest of your team?”

Northern Lites formed a line behind Cameron and Lynn, to meet Max’s mom. For her part, she guessed who they each were based off her son’s letters. When it was Debbie’s turn, Heather Merril began to cry.

“Forgive me, you must be Werx – Debbie, my son spoke about you with great affection, he was in awe of you. Pardon a mother’s meddling, but I think he was infatuated as well.”

“Yes ma’am,” sniffled Deb, suppressing a crying fit: “the feeling was mutual.”

“Would you consider writing to me, let me keep my son’s memory alive?”

“I would be happy to,” agreed Deb, it had been a request Max had made to her in his farewell letter as well.

Mrs. Carson interjected, saying that Heather needed to depart. The team of youths watched as the entourage left the rose garden, noting that the headmistress provided the grieving woman a tissue to dab her tears.

Dickenson Cottage, Whateley Academy

In her Mystic Arts class, Tricia had made a portal – purely by accident mind you, it happened without conscious effort. The class was being taught how to form a fireball, and then been paired up to practice. No one wanted to be paired with her, the unmagical Mage. To everyone Tricia was a magical dud, she’d been standing alone off to the side going through the motions as instructed.

As a joke, or just her classmates being cruel as usual, a fireball had been launched at her. Tricia, from instinct, raised her arm for protection. That simple action opened a portal, porting the fireball straight back – mere inches away from the face of the sender; a girl named Indigo.

The fireball singed Indigo’s eyebrows and hair, and left the girl red-faced – from shock, humiliation, and first-degree burns. Mrs. Grimes sent Indigo to Doyle after dressing her down in front of the class for having started the whole incident, thereby asserting she deserved her pain.

But Tricia was left feeling baffled: how had she done it? It was that niggling feeling of curiosity that set her to wondering. Thereafter, she had begun to make mini-portals; dropping her pen from one hand - having it fall into her other hand.

For the first time, she felt excited about having a power, it bubbled up inside her and she couldn’t wait to explore the possibilities – and show-off to her friends.

Part 3 coming soon.