Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

I was just eight years old when I first had the opportunity to save a nice man’s life, only I didn't.  

He was a happy looking guy in his thirties, who probably had a nice little family at home; in fact, I’m certain he did. He sat there on the bus bench, talking on his cell phone. I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was speaking to his son or daughter.  He spoke in that high, baby, squeaking babble people use when talking to their darling little offspring. He seemed like a nice guy. He was dressed in a fancy suit and tie, and probably made a very pleasant living for himself and his family. His family probably relied on him—on his job—his support—his love.

I saw it coming and he didn’t. I could have warned him. I could have even shielded him from the force of it all, physically myself, and saved him from death. I could have saved somebody’s father.

But I didn’t.  Instead, I stood up from where I sat beside the nice man and walked away.

The traffic light turned red and a little, silver sports car zoomed right past. A minivan slammed on its breaks, and the sports car swerved. It swerved left and then it swerved right

As the nice man hung up his phone, he finally saw what was coming. He jumped to his feet, and threw up his hands, and he yelled.

And, well, that was pretty much it.  He died, and I didn’t do anything about it.

I wish I could say that I didn’t put this much thought into my decision before I made it. I wish I could say that I didn’t think about the consequences, and that my actions would result in the death of an innocent man. But the truth is, as I saw the accident approaching, I thought about it a lot. And I knew what would happen.

I should have known right then that I wouldn’t ever be good at what I was meant to do. Right then was my first ever chance to save someone, and I could have done it, too. Only I chose not to. I don’t really know why. I guess I was just curious to see what would happen. I guess I just lacked this experience and I had had enough of seeing nice men, with nice families and nice lives. I wanted to see something different, just for once this one day. I only got to go out once a week, and experience the real world. Only it never felt real to me at all.  It was routine and it was boring, and I was tired of it. I wanted to see something different and exciting. And truthfully, that day would remain the most thrilling experience of my life, for a very long time.

***

The country had become overrun by crime.  I always wondered what that conversation must have been like.  I wondered who could be the first person to suggest something we had only seen in comic books and movies.  He was probably laughed at, at first.  Then again, our nation was in such bad shape, maybe that solution never even seemed silly.  Maybe it was perfect from the start.  The solution:  the government would create a super powered being to help protect and serve the public, in ways that mere mortals could not.  The world’s first super hero.

That first hero’s name was Sonic.   At 22 years old, the young military officer was the first, carefully selected recruit to be given a long series of operations and procedures that would turn him from human to super human.  He was good at what he did, but even still, it wasn’t quite enough.  Three years later, the government drafted two more men:  Strummer and Speed. The team of three proved effective until the nation experienced a surge of immigrants, fleeing to our steadily improving society that promised protection and safety, while most other places could not.  With that increase in population, a fourth was added.   Siren was the last of Generation X, and she came five years after the trio of men, and that seemed to do the trick.  Generation X was a team of unbeatable heroes for a good, strong decade.  They even defeated an alien invasion, saving not only our nation, but the entire planet Earth.

You would think such heroes could be irreplaceable, but soon the nation revealed its next super hero team: Generation Delta—heroes from birth, born with super powers, and bred only to be heroes, knowing nothing more nor nothing better.

While Generation X was given amazing capabilities of flight, super strength, lightning speed, and telekinesis, Generation Delta proved to be far superior.  They were born and raised on a top secret base, kept hidden from the world until they were eighteen.  They possessed the power of flight, super strength, super speed, telekinesis, X-ray vision, and laser eyes.  On top of that, each member of Delta was given their own specialty power.  Dart possessed the capability of creating powerful, waves of energy, which could shatter and demolish an entire city if he concentrated hard enough.  Dee Dee was a master of force fields, capable of shielding entire cities from any harm imaginable.  Derby’s special power was tornado winds, strong enough to move the earth itself.  Lastly, Dante was gifted with the power of healing himself and others, even if the injured were on the verge of death.  The Deltas were the current defenders of the country, and a pretty tough act to follow.

And now there are us.  I am a part of the latest and greatest:  Generation Alpha.  We were bred to be superheroes, born with our powers like Delta was. Being a part of the newest generation, we were given even greater powers.  Everything that Delta has, but stronger.  We are the first with the power of invisibility, and each one of us could create force fields, though not quite as strong as Dee Dee.  She will probably always be the best at that.  Aurora is the first of our group, with the power of ice storms.  She can literally freeze any crook in his tracks.  The next born is Astro, with the special ability to control and create fire.  Autumn is the youngest of us four, with the power of foresight.  Although limited, she can see into the future, which I always thought is the coolest.

And me?  You see, my situation is… complicated.  My name is Angel, the third hero born in Generation Alpha.  I was told that my special power was supposed to be healing, like that of Dante’s, only more improved than his. That was my design.   …Originally, that was my design.  However, while the others in Generation Alpha began developing their special capabilities at very young ages… my special power just never seemed to surface, and it still hasn’t to this day.  It has been called an apparent “miscalculation.” 

I guess there were a lot of “miscalculations” when it came to my design.

From birth, Aurora, Astro, Autumn and I have lived together and we have trained together. We have private tutors and we have our own individual caretakers. While we mature, learn, and perfect our abilities, the generation before us still protects what we will one day protect ourselves. Every fifteen years the government plans to make new superheroes. The newer generation will take over, and the older generation will retire.  That is the system that has been put into place.

You are only a superhero for fifteen years before retiring. At eighteen, you’re a hero, and at thirty-three you aren’t any more.  You are expected to give up your superpowers and your service will then be rewarded with a “normal” life.  Our tutors always refer to retirement as a reward, but I don’t know if I would call it that.  Personally, I think it’s pretty sad that they have to take away the gifts you were born with.  I can’t imagine living as a plain, boring human, but I guess that has to be my fate one day.  But at the present moment, I don’t have time to worry about that.  I am only fifteen, and I have to stay focused on my studies and ultimate objective:  Become a super hero, and protect the nation.

Staying focused on this is never easy.  You see, I never perform as well as the other heroes.   We are a private school of just four students, and somehow I have managed to be the “troubled student.” Ironic, that they named me Angel. No one sees me as an angel, except for Espi, my assigned caretaker.  But of course, it’s pretty much her job to love me, and raise me, so no surprise there.   Despite not necessarily behaving like an angel, everyone insists that there wouldn’t have been a more perfect name for me. Espi said when she was there for my birth, she was the first to say my name, but just the first to say it aloud. “As soon as we saw you, we knew you would be our Angel.”

My name is based off my looks. I am different from the other heroes. I have albinism. My skin is marble white, and same for every hair on my head. My disorder was not intentional. It was most definitely not a part of the plan. After all, my albinism causes troublesome eyesight issues and I’m not supposed to spend too much time in direct sunlight -- not ideal for crime fighting at all. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not as bad off as any other human being with albinism. My super abilities help offset the effects of my disorder. I even have near perfect vision, but still I am nowhere near the capabilities of the other heroes, or where a superhero should be. That was yet another “miscalculation.”

“Miscalculation.”  The word always makes my blood boil.  The staff on base tends to use the word so frequently and loosely—it is maddening.  I do my best.  I really try.  But it is never good enough.

Today is Saturday, and not only that, but the second Saturday of the month… evaluation day.   These days are increasingly becoming the worst days of my life. Too many teachers sitting there in front of me and telling me what I’ve been doing wrong, and giving too many, unattainable, unrealistic demands to complete in too little time. It never helps that my evaluations are always done right after Aurora’s. Aurora is the staff’s dream. She is the proud example of everything heroic, righteous and perfect. She is at the top of the class, and no one can beat her. The smartest, the fastest, the strongest—the absolute best. All of our teachers and trainers are simply in love with her, and it’s sickening to sit outside the room and have to hear the endless hours of praise they give her, knowing full well, I’m not about to get any when it was my turn.

“Good afternoon, Angel. How are you, today?”

“Fine.”

“Finished with all your homework for the weekend, I bet?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’ll start first, here.” Professor Walden is the only teacher of mine that I like. I do pretty well in his classes. He teaches all the history—including Super Villain History—a new course we just began. He smiles at me and I grin back. “Miss Angel’s doing very well in my class this term. Straight A’s, completes all assignments, and studies very hard. She is my most enthusiastic student and probably the most knowledgeable amongst all of her peers.”

“Perhaps your class is too much of a priority to her, Professor,” interrupts Speed. Speed is our trainer; he is an ex-hero. No longer has his super powers, but he acts as if he does. He is egotistical and cocky. I don’t care for him at all.

Speed narrows his eyes at me and leans towards me across from the table. “When are you going to understand, Girl?   Unless you have the physical skill on the battlefield, no knowledge about any enemy will come in any use. Not if he blows your head off before you’re able to use it!”

Speed sorts through some papers and lays them out on the desk. He points here and there and shouts:  “C, D, D, C minus, C minus, D plus, C minus, D!” he pauses. “Now you know you haven’t always had these grades, Angel. You performed just as well as the others, but then A’s turned to B’s and B’s have become C’s and now it looks like those are slipping into D’s. There’s no lower grade to go to after this, you realize this, my girl? An F isn’t a grade. An F is a ‘fail.’”

“I know, Sir,” I answer.

“No, I don’t think you do.”

Nobody is saying anything for a while. Finally the Chief speaks up. The Chief is an ex-cop.  He clears his throat loudly, and then tries to smile at me. “Why don’t you tell us, Angel, what you think the problem may be? Are Speed’s courses just too hard? Would you like some extra private tutoring?”

I shake my head. “I dunno.” I sure as hell don’t want extra tutoring.  That meant more time with Speed, and I already have to spend an extra hour a day with Speed because of my difficulty in his classes. “I really am trying, I swear. It’s just… some of the stuff I can’t do.”

“Well, like what for example?” asks Chief.

“Her power sensing is all wrong, she has no sense or control over her telekinetic abilities, she can’t render any protective force fields bigger than a doorway, which does little to no good at all--” Speed decides to answer everything for me.  He always seems to jump at any opportunity to complain about how awful a hero I am turning out to be.

I swear, now that Speed is retired and powerless, he seems to live to torment me.  So there he sits, fat and happy, as he proceeds to give example after example as to why I am just the most sorry excuse for a hero he has ever encountered.

 “Now you look at Aurora and she can make a protective force field that lasts nearly a full minute and that can encompass nearly all of LA county! She’s almost as good as Dee is!  Angel?  Ha!  Angel’s little laser shows last for maybe nine or ten seconds, tops!  Tops!”  What a jerk.  I’m glaring at Speed now, so Speed glares right back at me, as if challenging me to do something about what he’s saying.  

I relax my expression before anyone else could notice, and Speed smirks and continues: “And her healing capabilities?” he snarls.  “She ain’t got any!  Not a damn sign of the power, and that’s what she was designed to be—a healer!  A healer who can’t heal?  Unacceptable!  That’s what that is!”

“Speed, don’t you think you’re being too hard on the girl,” Walden interrupts.  He looks angry, but he never raises his voice.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen Professor Walden as anything but calm and controlled.

“No, I’m telling her what she needs to hear!”  Speed doesn’t calm down.  “You all baby these children too damn much, and that’s the problem! They aren’t children anymore; they’re teenagers now and practically adults!  The kid’s fifteen now, and set to start training on the field with the Deltas, and she’s just not ready!  She’s nowhere near ready!” He returns his attention to me. “Now, Angel, either you aren’t trying like you ought to be trying, or well, you just aren’t fit to be a superhero is all. And well, if that’s the case, I think we might have to start thinking about getting you set on a new path for life.  That’s all I’m saying, alright?  Let’s be honest!  We should be thinking about early retirement!  Am I right?”

I feel a rage build up inside me. Is he really suggesting, what it sounds like he is suggesting?  Give up my powers now?  Being a hero is what I have been made to be; it is what I had been training for my entire life.  For as long as I can remember, this is the goal, and now he is saying I might not ever reach it?

I turn my gaze up to the ceiling and take a deep breath, trying to subside my anger. Speed always has this effect on me, but he’s really pushed it this time.  How could he suggest such a thing to me?  To the staff?  This is the last thought I want on their mind.

“What are you thinking, Angel?” Dr. Dianne, our therapist intervenes.

“I don’t know.” What am I thinking?  Right now?  Right now, what I am really thinking is how much I’d like to punch Speed’s head right off his shoulders, and illustrate to him what an apparent weakling I am… but that would never be an acceptable answer. “I guess I’m just mad and frustrated. I dunno what you all want me to do. I’m trying. I said I was trying, and you just don’t seem to get it.”

“I get it,” Speed says.  “And I said what we should all be thinking about at this point. Angel, early retirement might just be the answer. There were obviously more miscalculations with your design is all. It’s not your fault, Kid, but I just don’t think you have the stuff to be a superhero. That’s all.”

Silence in the room and I can tell that everyone else is silently agreeing with him. My anger is growing inside me.  I don’t have the stuff to be a superhero?  I have more than any other human out there!  I can fly, and I can fight, and I’m strong and powerful!  What else could they want?  So what if I’m not the best?  Did I really have to be to get the job done?  I’m trying my best.  Who are they to tell me that it’s not good enough?  It is completely infuriating, and I just have to get out of here.

I grit my teeth hard. “Can I go now, please?” I force myself to ask in the calmest voice I can manage, but I still noticeably shake with anger.

They excuse me, and I leave.