“You understand that this won’t get you or Monster out from under Colleen Hart, right?”

Drake grimaced at the question posed to him by Angelo. He knew in his heart that the aging hero was correct, but it was difficult for him to voice the truth quite as freely. The plan to move Monster to the Hurst Academy had been a bold move, but even once accomplished the Director of the Department of Metahuman Affairs would be able to track him.

“Yeah, I get it,” Drake said with some reluctance. “Hell, it ain’t like I didn’t know it when I started this little stunt. Still, I figure if I can insulate him from her by even a little bit, the kid’ll be better off.”

“He will be well cared for,” declared Lucille. Her metallic face seemed to flow as the words formed. The overhead lighting gleamed off her lips and nose as she tilted her head. The play of shadows over the glittering surface of her skin left little doubt that the perpetual scowl which she directed at Drake had not faded.

“I don’t doubt that. Just like I don’t figure you actually needed to hire Sala for the security slot. Only a complete idiot would try to take that place down.”

“It has not occurred before, that much is true,” she said. “However, we do employ a security team on premises.”

“I already explained it all,” Angelo said, placing a hand on her arm. He turned back to Drake. “The whole place, due to the geneboosters present, does fall under the jurisdiction of the DMR. You’re not getting away from Hart. It’s a temporary fix, you know that.”

“Ain’t much of a fix that would be permanent where Hart’s concerned,” Drake said, nodding. “Well, there is, but, you know that whole Geneva Convention thing just knocks it out of the running.”

Despite the serious nature of the conversation, the comment brought a chuckle that rippled between the three of them.

“Have you considered the nicotine patches I gave you?” Lucille asked Angelo, fanning her hand before her face as a wave of smoke drifted across her position. Her tone, slightly teasing in opposition to the coldness she showed toward Drake, left no doubt that this was a long-standing joke between the two of them.

“Yeah, but I grew up with these damned things. Figure I might as well keep going,” Angelo replied, drawing deeply on the cigarette. “I guess it was rude of me not to offer. Either of you guys want one?”

“Dear God, no,” Lucille said. She sounded as disturbed as if he had offered her a bucket of worms and a fork.

“Drake?”

“Naw. I keep getting the filters caught between my teeth.”

“Okay, then we’re all good here.”

“I see,” said Lucille. “So slowly poisoning your coworkers is obviously a usage of the word ‘okay’ of which I was until now unaware?”

“That...yeah, that kind of works,” Angelo said with a wink.

“How do you get by up at Hurst?” Drake asked, refilling his coffee mug and topping off those of the other two. “I mean, what with the whole non-smoking areas and stuff.”

“Fly up about fifty feet and you’re good,” Angelo answered, shrugging.

“Field strip the butts, put ‘em in your pocket, that kind of thing?”

“I just crush ‘em,” he said, demonstrating by squeezing the glowing tip between his fingers until it went out. For a man that could withstand a flamethrower blast, the smoldering tobacco was no annoyance.

“Nice.”

“Once we have Mister Drake enrolled,” Lucille interrupted, bringing the conversation back on track, “what can we expect from him?”

“Pretty much whatever you ask,” Drake said. “And, uh, you can call him ‘Monster’. Calling him ‘Mister Drake’ just confuses me. I always think you’re talking about me.”

“Rest assured, I will refer to you by your title, Agent Drake. As to calling him by such a name as that, I will not.”

“Look, I know you and me got off on the wrong foot -“

“I. You and I got off on the wrong foot.”

“Whatever. I don’t mean to disrespect you or your ability. You’re helping me out and I appreciate it. You got no idea how much I do. Still, you start calling him ‘Mister’ all the time, it’s gonna go over his head. ‘Monster’ or ‘Chris’ works. Anything else and he’s gonna be a little hard to reach.”

“Then I shall endeavor to remember him as Chris,” she promised, though it was apparent that the informality pained her.

“He ain’t stupid,” Drake emphasized. “He’s just, you know, used to his name.”

“Why did you choose to call him ‘Monster’?”

“Wasn’t me that chose it. It was him. He liked the Cookie Monster at the time. Used to shove oatmeal cookies into his mouth and scatter the crumbs all over while he made ‘arrgh’ noises. Kind of a pain in the ass, but I didn’t mind cleaning up. Still, the name stuck. Just glad he wasn’t digging on Snuffleupagus.”

“That would have been awkward,” Lucille acknowledged, nodding her head.

“He likes being Monster. It would probably help him if you...fine. Chris will work,” he said, catching the hard-edged stare she directed at him.

“Do you have full information on the degree of his disability?”

“Way I understand it, part of it is similar to Down’s Syndrome,” Drake said, swallowing. He gnawed at his lower lip for a moment before continuing. “Most of it’s due to brain damage he suffered when Mom was carrying him. She had it rough with the old man. Bastard used to beat her when I wasn’t enough of an outlet for his anger. Doc’s all said he kicked her in the belly a few too many times. Monster didn’t get quite as much oxygen as he should have. Came out a little bit slow.”

“I am sorry.”

“No apologies, ma’am, please,” Drake said, waving off the words. “You weren’t there. You didn’t do it.”

“Still, I hesitate to bring up these memories for you.”

“Don’t mean nothing,” he said flatly. “I dealt with my feelings years back. Monster, he don’t know what happened with it anyway. Lucky that way, I suppose. I just...well, more than a few times I wondered whether it would have made a difference if I’d stood up a little sooner, you know?”

“You cannot change the past.”

“Yeah, I know. Still...”

“There are a lot of things we would all like to change if we had the chance, Drake,” Angelo mused, finally entering the conversation. He had the tired air of a man who has seen more than he should, and the faraway look in his eyes left little doubt that there was indeed much in his past that he would like to modify or erase. Given his history, Drake knew that was the case.

“Tell us about his strength,” Lucille urged.

“Kid’s a powerhouse,” Angelo admitted, shaking away his memories and returning to the table in full. He shook another cigarette out of the pack that lay on the table and sparked his chromed Zippo. As a cloud of gray billowed from around the filter, he continued. “He’s nearly as strong as I am. We wrestled a bit out there and it was all I could do at times to keep him in check. He enjoyed not holding back. You guys can talk about him being ‘disabled’ or ‘slow’ all you want, but Monster actually makes a conscious effort to rein in his power.”

“He knows he’s strong,” Drake said, rubbing at the edge of his snout with the side of his index finger. “We’ve modified a lot of things he owns so he can’t break ‘em as easy, but even still, he cracks his cups and stuff just with his grip. He’s got a lot of stuffed animals that aren’t as prone to breakage.”

“If you had to rate him?” Lucille asked. Angelo shook his head.

“Titan-grade. I’m talking about off-the-charts, here. Level three-plus. Like I said, it’s on par with mine. Pure strength? I’d come close to putting him up against Annihilator.”

“I wouldn’t,” Drake said quickly. “I’ve traded punches with them both.”

“So have I,” Angelo countered. “Like I said, Monster’s holding back with you.”

“He’s as strong as Calder?”

“Yeah.”

For a moment Drake was silent, replaying in his mind the way Monster had handled Retribution and Thrash in the shopping mall. His punches had been enormously powerful, and Drake had not thought about it at the time, caught up as he had been in the fight itself. He found himself wondering about the comments made by the nurse he had found to be drugging Monster.

“So they were right, then?” A long, hissing intake of breath sounded for a moment. “He’s going to be a threat?”

“Not a threat. Just a challenge for an educator. Luckily for you and him, Lucy here is about the best you can get.”

“His doctors said his system doesn’t produce... myosan? I think it’s something like that.”

“Myostatin?” Lucille asked.

“That’s it.”

“The human body produces myostatin to slow muscle growth. Experiments have shown that, without the presence of myostatin, animals produce two or more time the lean muscle mass of those within which it is present. If Mi... if Chris actually does not produce it, that could explain the prodigious strength.”

“Part of it,” Angelo said. “Part of it is his boost.”

“So he would have been strong anyway, without being a booster?”

“Very strong. Probably near human limits without training.”

“Do you think that could have been ‘cause of what happened to him?”

“There is no definitive way to determine that, Agent Drake,” Lucille said, gently shaking her head. “Myostatin deficiency is a mutation of the genetic system, much as is Emergence itself. Even were there sure and absolute testing methods regarding the cause of Emergence, they would not be sufficient to answer that question.”

Drake nodded. He cleared his throat before continuing. “I, uh, I want him to learn...I don’t know...something. Something more than I did. I didn’t go very far in school. I got my G.E.D., sure, but most of what I know I learned along the way. Nothing’s really structured, you know?”

“I can guarantee structure,” Lucille declared.

“I don’t mean just the ‘get up at this time, go to class at this time’ kind of structure. I mean -“

“I know precisely what you mean, Agent Drake, and believe me, I am fully capable of ensuring it.”

“She really is,” Angelo added with an emphatic nod.

“Agent, I understand what you are going through emotionally. I cannot say I empathize with you, having never made such a decision myself, but I can tell you that you are making a step in the right direction here. Chris has the potential for improvement. It has been overlooked by those provided to tutor him. Miss Romain was able to glean that much from her scan of his thoughts.”

Drake rubbed at his temples. The telepath had described images of government-provided teachers effectively ignoring Monster as they carried on with whatever activities made up their own lives. It was as if they dismissed his ability to learn after spending only moments with him, deciding that their time was better spent on other pursuits. It was at least some explanation as to why his brother had gone through a string of these instructors over the years. The Department had decided that it was somehow Monster’s fault, that he must be a tougher student to deal with than others, and they had countered that by rotating his teachers rather than providing one who would focus on him.

“We will see to it that Chris is properly instructed at Hurst Academy, Agent. His education will in no way be lacking.”

“On top of that, you’ll get to see him when you come teach,” Angelo reminded Drake. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see you spending more time with him than you do now.”

“You guys don’t have to sell me on the idea. I was the one who came to you, remember?”

“We’re not trying to sell you, pal. Just, you know, talk you through it.”

“It ain’t me that’s gonna have trouble with the talking through part,” Drake said, drawing his buzzing cell phone from his pocket and checking the screen. “It’s Hart.”

“Hart’s no problem,” Angelo said, slashing a hand across the air in front of himself. “I’ll explain to her that he’s under my immediate care.”

“No. I mean, it’s Hart,” Drake said, waggling the phone meaningfully. He snapped open the cover and answered the call. In the stillness of the room, Angelo and Lucille could easily hear the Director as she spoke.

“Drake? Hart. I am reminding you of your appointment tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know. Hippie school. I’ve got a ride.”

“Sensitivity training, Agent Drake. It is imperative that you be present, and that you be prompt. Do not make me repeat myself on this.”

“Sorry, could you say that again?” Drake responded automatically. Under the table, Angelo kicked him in the left shin. The gesture would have brought little more than a grin had it come from anyone who was not one of the strongest geneboosters on the planet. Drake grimaced and swallowed deeply to keep from yelping in pain.

“Stop pissing her off,” Angelo hissed. Drake nodded frantically, reaching down with one hand to massage his leg.

“No, I’m not being a smart ass,” he said into the phone. “I had some background noise here. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna miss the class.”

“It is not an option any more, Agent.”

“I got it, all right?”

“You are to cooperate fully with the class staff. That means you will do as you are told, without question. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” he replied curtly. Scowling, Angelo pointed at the enormous green fingers of Drake’s free hand, now visibly crossed on the tabletop. Drake flashed his teeth in a grin, followed by an innocent shrug.

“Excellent. Your appointment is at oh-nine-hundred. The address and class itinerary are being forwarded to your phone. Do you have any questions?”

“Is lunch provided or are we going out?” he asked, then jerked his head away from the receiver as the phone went dead with a loud click. “Damn. It was just a question.”

“Is it truly so difficult for you to understand the concept of consequences, Agent Drake?” Lucille asked, a ridge on her forehead moving as she arched an eyebrow.

“I understand just fine. I just wanted to know if I needed to be ready to order out.”

Angelo’s voice was muffled by the fact that his face was cradled in his hands. “You’re gonna kill me, Drake, I swear to God. I try to help, I really do...”

“What? It’s a legitimate question!”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes. I really want to know.”

“Fine. No, they do not provide lunch.”

“Thank you. Was that so hard?”

“Your well-known attitude may play some part in the fact that you have so many problems getting legitimate questions answered,” said Lucille. “Many people do not know whether the questions are real or if you are being flip with them.”

Drake raised his hand as he lowered his head. “Guilty as charged,” he said. “I know I’m...well, a little hard to take.”

“I believe at our first meeting you said you were an asshole,” Angelo reminded him.

“Geez, I was trying to be a little polite,” Drake said, gesturing toward Lucille. “Didn’t want to offend -“

“And that, Agent Drake, is precisely the attitude it will take to see you through the successful completion of your sensitivity training,” she interrupted. “If you enter that classroom determined not to offend anyone, you will sweep through the course with no problems at all.”

“And if you go in there wearing a tee shirt from ‘Hooters’, so help me, I will kick your ass myself,” Angelo said, pointing a finger. Drake snickered at the thought.

“You know, if I could actually wear a shirt...” he began, continuing to laugh. “Hell, a hat, even.”

“Seriously, Drake, don’t blow this.”

“Gee, mom, can’t I have any fun?”

“The more fun you have in class, the more problems you create for you and Monster—which means, by extension, for me. Now you think about how bad you want to piss me off. If it’s really really important to you that you do, then hey, live it up. Just be ready for what comes after.”

“I know. I promise you, I will go in there ready for whatever they throw at me. I’ll be the first in line.”

“Then we will leave you to prepare,” Lucille said, standing from the table. The three shook hands and Angelo escorted her from the house. Drake stared at the walls of the kitchen for a minute, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

“What the hell did you get yourself into, dumbass?” he muttered.

Leaving the house, he wrapped his wings around himself as proof against the chill and trudged slowly up the street back toward the safehouse where Monster and Sala were waiting. His hands were tucked into the tops of his pockets and he walked aimlessly, looking now and then at the sky as if expecting to see the answers to all his questions spelled out in the stars. He rubbed at tired eyes and wondered just how he was supposed to remain awake in a class that began at a time before he was normally awake.

“Hope they’ve got a coffee maker in the room,” he said. “Can’t afford Starbucks.”

He finished his walk to the safehouse, easing open the gate and latching it behind his massive form. He smiled to himself as the gate remained silent through the process. The oil he had placed on the hinges had done its job.

“Been wondering when you’d get back,” Sala said in a low voice as she opened the door. The Firedrake costume was long gone, replaced by her more utilitarian jumpsuit and holstered sidearm.

“Don’t you ever sleep?”

“Not much. More efficient that way.”

Drake entered the house and made his way quietly into the living room as Sala secured the door. There was already a fresh mug of coffee steaming on the table beside Drake’s stool. He sat, flipping his tail up over his shoulder, and swigged deeply from the cup. Sala moved to the couch and reclined against one arm, fixing her gaze on the reptilian booster. He saluted her with the mug.

“Good brew,” he said.

“You could have -“ she began, then shook her head, remembering his cautions against speaking freely in the house. She took a deep breath and pasted on a grin.

“I’m going to school in a couple of hours,” Drake said. “Ain’t been to one in many a year.”

“Your grammar shows it.”

“Bite me.”

“I’ve been thinking about checking out a school myself,” she said.

Drake’s lips peeled back past his teeth in a grin. “Yeah?”

Her answering nod was so slight that had he not been watching for it he would have had no clue it had been made.

“Not the touchy-feely crap you’re going to, though,” she added, her tone teasing once more. “I was thinking more along the lines of an armorer’s course, maybe some martial arts.”

“Some what? Oh, martial arts. Sorry. For a second I thought you said marital arts. I was gonna ask how to get into that class.”

“Well, that opens up a whole mess of mental images I didn’t want.”

“Don’t it, though?”

“So...you ready for the class?”

“Yeah. Hart says I have to play nice, though.”

“Oh, now I really want to go.”

“I can be boring.”

She snorted. “Not likely.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right. Gotta try, though, for Monster’s sake. I figure I can handle it.”

They sat in silence for a short time, each lost in their own thoughts. Drake stood and went to the kitchen, returning after a few minutes with the coffee pot in one hand. He gestured with it and she held out her mug for a refill.

“There’s fresh brewing,” he said, jerking his head toward the kitchen.

“Good. I feel an all-nighter coming on.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“Figuring on going to sleep during the class?”

“I’ll sleep on the way. Wrangled a flight on a military transport bound for Seattle. They’ll drop me off over Portland.”

“I like the way you say that so casually. Over Portland.”

“Wings have their advantages,” he said, rustling the enormous appendages.

She chuckled, took a sip from her coffee. Eyes like glacier ice flicked up to look into his. “Right thing, you figure?”

Drake knew the question had nothing to do with his sensitivity training. He nodded, then rolled his eyes, looking at various places in the room he figured were ideal for the concealment of microphones. “I go to class and get my brain fixed, then I figure everything’s better for a while.”

“Don’t get too fixed, okay? Some of us are kinda used to you the way you are.”

“It ain’t so much about the content, way I understand it. It’s more about how willing you are to go along with the bullshit they shovel on your head. I can take that from anyone, if it helps Monster.”

Sala swiped a hand across her face, running her fingers through her hair. She took in a breath and leaned slightly forward, as if about to speak, then relaxed again and, with a wry smile, took another drink from her mug.

The morning came far too quickly for the pair, caught up as they quickly became in shared war stories and idle chitchat. Nothing of substance was spoken in the hours that passed, but neither of the pair would willingly trade the time spent. It was a rare moment of relaxed camaraderie between people who had been places and done things that were not considered polite conversation topics in society. Their biggest challenge was in keeping their laughter quiet enough to avoid waking Monster.

Drake stood and stretched, downed the last of his coffee, and went through the door. His ride was waiting, a pale grey van with one of the standard-issue Department drivers. There was a moment of shock as the driver beheld his passenger for the first time, but it passed quickly, and the van took Drake to the airport without incident. He found a cozy seat near the back loading ramp of the C-130 and dropped his bulky frame into it. He was awakened by a pockmarked Tech Sergeant who was either terrified of speaking to the booster or suffered from a severe stutter. Either way, it did not matter to Drake as he threw himself out of the rear of the plane and glided toward what the cell directions told him would be his class. He checked the clock on the cell and was pleased to see that he had arrived with almost fifteen full minutes to spare.

The building turned out to be a multi-story office backed up to a medical clinic of decent size. Following the instructions Hart had provided, he made his way up the stairs to the third floor and to a room marked ‘3F-D. Hochek’. He tucked his wings in close to his body and entered. The office and waiting area was furnished in soft pastels, with wide couches and a few high-backed chairs. No one was presently waiting, and Drake wondered if those who might otherwise be in the room were in the training session he was to attend. Ahead of him was a reception desk behind a faux-granite counter. The girl behind it was coordinating an appointment and typing into her computer and failed to see Drake as he approached. She finished the call and glanced up.

“Yes? Can I h—“ she began. Her eyes went wide and the color drained from her face.

“Francis Drake, Department of Justice,” he said, waving his shield at her. The girl’s breathing had shallowed and grown more rapid. She was pushing backward, away from his arm as he extended the credentials. “I’ve got an appointment here at nine.”

The girl seemed incapable of speech at the moment, and Drake feared she might well faint if he pressed any further into her space. He withdrew the badge carrier, clipping it back onto his belt. “I’ll just go on in, then, shall I?” he suggested, jerking his head toward the hallway that led beyond the waiting room. Without waiting for her to respond, he turned on his heel and went into the hall. He paused once to glance at a painting on a wall, arching an eyebrow and shaking his head. A shudder went down his spine as he thought about just how horrible the artwork truly was. He passed by the door marked, ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’. There was only one other door available in the hall.

“Least it’s easy to find,” he muttered to himself, turning the knob and opening the door.

The room was not as brightly lit as Drake had expected. He looked around himself as he stepped through the portal. The room was about twelve feet wide and twenty deep, with a podium near one end, behind which a projection screen hung from the ceiling. A circle of chairs was set out in the middle of what was otherwise an empty room. In one of the chairs sat a woman in a professionally-tailored navy blue suit. Her brown hair hung to just below the tops of her shoulders. Crossed legs supported a clipboard with a Manila folder and a yellow legal pad. She looked up as Drake entered. Her breath caught for a second, but she forced a smile onto her face and stood, extending a hand.

“Agent Drake. Welcome. I am Deanna Hochek. I will be your trainer here today. Please, take a seat wherever you would like,” she invited, pausing to watch him. Drake was tempted to automatically take the seat she had been using in an effort to see how it would affect her, but he also knew she would mark that as some kind of aggression on his part.

“So am I it?” he asked, flipping one of the chairs around so that he could comfortably sit. He waited for a moment, gesturing toward her chair. She raised an eyebrow, jotted a note on her clipboard and sat. Drake dropped into his own chair once she was seated. He glanced around once more, wincing as he noticed a distinct lack of a coffeepot.

“Yes, you are,” she replied, looking at him. “Were you expecting others?”

“I didn’t know. Nobody told me what to expect,” he said.

“Well, some of our classes are group sessions, but for this particular one I have arranged a more...private session.”

“Ahh. Nobody gets scared by the big monster, right?”

“Not quite,” she said, brushing off the question as being less than important. “I just didn’t feel it was appropriate to put you in with the others, who might be intimidated from responding appropriately if they were in the presence of a law enforcement officer.”

“Nice. So they’re criminals?”

“Some might be. Some not. I couldn’t say. Would it bother you if they were?”

“Couldn’t care less, as long as they keep to themselves.”

“I see. So, do you know why you’re here?”

“Orders from the Chief,” he said simply.

“Yes, but why were those orders issued?”

“I spouted off and made some comments that upset a few people. That and I guess I broke one too many people on my last mission.”

“The comments you made...do you see what was wrong with them?”

“Yeah. The wrong people heard them.”

Deanna chuckled, a soft rumbling sound. “Yes, well, that is one of the things,” she said. “I’m here to show you that there are other ways to express your feelings. Your outbursts can cause other people to feel belittled and offend them.”

“Maybe they should have thicker skins.”

“You have to understand, Agent Drake -“ “It’s just Drake. That’ll save you a whole mess of syllables as the conversation goes on.”

“Okay. Drake it is. Understand, Drake, that your words do have meaning. You call someone a name and it cuts like a blade. You cannot simply say what you want without some consequence.”

“Like what? I mean, what is it I said that was so bad?”

She checked her folder, then looked up. “Let’s start with this. You cast aspersions on the birth of a Federal Agent, as well as the fidelity of his mother. You referred to his mother by... well, by terms most women find derogatory. You threatened his safety. Overall, you made him feel helpless.”

“I did? Wow. I just thought he realized he couldn’t hurt me.”

“You see? You automatically assume that the only way you can be harmed is physically. You traumatized the Agent emotionally when you did what you did.”

“I did what? Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Your comments hurt him.”

Drake’s jaw dropped. “I’m sitting here because some monkey from the NSA, who has supposedly been trained to withstand interrogation by enemy spies, was emotionally traumatized when I made fun of his mom?”

“Please, Drake, don’t refer to him as a monkey! That is exactly the kind of unthinking statement I am talking about.”

“Aha! It’s okay for them to call me a lizard, but not for me to call them a monkey.”

“No. It’s not all right for them to call you names, either.”

“And yet I’m in here alone. Nobody here to answer for calling me names.”

Deanna scrawled notes on her pad. “You have never reported this?”

“Reported what? Someone saying I’m a big lizard? Look at me, lady. I am a big lizard. I’ve been called more names than you’ve got listed in your books. I don’t go crying to mommy when someone does it. I stand up for myself and spit back into their faces.”

“You can think of no better way to respond?”

“What way? Offer them a hug?”

“There are less aggressive ways in which you can respond. You don’t need to always ‘spit back into their faces’, as you say.”

“It’s my way.”

“Your way can change.”

“So can yours.”

“But mine is socially acceptable, Drake, and yours is not.”

“Fine. Whatever. Can we just hurry up and get on with this thing?”

Her casual grin faded in the face of his dismissal. “We can,” she said flatly. “Relax, Drake. You’re going to be here for a while. The first thing we’re going to do is watch a short film on sexual harassment. Pay attention, because there will be a test.”

“Ready when you are, lady.”

She switched on a projector, concealed at the rear of the room, by using a small remote control previously hidden in a pocket of her suit. The lights dimmed even further as a grainy image appeared on the drop-down screen—a man, dressed in fashions from the 1980’s, leering at the cleavage of his female coworker. A tinny voice began its narration about the events unfolding onscreen.

“I knew it,” Drake muttered quietly. “This is gonna suck.”