Pentagon

2. Frustration

A burst of glowing energy manifested out of Cicero's hand.

Like those slimy substances in a magma lamp, it glowed and changed shape as the young man focused.

Slowly but steadily, the green energy started to take shape of an elongated blade, and its substance was made thinner and sharper. Cicero began to sweat and tremble as his focus dissipated and the plasma took a shapeless, ethereal form. He panted, frustrated that he could not accomplish what he wanted. He squeezed the energy blob until it disintegrated.

It was 5 AM in the morning. He had waited for the girls all night.

He looked at the clock, then at the other side of the room, staring aimlessly at the small dorm room. There were two beds, and while he was lying on one, another man, Oswald, slept peacefully on the other.

The heist had been a partial success, more positive than negative, but still.

The girls had successfully taken money from a druglord-that was what they thought-and Brenna and Anne discovered more abilities to their powers, but they had been discovered, and the hitman had fled.

He took a deep breath and cleared the sweat off his forehead.

"Man, what are you doing up so early?" Oswald mumbled, barely keeping his eyes open.

"I couldn't sleep, not until the girls arrive."

"They'll be fine dude, just go to sleep."

"I can't, besides..."

"What?"

"It's kinda hot with you in here as well."

"You're kidding... you're the one who chose this small piece of shit in the first place."

"I know, I wanted us to keep a low profile."

"Then stop nagging about that, about the girls, and go back to sleep."

Oswald tried to lay on the other side of the bed, but he noticed Cicero turning the strange light he had obtained as a power.

"Still not able to activate it?" he asked.

Cicero grunted, "Oh I can activate it all right, but this thing refuses to... take any shape or form."

"Ah..."

Oswald was already giving his back on Cicero as the latter finished his sentence. The green-haired boy just let out a short laugh.

Something else reached out into Cicero's mind, it was the feeling of a girl agitated by the fact she was carrying something of extreme value and was afraid of being spotted.

"Anne?" He thought. He had learned to distinguish this sensation.

"Hey there."

"Where are you?"

"We should be getting there in five minutes or so..."

"All right."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"I feel you are... frustrated."

"Nah, I'm just tired of not sleeping today, I was worried about you girls."

"You sure? That's not what I..."

"Is that why you called me?"

"Well, yes... this connection Brenna gave us while testing her telepathy is something I can't ignore, so I can't ignore you no matter what happens."

"I appreciate your concern Anne, yet interpreting unspoken emotions can be deceitful, what you understand as frustration is simply exhaustion, so let's be careful."

Cicero felt a surge of annoyance on Anne's behalf, a real feeling of being taken for an idiot, and he did his best not to reveal his consequent shame.

"I see. Well then, I'll see you in a bit."

"Got it."

Cicero turned towards the door of the room. His eyes fixated on a strange object floating just above the door knob, it had the size of a small dart target. It was a pentagon with a gleaming lens seemingly staring at the two boys, watching over them.

The young man ignited his glowing orb, which hovered over his opened hand. The orb then shattered again, as Cicero relented to fatigue. He never stopped looking at the pentagon.

"Why?" He uttered, frustrated.

No response.

"I can think of a thousand ways to use this, only that my stamina is not enough..." he complained, "why would you give this to me knowing I could not do anything?"

His one-sided conversation was interrupted by the sound of the entrance getting opened. The girls had arrived.

Cicero sighed, cleared the sweat on his forehead and neck, and procured to look decent before going out of the room to greet his friends.