Unwanted Heroes

prologue: a new meaning

"I had that dream again, Mum," eight-year-old Finley Fairbairn yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He approached the dining table sleepily as his mother prepared breakfast.

"What dream, Finley?" his mother asked, a sense of uneasiness twisting inside of her.

Finley scrunched up his nose, a habit he picked up while trying to remember things. "There was this little kid, about my age. She started crying and there was this huge light tornado that threw stuff around," he began.

He paused long enough to take a good, long gulp of his Milk Meal, wiping his mustache off on his sleeve.
"And then there was this lady who tried to calm her down but then the kid screamed and she threw a car at her," Finley continued.

His brow was furrowed, as though trying to remember something else. "I'm pretty sure it was an accident, too, Mum," Finley finished, pushing his glass towards her.

Mrs. Fairbairn pursed her lips. It worked, she thought with a mental sigh of relief. Thank god.

~•~•~

"I'm not being punished?" eight-year-old Al Magayon clarified, her eyes wide with shock.

"Apparently not, Alexis," the tall woman with a pinched expression and a condescending look on her face said primly.

Al, she thought bitterly. She hated it when people used her full name.

The woman looked at Al with contempt and disgust. Al could feel it radiating from her.

The woman tore her eyes away from Al's and pulled out her tablet. "Administrator Keen does have a few conditions, however," she added.

"You will continue to participate in the monthly outings," she read off of the tablet, "but to atone for what you have done to Minerva McAllister, you must go down to the city, Monday through Friday, and act as a vigilante."

Al frowned. "A vigilante?"

The woman nodded impatiently and continued reading. "Collect as many people to join you in such missions as you wish, but remember that you must control yourself on these missions," she finished.

"Is that all?"

"That is all."

The automatic sliding door of Al's living quarters slid shut, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Al let the words ricochet around her mind. Vigilante. Missions. Atone. Control yourself. Minerva McAllister.

She clenched her fists, feeling her nails dig into her palms. Today, vero had a new meaning.

What once meant 'villain-hero' was now 'vigilante-hero' to her.

"I'll make you proud, Min-Min," Al promised under her breath, looking through her window and watching the city lights sparkle below.

~•~•~

"Thanks for testing out those regenerative tablets, Min-Min," Administrator Keen complimented, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Shut up, Keen," Minerva McAllister frowned, tugging off the last bandage. "That hurt like hell. And only Al is allowed to call me Min-Min."

"'Al'?" Keen scoffed. "That vero picked up your weird habit?"

"Yes, she did," Minerva replied, standing beside the administrator, staring down at the bright city lights. "So what's the plan now, Keen?"

"The plan? It's simple," Keen said, his eyes glinting evilly. "Fuel the fear that the civs have for veroes. Keep fueling the fire until it is time for us to strike."

Minerva twisted her lips to the side. "Sounds vague, but straightforward," she noted.

She turned her gaze back down to the city below them. "Yes," Minerva said softly, "I think it will work."

"You know it will."