#trihunter

Someday, this will be a comicbook series, but in the meantime I’ve decided to try my hand at writing it as a novel:

“GET OFF THE ROOF!”

Flames roar as three teenagers bolt away from collapsing concrete, pushing every muscle to make it to the edge of open night. Four more kids six stories below focus on dragging unconscious thugs away from the burning building, while overhead, a boy tangled in a wire mesh net whacks at the drone keeping him airborne with a broken bo staff.

Pause.

Rewind three weeks.

Two women in a high rise office argue with one another.

“This idea is preposterous, and I will have no part in it.”

“I don’t want you to have a part in it, Dawson, I want your kid - more specifically, I want to put her in charge.”

There’s a heavy pause, as the other stares at her. “Are you serious?”

“Yes! Ye gods, woman, you know I how little I enjoy talking to you, we wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t absolutely serious about this!”

Pause again.

Rewind six years.

A girl opens her eyes, and doesn’t recognize the woman leaning over her. She yelps, and tries to scramble away, only to stop with a hiss when she puts weight on her bandaged arm. “Who- where- what’s going on?”

“Easy, Tiffany. Don’t go aggravating your injuries.” The woman smoothes a hand over her unwashed hair, causing the girl to blink in bewilderment. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I- I don’t-” Face scrunching up, she thinks as hard as she can - but nothing comes to mind. “I can’t remember- I can’t remember anything-!”

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re alright - we can handle this.” Arms wrap around her, gently pulling the girl into a stiff hug. Her nose breathes in the woman’s scent, but it brings her no comfort. “Your name is Tiffany Dawson. You’re twelve years old, and you live with me, your mother, Mary Dawson.”

The woman pulls back enough to let their eyes meet, smoothing her thumbs over the girl’s cheeks. “You were in an accident, but everything’s alright now. You are alright now. I promise.”

Pause one more time.

Rewind seven and a bit decades, to the end of a war, and the beginning of an era. People made wiser by their predecessors’ failures are putting together a new organization, a gathering of United Nations, to give the governments of the world a proper platform for peacefully settling their needs and differences.

At the same time, the super-powered community is establishing something similar.

Ranks of representatives from all seven continents are established, with members specializing in criminal investigations and arrests, humanitarian aid and disaster relief, scientific study and social relations. They arrange themselves in such a way to foster communication and cooperation across borders, to detain those who normal governments cannot hold, to aid those who normal charities cannot assist. Year by year, centers and outreach posts appear in more and more communities, providing opportunity for the average super-powered person.

Various languages coin their own terms, of course, but the general title is “anota” - from the Greek anoteros, meaning superior. As for the organization itself, some intrepid soul creates the name GLACIER - the Global League of Anota Citizens and Institution of Emergency Response.

Some applaud it. Some despise it. Some seek to topple it, and others to rise within its ranks. A few attempt to manipulate it for their own purposes, and are ruthlessly shut down. There are those claim it does too much, while their opponents argue too little.

Growing numbers suggest the minimum age requirement for hire should be lower than the official twenty-one years, hence a new project being proposed in the early two thousands, worked and re-worked over a decade until the parameters are agreed upon by multiple oversight committees across all continents.

At that point, the woman placed in charge of the American test group is given permission to seek out suitable candidates. She makes a list; pares it down once, twice, three times. Argues over her allowed age range, what incentives can be offered to encourage acceptance, when and where the project is to take place, for what duration, with what difficulties.

Finally, at the start of summer, several months later, she gets her green light to proceed. And begins by calling a coworker she doesn’t much care for into her office.

Said woman stares at her in naked bewilderment. “Teenage superheroes? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“An introduction to crimefighting is just one aspect, High Guard,” Dynata tells her. “There will also be infiltration and investigation, rescue operations, wilderness and urban tracking, emergency response-”

“Teenage superheroes,” the other woman repeats, this time flatly instead of incredulous. “Unbelievable.”

“People have been saying for years we ought to consider dropping the hiring age limit-”

“We want Glacier members old enough to have gotten through college, woman, not children who’re barely out of high school!”

Dynata decides not to mention that one of her top picks for the initial testing group was in fact a fifteen year old still in the tenth grade. “Our recruitment numbers are dropping, High Guard, while the juvenile halls keep filling up with kids who just didn’t have constructive outlets for their anota abilities. This is about changing that, giving them career opportunities.”

“In the guise of a summer camp program.”

“To put it simply, yes. Maybe even a boarding school set-up, if we can get the teachers and government approval for it.”

High Guard’s expression slowly morphs through various emotions, none of them positive. “This idea is preposterous, and I will have no part in it.”

Dynata groans. “I don’t want you to have a part in it, I want your kid - more specifically, I want to put her in charge.”

There’s a heavy pause, as the other stares at her. “Are you serious?”

“Yes! Ye gods, woman, you know I how little I enjoy talking to you, we wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t absolutely serious about this!” Annoyed at getting side-tracked, Dynata scrubs a hand across her weathered face. “Look, I know your daughter just graduated her homeschool program - congratulations, by the way - and I’m betting you were planning on keeping her busy training until she hits twenty-one. Why not have the kid join this? Pass on to others some of the skills you’ve taught her? Gain some practical experience and a boost to her admission application?”

That last bit catches High Guard’s attention, her eyes narrowing. “What sort of a boost?”

“The sort that could fast-track her to a leadership position after her initial probationary period.”

They stare one another down for a long moment, Dynata bare-faced, High Guard through her mask, until the latter finally dips her head in acceptance. “Scheduling?”

“Four days here, three days off. Practical instruction, regular work-outs, written quizzes to monitor improvements in knowledge and thought-process. Parents and other guardians receive updates every two weeks throughout the three month program.”

“...that’s acceptable. I expect to be able to observe in person as well, however.”

“I’ll allow it on occasion, because of your rank, but for the most part we want to keep the participants focused without interference from family.” Dynata picks up a folder to hand over her desk. “These are the security precautions we’ve already established; any input you see fit to give would be appreciated.”

The other woman gives it a cursory glance. “I’ll send you detailed notes by this evening. What else?”

“She’ll need to bring her own downtime clothes and toiletries, but we’ll provide uniforms, workout gear, and any additional items Tiffany requests.”

“We have our own weapons she trains with. I’ll send them along as well.”

Nodding, Dynata offers her a smile. “Of course, all of this is a moot point if the kid herself doesn’t feel comfortable participating-”

“Comfort isn’t a guarantee in crimefighting,” High Guard snorts, rising to her feet. “She’ll participate.”

Dynata nods again, forcefully keeping her smile in place. “I look forward to seeing her on the twelfth, then. Specifics of where and when will be sent to you.” She doesn’t bother with any farewells as the other hero sweeps out of the office, and slumps in her seat as soon as the door clicks shut. “Ye gods, I cannot stand that woman.”

Emotions, repressed; pose, dramatic; shenanigans, frowned upon.

Inktober 2019 - Day One, Mask