Killing Olympia

I think I'm getting kinda used to waking up partially in pain. It sucked. A lot. My entire head felt like one massive pulsating tumor, and opening my eyes only left me groaning and blinking through tears. At least my ears weren't ringing anymore, but man, I felt like shit. Cold. Ribs ached. My brain was a mess of jagged thoughts, and harsh white light kept me wincing and my eyes half-closed. For a moment, I considered just lying there and not moving, and for my sake, that's exactly what I did. I focused on breathing and trying not to give in to my own exhaustion.

Try to help someone once, and look where that gets you, I thought, rolling onto my side. My hands were free, so I could at least flex my fingers and push off the ground. I sat still as my stomach threatened to up-end itself. Concrete, bland and smooth, surrounded me. No blankets, no pillows, not a single thing inside this glass box in the center of an even larger concrete room. A single door in and out of this place loomed several dozen feet away from me. The kind of doors that even I'd have a hard time shouldering open. I sighed and got to my feet, using the glass to keep myself upright. I wasn't in my costume. White t-shirt and baggy white pants, white socks and I was half expecting to find a straitjacket somewhere in here as well. Maybe they've finally locked me inside an old asylum.

I slammed the side of my fist against the glass. It didn't even shudder. Barely would've cracked. Hm. But I didn't feel any weaker. Tiny sparks still crackled at my fingertips, turning the air that little bit warmer, but the glass was thick enough to distort the room around me, not that there was all that much to see. Great, I thought, sitting down with my back against the glass. I massaged my face and picked the dried blood out of my ears. Some kind of supersonic beeper. Looks like they weren't joking when they said they knew about me. I flicked the flakes of blood away and wished, at the very least, that today was still today, because I've fucked up a lot of things recently, but letting Bianca down—again, I know—would probably be my sign to throw in the towel on being a normal person.

"Got kidnapped by the government, B," I muttered to myself. My voice sounded dull, and for a moment, I almost thought my hearing was still screwed. "Maybe she likes flowers. Shame she doesn't like teeth, because I'd knock a few out of Ares and give 'em to her." I rested my head against the glass and shut my eyes. "Great work, Ry."

The room shuddered. I opened one eye and watched as the large black metal door decompressed and moved aside, splitting apart the blocky yellow caution written across it. Two people walked in, a man in a black and white suit with a stark red tie and an American flag pinned to his collar, and the other was a girl I kinda hoped I'd never see again. And she's wearing my costume. The doors shuddered shut behind them, and the man stopped in front of the cell, hands in his pockets and a hard look on his pale face. No eyebrows, no hair, almost like he was a video game character with nothing going for him except his painfully stark blue eyes. But the girl beside him had my attention, because she was grinning at me, hands on her hips and looking like the version of me that woke up feeling super instead of feeling fifty. I shut my eyes again, because hell, let's just get this whole thing over with.

A knock on the glass thundered through my cell, then she said, "I know you can hear me. Why so sad?"

I sighed through my nose, then looked at her. It was my older costume, the red, gold and white one the alternate version of myself had handed over. Guess that's where it went. Huh. "Got anything of your own to wear?"

"Plenty," she said, then spread her arms. "We've pretty much made an entire closet worth of these—"

"Seventeen," the man said, which shut her up. She folded her arms and muttered, whatever. He looked at me long enough to make me feel uncomfortable, almost naked. "I apologize for the measures, but you understand."

"'course," I said. "Because I'd probably fold her in two and cripple you without the cage."

"It's good we're on the same page," he said. His voice was monotone, almost exhausted. He didn't look any kind of special, just…weathered, like those eyes of his just couldn't be widened by anything anymore. He jerked his head at the clone of me standing beside him. "Wait outside. I want to speak to her in private, seventeen."

"But you said—"

"That's an order." He waited. She quietly swore and turned on her heels, leaving as soon as the doors groaned open. Once they shut again, he rolled his shoulders and ran a hand over his head. "Cassie's orders," he muttered. "The girl's meant to gain a lot more ground experience, but I personally think she's too volatile. Doesn't think, just acts. Almost reminds me of someone." I stared at him, he stared at me. Silence lingered. "Not a fan of jokes," he said quietly, sliding his hands back into his pockets. "The difference between you two is exponential. I personally think she's a waste of taxpayer dollars, just like the rest of the Olympus Protocol, but you've made it very easy for people to want their superheroes back in colorful costumes and low-budget action movie flicks."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry that supervillains die when I hit them," I said. "No smoke and mirrors with me."

"In my honest opinion," he said. "That's exactly the superhero the United States needs right now."

And here we go.

"Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying," I said. "Now let me out of here before I break out."

"By all means," he said flatly. "Once you make it past the five levels of A-grade superhumans and a sound system that'll leave your brain stewing inside of a crushed skull, then I'm more than willing to let you try to leave."

"Bit of an overreaction, don't you think?"

"You're not even classified as an S-grade," he said. "What you are is classified. In the documents that are blacked out and the files that get passed around upper levels of Washington and not a step below POTUS himself."

I smiled a little. "I always wanted to be special."

"And our worst fear is that you're just a teenager," he said. "God help us all."

"Who the hell are you, anyway?" I asked. "And look, I've gotten this speech from you government types before. Save the day, Olympia. Do as you're told, Olympia. We'll pay you and get you some training, Olympia, and maybe we'll throw in a few costumes and barely actually help you in any shape or form with anything, Olympia."

"Good thing that I've got nothing to offer you," he said. "As for who I am, I'm Director Kincaid. In charge of the Olympiad and all superhuman affairs within the country. I only report to the president and the Joint Chief of Staff. I've been in this position long enough to have worked alongside your father even before he spoke English." I stopped picking my nails and pretending I wasn't listening, then looked at him. "We know," he said. "We know what you are, we know what your father and what Titan was as well. It took us a long time, and we still don't know as much as we would like to give on, but the SDU did their part in helping us understand your anatomy far better."

The realization hit me a moment later.

"Fuck me," I said, then rubbed my eyes. The costumes. That's what they were, right? Highest pieces of tech I've ever come across, and only because they wanted to figure me out? "Why do I even listen to you people?"

"The information exchange wasn't voluntary," he said. "As of January second, the SDU was assimilated into the Olympiad. Documents have been lost in the process but key information, information worth billions of dollars that would punch a hole right through our defence budget, was our priority. The Overseers are being tried for treason in military court for working alongside you, but they'll get away with pardons for giving us your files."

Is everyone I meet an asshole, or am I just really bad at seeing through people's bullshit?

Or maybe everyone I met was after what they wanted. Adam nearly got my mother killed and technically his own cousins, too, just to go hand-in-hand with one of the worst supervillains New Olympus has ever known all because he wanted dad's corpse in the hands of the government, and where did that get him? Probably in the ICU, which not a single soul from the Olympiad has even said anything about. Not on the news, not about what I did to him. Sure, they went on late-night shows and called me a monster for doing that, but it wasn't like Poseidon or Ares was going around calling for my head. Guess I was right, I thought. The guy's alone. A billion-dollar waste of time.

I would've felt bad for him if I wasn't so angry that I even considered the SDU being a good deal.

It's weird, you know, that once upon a time, this city was full of people who grinned for the cameras as they caught falling buildings. Full of people who just wanted to make the city better for the sake of it even being better.

But the Golden Age was gone, and so far, what's come after was a steaming pile of what the fuck.

Just had to be born a few years too late for the good stuff. Now I had people like Ava to rely on.

The Dark Age, that's where we were right now, and fuck me, this place sucked.

"Right," I muttered, then swore. "What do you even want?"

"Your questions," he said. "Specifically the ones on the kidnapping you were investigating."

I snorted and folded my arms. "Even if I asked you, you'd probably just lie to me."

Like everyone else seemed to do. Maybe everyone I met was in some super secret group chat where they could talk about all the great ways to keep me in the dark about everything I needed to know. Hey, I might be one of the strongest people on the planet, but tell you what, that doesn't mean a whole lot when I know nothing at all.

"Let's find a middle ground," he said evenly. "Cassie Blackwood is neither our favorite person for roughly the same reasons. She flooded the streets with more human police officers just to corner the market with even more superheroes as she pushed them out onto the world. She made people desperate for saviors, and now she's serving them up under sparkling stage lights. My job is safety. America's safety and the world's safety. I deal with threats every morning and dream of neutralizing them every night. My job is monotonous. My job is grey. I take orders from two people who've got no clue what they're doing, and now I have to compete with a billionaire who's bought her way into the government. Olympia," he said, moving closer. "Let me ask you a question: would you ever vote?"

"No," I said. "Because whoever's in office is probably not gonna like me, anyway."

The tiniest smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Smart girl," he said. "But let me key you in on something important: the president is afraid he's going to lose his seat. The system is falling apart. The rest of America, first township by township, now city by city, like San Angeles last year, are either threatening to break away, or to fully disavow the Black Capes Act as a whole. It was always bound to happen. Just not this quickly and not this violently, because now we've got an arms race on our hands, and we're fortunate to have you on our soil."

I cocked an eyebrow and said, "In what universe would I fight your wars? You guys all suck!" I couldn't help but laugh a little and lie down, putting my hands behind my head. "Ha. 'Home soil' my ass. Nice one-liner."

"I'm not finished," Kincaid muttered, or maybe that was how his voice naturally was. "We're fortunate to have you on home soil because you act as a deterrent to other countries. They don't know your alignment with the government, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that if they attack the States, they could also harm someone you care about." I stopped checking out my fingernails. "And the world knows what you're capable of doing. It doesn't matter how patriotic you are, or your lack of patriotism—what I need you to know is that Raymond, if he gets voted in, is going to circle back on the Black Capes Act. That's what he's relying on, but that's hard to do when you're going up against the first superhuman office candidate. Elections were meant to be last year, but after a few bumps in the road, this summer is going to be our hot bed. Cassie wants more superheroes. If you're on the ground more, or online, the Olympiad is spending millions on recruitment campaigns. Don't you see what's happening?"

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Yeah," I said, rolling onto my side and leaning on my elbow. "A clusterfuck of bad decisions."

This time, Kincaid smiled. "Layman's terms, but you're a New Olympian, I wouldn't expect less."

"So what's this got to do with me?" I asked. "I've got other things to worry about right now."

"You're investigating the kidnapping of Howard White," he said. "Daughter, Samantha White. Former US special forces intelligence officer and recent White House whistleblower. And currently, your person of interest."

"I don't care what he got up to in his heyday," I said. "The government kidnapped someone's dad."

He paused, then said, "Your motivations for getting into a fight with dozens of Capes was—"

"Because someone doesn't have a dad right now, yeah," I said. "Pretty simple, right? Then why did Ares and the rest of his buddies freak out so much? I'm not the one who looks crazy here, you guys blew out my ears."

"Sentry wasn't meant to have that on her," he said, sighing a little.

"Doesn't change the fact that you guys have that sort of thing, anyway."

"We've had it for years now, far before you ever came onto the scene," he said. "A lot of the ground units used to be mandated to carry one alongside their firearms in the situation where they needed a quick escape. They were ruled 'unconstitutional' and a 'break of human rights' by the UN, so we had to pull them. Ergo, my apologies."

It was pretty hard to trust anything coming out of his mouth. For all I knew, this was all scripted.

"Whatever," he said. "Where's Howard? Give him over and I'll let you get back to being assholes."

"Howard White is dead," Kincaid said. My mouth bittered. Dominion wasn't bluffing? Or is this guy also just full of it, too? I love playing mind games just so much. "The order came from one of our higher ups last night."

"Aren't you literally the highest higher up in this entire place?"

"I am," he said. "Cassie Blackwood gave the order."

I sat still, then slowly pushed off the floor and stood up. I walked toward the glass wall separating us, and slowly shook my head. "Listen," I said quietly. "If you're pitting me against her so you can get her out, then—"

Blue light shimmered beside me, and then an envelope and a stack of files dropped onto the floor. I stared at them, because when did they have that kind of technology around here? Kincaid waited for me to pick them up, and that's what I gingerly did, tearing open the sealed envelope and finding a crappy old smartphone inside of it.

"What's this?" I asked him.

"Watch it," he answered.

It was an old habit of tensing when someone gave me an order, but I didn't have much of a choice. I turned on the phone, and it was already locked onto a video waiting to be played. I hit play and turned up the volume, but it was mute, grainy, and hard to even get a read of what was going on. Lots of Capes in one room, Adam arguing with Ares, that clone of myself hovering in the air. It looked like it had been videoed secretly, almost from a pair of glasses or a phone sticking out of a front pocket. Ares said something, gesturing around the room. Cassie was sitting at the head of the table, rolled her hand and said something back that made him slowly turn around, eyes flaring.

"What's—"

"Keep watching," Kincaid said. "Focus on Cassie."

So I did. Some of the most powerful Capes the government could dish up were inside that room.

And just when all of them were starting to talk, voices rising and people standing up, they suddenly froze, as if I'd hit pause again. I waited. Nothing happened. I checked if the video was still playing, but for just a moment, Adam and my clone were the only ones moving. A heartbeat, but to people like us, that was a very, very long time.

Enough time for me to see the very faint ripple of something come from Cassie before vanishing.

Then the windows behind Adam shattered, and there I was, pelted by rainfall and glowing gold.

The video went dead, and I was left staring at my own reflection.

"That footage," Kincaid said slowly, "is the only evidence that meeting even happened. I've personally interviewed Ares and Poseidon and Sentry, and had mentalists go through the minds of the injured Capes who got caught in the crossfire when you took Adam outside of the building, but nothing doing. Not a single document. Not a single memory. Not so much as an answer. That clone of yours won't give me a straight answer, and as for Adam, well, we found out pretty quickly that even in the state that he's in right now, his mind is entirely walled-off. He's more Arkathian than you are, just younger, less developed—a child in a teenage boy's body, so that means his mind is shut to human fingers. I'm left with that and only that, and Cassie is only willing to share what she knows will move things along for her. So you see, Olympia," he said, as I looked up at him. "I'm not turning you against her. I just don't want her in government business, full stop. Aegis Tech is this close to falling underneath her corporate umbrella, and thank God the law provoked her acquisition of the Donovan Bank Family Trust. She's a virus. A pest. And whatever she's after, you and I both know that we'll be suffering the consequences of it if she gets what she wants. My goal is to make sure she doesn't. Howard White knew this, and he knew how deep her influence goes."

"What was that?" I said quietly. "The rippling thing around her?"

"At certain frequencies, you can see mentalists using their powers. The same way you glow very brightly and run extremely hot on heat sensors, and almost always influence the electromagnetic field you're around, even if you don't notice it. It's subtle, but it's there. Cassie has never told the world what she is, because for the longest time, she made it seem like she was 'one of us.'" Kincaid ran a hand over his head again, then massaged the back of his neck. "She's up to something, and I'm late to the party. No idea how far deep her talons have already gone, but if she's got Ares in her pocket, then this entire building is compromised. Do you now understand what I'm saying?"

I swore and walked away from the glass, running a hand through my hair. Just had to be today.

"Olympia," Kincaid said.

"Yeah," I said, my back still facing him. "I know exactly what you're saying now."

"And—"

"How do I know you're not in her pocket as well?" I said, looking over my shoulder.

We stared at each other for a while. Long enough to make his slow heartbeat even slower.

"I'm from a time when the Soviets used to cut our spies open and stick tracking devices in their heads," he said, then turned his face just enough to show a long, pale scar going from the back of his ear to the base of his skull. "My brain isn't put together the same way as when I was your age. There's a fading generation out there who's minds can't be tampered with because it was a basic mandate that all government operators undergo thorough and critical patriotic evaluation for the sake of peace for all. It's the kind of surgery you won't find in a regular hospital, but the kind cartels like to cram inside skulls and hope it doesn't turn their boys into lifeless, brain-dead bodies."

"Jesus," I muttered.

"That's the Silver Age for you," he said. "The Bronze Age had their war heroes. The Golden Age had their superheroes. All we have are unmarked graves in countries that no longer exist on maps. And it was all a pleasure."

"All for the greater good, right?"

Kincaid nodded. "You understand, then, what I need from you?"

"I'm not signing up for government-mandated office work."

"They wouldn't even let you," he said. "That document on the floor has supervillains, gang leaders, drug smugglers, arms dealers, and you name it, all listed inside of it with their current whereabouts as well as what they have in their arsenals. The document itself is a list. A database of information comes with the hard drive inside of that envelope you're holding. Do with it as you please, and if you could, give me a right-up after every encounter and upload it back onto the hard drive. I'll be able to see through it every month or so. All I need is for you to be a superhero. The ones we've got aren't up to standard. Poseidon, however powerful, hasn't been much help as of late. Sentry could have been great, but she's too rigid with ideals. So much young talent, and I can't even tell which ones are going straight to Cassie for private debriefs I'll never hear about. So, in advance, thank you for your service."

"Hold on," I said. "I've done this entire song and dance before."

"With Overseer Two, yes," he said, his voice still flat. "But I'm not offering pay, I'm not giving you a new costume. I'm not even asking for your trust. I'm asking you to do your job and pretend we've never met before."

"What's the catch?" I asked.

I think he just raised an eyebrow, which was hard to tell without any hair on his face. "There isn't one."

"Usually is," I said. "Let me guess, you're gonna track me with every fight I get into so you can better—"

"We already do, and so does every other intelligence agency on the planet," he said, his voice dull. "We have to know what you're capable of, because we got blindsided by Zeus and Titan and what they could actually achieve. We spy on other countries and we spy on everyday, all for public safety. Any more questions, Olympia?"

Well, at least he's honest.

"How's Cassie making clones, anyway?" I asked. "And what's that about other cities refusing the Act?"

"Trial and error mostly," he said. "It doesn't take place inside New Olympus. If you've ever heard of Slugworks Inc, they're an off-shoot of the government they don't want you to know about. I'd tell you, but those sites are classified for more than just the cloning facilities." He shrugged. "As for the cities, it goes against what's written in our law books, but fighting our own cities and sending the army in to deal with it will make us look—"

"Let me guess," I said. "Weak?"

"Fractured," he said. "More than we already are. Long story short, kid, I need you to do your job, at least with a lot more focus now. Some of those names are high value targets, most of them with health alterations needed in short order, if you understand what I mean. Others need to be taken into custody. Most, well, knock yourself out."

"So I work for the government now, gee, I wonder what could go wrong this time," I muttered.

"I'm not here to make an enemy out of you," he said. "You need eyes on the inside, I need eyes and fists on the outside doing the jobs other Capes aren't capable of doing. You're not Zeus, but I don't need you to be. I need a kid who has her head on straight and a duty to the people, not just in our borders. Growing up on that planet, I'm guessing, wasn't easy for someone like you." And suddenly, my hands lowered, and my throat had a tiny ball of metal stuck in the base of it. "But you can make a difference here, even if the world never acknowledges it. Did you know that the moment you disappeared for two months, crime rose almost sixty percent throughout the entire city? You just being here is a deterrent. You don't get your big villain fights. You don't get people who want to be your day-in-day out enemies. All because they're afraid of you. Be their shield, and the sword if you have to, and kid, I know your trust is shot, and I know you've got your own problems to solve, but just do the world a favor and just keep being you. You're not the superheroes they're used to, and so be it—the world is changing, and so are its heroes, and in times like this, we need people who can pull the trigger first and ask questions months later, alright?"

I let his words linger in my head for just a moment, clashing against the voice inside of me saying no.

Because how many times have I done this before, all for the same result?

"Look," I said, sighing. "I want to help, but… Fuck, you've watched it all happen, you know that I'm not gonna trust you. And if I was going to help you out, then you're gonna have to do something substantial for me."

"Name your price," he said. "If it's money you want—"

"It's training," I said. Then paused. "Money, too."

"Training," he muttered, then looked away. He nodded slowly. "I thought you were already—"

"I want to be better," I said. "I want to be the best. But I need to learn first, and I can't keep learning on the go, because that shit just doesn't fly anymore. Teach me how to think, how to fight, and hell, how to hold back."

He smiled a little. "I don't know if I should be terrified or glad."

"Be both," I said. "Because you haven't stabbed me in the back just yet."

"Fine," the director said. "And I'll pay you five grand weekly to keep this off the books. Sounds fair?"

"Throw in one of those mission bonuses and people you know I can rely on for help with tracking things down and tech stuff like hacking into computers and security feeds, and maybe I'll consider giving you a hand."

"Steap asking price," he muttered. "But there's no price on security. Fine. I have a few people who might be willing to help that aren't in the Olympiad. People that'll help out. I'll have their contacts sent straight to your phone, and I'll have a private line you can use to contact me and only me. As for the training…" He thought a little, then said, "It won't be fun, and the only people I know who might be able to help you are old, bitter hardasses."

"If it means I get better at what I do for the sake of this city, that's something I can work around."

"Looks like we found our middle ground," he said. A blue shimmer appeared beside me again, and there on the floor was my costume, neatly folded and fresh, with a new phone on top of it. I'd write down the contacts and the private line, then toss the phone for a new one. Didn't trust these guys to not track me or listen to my calls or read my messages, even though they probably already were. "Once you're dressed, you'll be given a way out of here. Ten minutes, that's all I'm handing you. There's an old sewer line under the building that used to get Supers out of places they shouldn't be inside way back in the day. Any of them will take you far enough away to not worry about being followed. After ten minutes, the alarm will go off, and you'll be classified as an escaped convict, too."

"What about you?" I asked. "Won't me escaping go down on you?"

"You're Olympia," he said with a shrug. "What can I possibly do against the might of Zeus' daughter?"

"And you're telling me they aren't listening in to what we're saying right now?"

Kincaid shook his head. "We power wash blood off these floors every other week. No cameras in here. I'll focus on dealing with Cassie. Howard White might be dead, and I can't find his body, but this all has to end soon. And hopefully before the president cheats himself into another term in office. Now get out of here, kid. Save us all."

It sounded too good to be true.

Because it probably was somehow.

But one thing was true: he wasn't lying about the alarm going off ten minutes later.

I could hear it all the way from the motel I left Sam waiting inside.

Go figure, I thought, as the TV in the lobby played the breaking news that I'd escaped Olympiad custody scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Sam sprung onto her feet and looked over my shoulder, then frowned.

"Where's my dad?" she asked. "And what happened in the Olympiad?"

"Long story," I said, sitting on the lobby's plastic chairs. "And we need to talk about what happens next."