I was also still hungry, and without the watch I had no way to buy anything. So I stuffed some food into my pockets and some roast beef slices into my mouth as I headed for the door.

  I already knew I couldn’t run forever. That wouldn’t work. I also didn’t want to be the bad guy, and my mind was figuring out how I could maybe make that happen. Going over my thoughts and feelings on my powers, and how fear of telepathic powers in society had led to this kind of thing. People were afraid to have their mind messed with, even more afraid of that than the concept of death, even if that made little sense. So afraid of it, that they weren’t even really willing to have the good ones help keep those thoughts and memories safe.

  I even kind of understood it, since I’d had some of those thoughts myself. Hadn’t even used my power in the first six weeks, because I’d been afraid of scaring off the last few people that would even deign to speak with me. It was unacceptable.

  It was why I’d been shunned in school by most, and even ostracized to a certain extent by my best friends. It was partly the mind thing, and partly false perception out of fear.

  That… bigotry, was in the laws, which really, were all wrong. What I did that night hadn’t been wrong. Not morally, just… against the law. No, morally I was very sure I was in the right, that I’d done the right thing. It was either that, or I was already corrupted past saving, because I’d never been surer about anything in my life.

  That the FBI telepaths hadn’t been monitoring the other agents’ public minds in headquarters that day, probably out of a misplaced idea it was wrong, or because they didn’t want to violate their friends’ thoughts and be shunned, was beyond stupid. Especially when we’d been actively hunting one of the most infamous mind control telepaths in the world. Having telepaths monitor for intrusions at all times made sense, never mind with my father as the target.

  Point being, and I know I used those words too much, even the telepaths kind of thought their powers were dirty. Wrong and a bad thing, a power that most wished didn’t exist in the spread of superpowers. If they weren’t using them, along with some common sense. It was a thing that should change, if it could be changed.

  I knew one thing. I’d never be a superhero, not officially anyway, since no team would work with me. Even if I did manage to stay out of jail, which was quite uncertain in my mind, what I’d done that night would taint the rest of my life and follow me evermore.

  Saving lives at the detriment of my own, was the very definition of being a superhero.

  Ironic much?

  I managed to get to the elevators and down to the lobby without running into anyone, and the alert hadn’t gone off, so my guess was right. It wasn’t just the teleporters that were offline with Hoover down, the FBI had lost their communications as well. Which just made sense, Hoover ran it all. It also meant I’d stay free, for at least a few more hours.

  I just waved with a grin at the security guard at the desk, and then boldly walked outside. An act I’d done countless times over the years.

  The cool night air felt good, crisp as I took a deep breath, and I pulled the hood over and down my forehead as I headed into the city streets.

  The mission… well they could do that without me now. They were sure thirty nine of forty were compromised from other data, so no judge was going to begrudge checking all forty left without me giving the green light first. They could finish cleaning up the court system and make it perfect again, if it ever was to begin with. Or as close to perfect as humanly possible.

  So the organization would be done for, demolished. It also wouldn’t happen again, not if simple precautions were taken.

  As to catching my father, I didn’t like their chances. I was more than sure the reason tier three telepathic supervillains were so dangerous, was because all the other telepaths were so… diffident toward life and duty.

  In my world, every super team would have a telepath. A triad, instead of a pair.

  I’d be easy to catch once things caught up, but then I had no resources to back me up. My father had millions of dollars, an A.I., and a hidden base, not to mention illicit teleporting. They’d get him, eventually, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath on that being anything soon. The man had just proven beyond a doubt how dangerous he was, but single handedly taking down the FBI in what probably took him fifteen minutes of work.

  He could also likely detect stealth fields.

  But me? Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if Harmony had a mini-drone following me right in that moment. To protect me, of course, probably while she tried to figure out why I’d dumped my watch. As soon as I was outed, what I’d done, I’d be caught. Which meant hurrying, so I moved into a jog as I moved uptown.

  If it wasn’t for me, the FBI would’ve been in shambles still, and even with what I did do it was a political fire and embarrassment. I’d hate to be the director, when the president got a hold of him and demanded an accounting.

  The roast beef was good, especially surrounded by a folded piece of Vermont white cheddar cheese.

  My mind was starting to put things together, I had at least fifteen thought threads going on at once on the matter. Especially since I didn’t have my watch, which meant I had nothing to read to distract my mind. So, I focused on my situation, and what I thought needed to happen. What I wanted to happen. It really did need to be fixed, and while I had a few ideas about it I wasn’t sure if they were naïve or not. I was sixteen, and I still believed nothing was impossible if you put your mind to it.

  I needed the advice of someone far older, someone far more… cynical, and someone that wouldn’t immediately arrest me on sight.

  Really, there was only one person that came to mind for that, and sorry mom, but it wasn’t you if you’re reading this.

  She was still wanted for the murder of two government agents, a hundred and thirty years ago or not there was no statute of limitations on first degree murder. Of course, her identity was a running joke, even if no one really spoke of it.

  After all, her daughter was the commander of the city’s hero team. I’d even met her once, not that she’d looked anything like Death’s Mistress at the time. And… there she was. She was patrolling, about a quarter mile up in flight, and her thoughts were calm tinged with suppressed excitement.

  “Can we meet, I need your help,” I spoke into her mind, “Advice, really. Umm, this is Anna… Cortez? My mom is Intrepid. I’m probably about ten minutes away from being arrested, so… please? I’m at Ninth and Carter, gray hoodie.”

  It’d already been about ten minutes since I ran for it, and I suspected I’d be arrested any second now. There was no way Harmony hadn’t put a cloaked drone on me as I walked out, especially since I stripped the watch off. But I’d said ten minutes to Death’s Mistress, because I didn’t want to sound overly dramatic.

  She was also terrifying, maybe just a bit. Especially in her black super suit, so I was nervous as she landed near me and tossed cuffs at me. She was petite and blonde, beautiful too, but she could also hit with sixty tons of force.

  I caught the cuffs by reflex, not really even thinking about it, then the world flashed and changed.

  She said coldly, “Word just came out to arrest you, actually. Right before you asked for my help, along with your location which was being tracked by drone. Harmony had a drone on your tail, and your fortunate I was closer than your mother was. Why do you think I would help you?”

  I was nervous, so I took a quick look around. It was a command center, though the only other person in it was a young woman about my height and looked to be about eighteen. She had light brown hair and brown eyes, and she had a lab coat and glasses on. I was also fairly sure it was Prisma, the independent team’s A.I.

  Mostly because she had no mind to read, which was pretty telling that way.

  “Because you know what it’s like to choose morality over the law, and that the government doesn’t always get things right. That sometimes, they get things really wrong.”

  Death’s mistress tilted her head, “You have my attention. The charges are modifying minds and reading memories without a court order. I’m not sure why you think that’s moral, but I’m listening.”

  “At the risk of sounding dramatic, to save lives. Also, to restore the minds of those that were already compromised.

  She peered at me intensely for several seconds, then waved, “Take a seat.”

  We both sat the command center console, which was long and curved, facing a wall monitor split into four views. They had eyes all over the city, as well as a link to the police emergency line and dispatch. To my amusement, I could also see exactly where the city’s super teams were, as if Death’s Mistress tracked them.

  It took me a long time to go over it all, because I felt it important that she understood the context, not just empty platitudes and outrage at the laws. I told her what happened from the beginning. Including the fact that Robert Branson was my father. I didn’t leave anything out.

  I also explained my reasoning, and why I thought things needed to change. The laws were flawed, there was no place for someone like me. A tier three telepath that was a moral person, or so I believed. That my unique and extensive powers of reading memories and mind control weren’t intrinsically evil, but just like superstrength and energy, it was the use that those powers were put to that determined good and evil.

  I also told her some of my ideas, most of which she shot down immediately.

  She said, “No. You need to do an interview, push the homicide comparison. You also need to do something big, something that can’t be ignored so the press plays that interview as well as covering what you did, even if the government pressures them to stop.

  “Then you need to turn yourself in. That was something I couldn’t do, but you won’t be killed for it. Our government doesn’t do that anymore, not in over a century. If it helps, you’ve convinced me. Any other choice you could’ve made tonight would’ve been morally wrong. Wait here.”

  She got up and moved into the bathroom, and then came back out with a backpack. She tossed it into my lap, and I managed to grab it before it fell.

  “That should keep you free for a time, at least. Long enough to get it done. Also, be at the address on the paper in there in an hour, and you’ll be interviewed. He seems like a jerk, adversarial, but he’s not really that bad. Grayson Forbes. In fact, his curmudgeonly ways may be a benefit to your cause.”

  I looked at the backpack in confusion, then into her eyes. It was clear in her thoughts, that she’d put this together days ago. As if she’d known I’d need it.

  She answered the question in my eyes, “I’m married to a precog, remember? He saw you coming. He told me someone would need this backpack and an appointment for an interview. He’s also the one that had the suit made. I didn’t know it’d be you though, or what it would be about. But I think I’ll wish you luck. You can use the bathroom to change, there are no cameras in there.

  “The super suit will help hide your identity, by holographically changing your features, but it will have a short shelf life since any active scans will show your hiding something, if not why and who is really beneath it. The watch holds a forged identity, so you won’t be caught that way. Don’t dally, give your interview, make your big statement, then turn yourself in. If your persuasive enough, the people will demand your release, and that the laws be reviewed and modified.

  “Prisma will be keeping track of you, so if you go off the rails, she can put a stop to it. Not that I think you’ll do that, but it isn’t lost on me that you could turn me into a puppet any second now. Which… as you told me, is a part of the problem. As if that’s any more a dangerous than an energy super being able to blast me into my component atoms, at any second, if they chose to become a murderer. It’s about people, not powers. Anyway, see you at the next city superhero team barbeque.”

  I chuckled, and I hoped she was right.

  She smirked, and added, “I need to get back to my patrol. It’s not a good idea to leave your partner alone, good luck,” then stood up, and teleported out.

  I let out a breath. I had an hour to change and make it to the interview location, so decided to finish off the food in my pockets before getting to it.

  “You can send me directly?”

  Prisma shook her head, “Close. Just half a block away. The address is Grayson’s home, and he’s doing this interview as a favor to Glenn. Amber’s husband. It’d be rude to teleport someone directly into another’s private residence, even if they’re expected.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  Prisma said, “I think you’re going to need that luck. No one likes to be thought of as a bigot, or prejudiced, and they’ll have to overcome that in themselves to accept your arguments. Emotion trumps logic, that’s why when you make that statement of action you should go really big with it. But you may have a chance, telepaths aren’t reviled or anything, just… well you already know. Even Amber admitted to having those feelings, even as she said it was wrong, and she didn’t look proud of it.”

  I asked curiously, “What’s your take on it?”

  Prisma said, “I’m on your side, as long as you don’t cross the lines you’ve said were bad, immoral, which I agree with. But I wouldn’t count on other A.I.s to back you, not against the current laws. After all, before my mistress gained respectively, I used to work for a moral supervillain doing good deeds. I was built to be moral, over the law. Most of us are not.”

  I chuckled, “Point taken.”

  It really was. Harmony and Hoover wouldn’t hesitate to see me sent away for the rest of my life, no matter the moral reasons I’d chosen to act as I did. Reading memories or countering mind control without a warrant wasn’t a life sentence of course, but I had three hundred counts of doing so that would be brough against me. Even just a year a piece, would see me lose a fifth of my life, and it was more likely to be five years per charge.

  Maybe.

  I finished up the cold cuts and a sleeve of crackers, before heading into the bathroom.

  The super suit was purple, with a black belt and a black border design around the white brain on the chest of the suit. It was… interesting. I put it on and looked at the mirror. It looked decent, good really, outside of my gangly lack of curves. The suit also interfaced with the contacts, and I felt a little better having an augmented reality display back. Of course, Prisma was in control of it, so I still didn’t have my books as a distraction.

  “I’m still me.”

  Prisma said, “I’ll activate the hologram when you teleport out, and then disable it while you’re giving the interview, then I’ll put it back up when you leave the house. It will stay on after that, until you turn yourself in… or you’re caught. Try for the former.”

  I nodded, “I will, and thanks.”

  The only other things in the bag was a small piece of paper with Grayson Forbes’ address, and a pair of dark purple boots. I shrugged, and got the latter on, then dropped the bag in the corner. I didn’t need the paper anymore either, since I’d never forget anything again for the rest of my life. If I saw it, it was mine to recall.

  I took a deep breath. Even if it worked, the best I could hope for was the laws being fixed. It wouldn’t retroactively apply to me, when I’d done it I’d broken the law. My only hope as far as that went, to make a big enough splash and point, was if the president himself decided to pardon me.

  That I was central to the whole story of the court system being compromised in eighty-six cities across America, would only further help that. Once that story broke anyway. Still, it wasn’t something I could depend on. Especially if my points were torn apart by emotional arguments based in fear, and no changes actually took place. Which really, was the most likely turnout, if I was being honest with myself.

  Because let’s face it, people were terrified by telepaths, they were just enlightened enough not to revile us or burn us at the stake, but not enlightened enough to see how we were shunned nonetheless. Even our own did it, to ourselves. Forget memories, people were uncomfortable with what the law already allowed, the reading of surface thoughts.

  It was time to get started. I just wished I’d have thought of grabbing my makeup, given I was about to be on national television it would’ve been nice to touch it up. But it wasn’t bad, I’d done that right before this all started, in the restroom before going down to the restaurant level.

  Chapter Ten

  Grayson Forbes lived in an upscale neighborhood just north of the city, and half a block meant I was only two mansions away from the man’s quarter mile long driveway. He was one of the old humans, and in his fifties.

  When he answered the door, he stared at me penetratingly for several seconds, with a scowl on his face. He had gray hair, a distinguished face, and brown eyes. He was medium of build, and he had a small paunch but was otherwise in good shape.

  “Come in,” he said ungracefully.

  My powers however, told me a different story. Amber telling me to give the guy a shot wasn’t necessary. In reality, the guy was thrilled I was there, and looking forward to putting out another national story that would shake the headlines. After all, his old friend Glenn had practically guaranteed that result. So despite the exterior chill, I felt at ease as I entered the mansion. He led me to his study, which was just a couple doors down the hall on the right.

  It looked like a typical study, wood desk with bookshelves behind it, with two comfortable looking guest chairs. There was also a throw rug over the light brown wood floors. There were cameras set up in all four corners. No doubt to cover both of us from two separate angles, so the producer would have plenty of them to work from when compiling it.

  He said, “Take a seat. I’m doing this for a friend, but I don’t know what it’s about. You better not be wasting my time, you look like a high schooler.”

  I smiled, “I am one, I start my junior year in August.”

  He grunted, “Not amused. Let’s get to it. Now, tell me, who are you and why should my viewers care?”