Transfusion 5.2
Richard Brinkerh off's office was a fairly ordinary, even unremarkable gray space — though the furniture, even at first glance, clearly hadn't come cheap: brown Scandinavian shelving units packed with books, trophies, and photographs alongside well-known supers. A light gray desk and several black chairs made from what was obviously a quality hardwood. Two large windows filled the room with light and offered a view of Godolkin's green courtyard and the young people relaxing below.
Despite the cost of the furnishings, the room had nothing particularly original about it. It was the typical office of an aging university director — the kind you could find in institutions across the world. But that didn't matter to me. I was only interested in the man sitting across from me.
"I'll be honest — it's a tremendous honor to meet you in person," I said, shaking his hand firmly. "It feels like just yesterday I was a child devouring your books, and now I'm walking the halls of Godolkin myself." I smiled.
He was well past sixty, but his eyes and the way he moved made it clear he still had plenty of energy left in him.
"Please — the honor is entirely mine." The gray-haired man laughed and gave a small wave of the hand, brushing the compliment aside. "I'll admit, in all my years working with young talents, I have never encountered anyone who has achieved what you have at your age. That is precisely why I so wanted to meet you — to discuss your undoubtedly extraordinary future."
After the greeting, he gestured for me to proceed ahead of him, and we both took seats at the desk. A secretary appeared shortly after to take our orders, and within a few minutes the conversation had begun. Brink had chosen some elaborate, expensive coffee. I stuck with plain cold water. We got straight to it.
"I've read a great deal about Godolkin, heard many accounts from my parents, watched the documentaries," I said, doing my best to project enthusiasm without overselling it. "But seeing it in person is something else entirely. You can feel the history and the weight of the place — it makes it something special."
In reality, I wasn't particularly blown away by what was, fundamentally, a university. I had been genuinely curious to see it, yes — but not awestruck. A campus was a campus, even one full of people whose abilities surpassed most of humanity. That wasn't a marker of the extraordinary anymore. I had been around enough supers by now that their presence didn't make me nervous.
Still, enrolling here had its obvious appeal. The network of connections available among heroes and supers who led more settled lives — that couldn't be replicated anywhere else. I was well acquainted with plenty of businessmen and media conglomerate owners through my medical practice, but professional heroes almost never came to me directly. The exceptions were Nubia and the Prince, who would occasionally stop by to have his health checked — but that was a drop in the ocean compared to the experience and influence that heroes could pass along simply by existing in the same space as you.
Consider the numbers alone — three out of four current members of the Seven had studied at Godolkin. Queen Maeve, effectively the second most popular active heroine in the world, behind only the Patriot. The Deep, who commanded a following of millions, had a dedicated fanbase and led a major ocean conservation movement. And the newest addition, Speedy, of course.
His story, honestly, was almost funny. He had started out as a member of New York's teenage super team — something that functioned simultaneously as a local version of the Teen Titans and the Kardashian family. Meaning they did formally rescue people and genuinely tried to act like real heroes, but every piece of news that circulated about them was exclusively about the internal relationships within the team — who liked whom, and what that meant for everyone else.
It was, in all seriousness, a kind of reality show — one where the audience wasn't tracking how many crimes had been stopped, but where the relationship between Speedy and Claw Paw was headed. And the content was such that even I, someone who had studied everything connected to supers in exhaustive detail, couldn't last more than a couple of episodes. Far too much romance and manufactured drama, until the whole thing had devolved into something resembling a soap opera.
Which was a shame, because the ability to move faster than a bullet was nothing short of miraculous. If the young speedster had applied it properly, he could have been stopping hundreds of crimes a day and saving thousands of lives. He had the potential to become the most effective hero on earth after the Patriot — and he had chosen instead the path of a cheap advertising brand aimed at pulling in Black audiences.
I had no personal objection to that particular strategy, since an image like that genuinely could inspire millions of people toward better lives. But whether it was the long shadow of his reality television past, or the fact that spending too many years in a teenage hero team had left him graduating university at twenty-seven, his public behavior hadn't exactly been a source of inspiration. Nearly every piece of news connected to him was either about a new mansion he had purchased or a celebrity party where the activities had been a long way from rescuing anyone from a tree. And there were far too many rumors circulating about the consumption of something very illegal but extremely popular among the famous. Marathon had been considerably better than him…
But that was a rare outcome for a Godolkin graduate. On the whole, the supers who came out of this institution were the most professionally formed of any comparable program. And you didn't have to become a hero to benefit from it — there were tracks for non-combat specializations as well, training agents, detectives, and media personalities. Tek-Knight, for instance — a superhuman with enhanced perception and simultaneously the greatest detective in the world — had come from here.
"I assure you, young man — Godolkin is not simply a university," Brink said, leaning forward with evident energy. "It is a home for every promising talent, a place where the best of the best discover what they're truly capable of. I have spent decades assembling professionals from around the world — people with unmatched experience working with superhuman individuals. And I'll tell you, I'm currently writing my third dissertation!" The old man allowed himself a small, self-amused smile and smoothed his beard. "And speaking honestly — your case is of such interest to me that I have been considering creating an entirely new initiative designed specifically around you."
That genuinely surprised me. I raised an eyebrow.
There was no way he knew about my actual ability — not the full scope of it. He couldn't know about the experiments either. Which left only one possibility…
"The first superhuman healer in the world — that is a title that has already written your name into history permanently," he continued, with undisguised enthusiasm. "But at your age, it would be far too early to stop at what you've already achieved, when there is so much greater territory still ahead. Your abilities are extraordinary and have already brought irreplaceable value to the world. But is there any reason to stop at the current horizon when your gift can be developed to entirely new heights?"
His body told me what I needed to know — his enthusiasm was completely genuine. He wasn't performing and he wasn't trying to deceive me.
It was a strange feeling. Ordinarily, when people interacted with supers, their first response was surprise, quickly followed by requests for autographs and attempts to take photographs. Those who worked in our environment had simply stopped registering abilities at all and treated supers like anyone else.
But this kind of enthusiasm about the actual development of abilities — I had never encountered it before. The Professor had been interested in the scientific dimensions of my power, but not in the practical applications it could be pushed toward. Even the professional heroes I had managed to speak with didn't study their own gifts — I had been the only one who approached my own abilities with that kind of drive. Meeting Brink, therefore, felt like encountering something genuinely rare. A relief, even.
"I've only seen a small part of your campus so far, but I'm already genuinely engaged," I said, with an easy smile. "So I'm very willing to hear your proposal. And please — call me Mark."
"Thank you — I always sensed you possessed an extraordinary mind." The man gave a satisfied nod. "If you join us, I promise to personally invest everything I have into unlocking your potential. But that alone wouldn't be sufficient, would it?"
He picked up several folders from the desk and slid them across to me. As I began opening them one by one, I immediately recognized the heroes whose images were inside. The Deep. Queen Maeve. Speedy. I looked up questioningly and met only the laughing eyes of the old man.
"Over decades of working alongside Vought, I managed to acquire a certain degree of influence. Connections in the right places, assistance to the right people at the right time — and over the years you tend to build something real. Having produced three members of the Seven, I can say with confidence: the moment you enroll at Godolkin, within a few years you will be standing shoulder to shoulder with the Patriot and Noir." He settled back in his chair. "If I managed to get the Deep through that door, you'll walk through it by kicking it off its hinges. Especially given Vought's current — shall we say, less than ideal — position."
I was already thinking carefully, and Brink clearly saw it — though he seemed to believe he already knew my answer. He wasn't far off.
"It's a rather abrupt and unexpected proposal that I'll need to sit with…" I said, still turning the papers over. "I'll say upfront — the name stays, the costume stays."
Brink didn't hesitate.
"I naturally have some questions about such an unconventional choice, but if that's what you want, then so be it. That kind of distinctive element will only add to your uniqueness. Believe me — after all my years in this business, I've learned that people will accept any image if it's presented correctly."
I sat with it for a moment, leaned back in my chair, and looked up at the ceiling.
Truthfully, I had made this decision long ago. I just needed a moment to settle into it properly before committing to something serious. Brink clearly understood the game I was playing, but chose to support it anyway. Unexpectedly, he rose from his chair and walked toward my side of the desk, pausing to look out the window. After a few seconds he turned back to me, spreading his hands slightly.
"Before you make your decision — why not take a walk and put some of those abilities to practical use? A university is made not by its buildings but by the people who fill them. I think you'll find the decision comes considerably easier once you've seen that for yourself. And I can guarantee — you won't find anything quite like what we have to offer anywhere else."
Not inclined to argue, I simply shrugged, stood up, and followed the man toward the exit.
***
A fair-haired young woman in a light but fully-covering summer dress with a cardigan over it walked slowly through the campus, taking in the surroundings. Annie was studying the university grounds with open curiosity, while doing her best not to let the excitement and nervousness she felt show too obviously — she didn't want to make the mood of the already-unhappy older woman walking beside her any worse.
"Just look at what they're wearing here! It's shameful, that's what it is!" the woman burst out with undisguised indignation the moment she caught sight of several female students passing in short shorts and tank tops. "The Lord truly does send His most faithful the heaviest trials… And why did anyone have to shout the truth about the formula from the rooftops?! Poor Mr. Ezekiel — whatever will we all do without his church…"
The woman continued venting her frustration, but Annie had grown accustomed to this behavior over the past several months. The moment the truth about Compound V and the source of superhuman abilities had been made public, something had broken permanently inside their family.
"Don't worry — nothing's going to happen to me here," Annie said, taking the agitated woman's hand and attempting to calm her. "I'm only here to study. Nothing more. After the team disbanded and the church ran into trouble, I don't have many options left, and Godolkin is a good place — they'll teach me how to use my abilities properly. I promise, I'll be fine."
But even as she said it, she wasn't entirely sure she believed her own words.
Annie January's life, if she was being honest, could be described as having been somewhat broken from the beginning. Her father had died the first time she accidentally used her powers, and the guilt of that moment had imprisoned her in grief ever since. She was afraid to use her abilities. She wouldn't have used them at all if not for the directives and instructions of her mother.
Despite the loss of her husband, her mother had never stopped working to turn her small daughter into a genuine star. Not the kind who would ruin her career at some party or ill-fated event, but a righteous and wholesome young woman — one who believed in God and followed every commandment the Bible laid down.
Annie admitted to herself that she had never actually enjoyed the constant public performances. She despised the beauty pageants more than she could articulate. But she did all of it because it made her mother happy. And after the truth about Vought came out, she had chosen not to cause a scene — because she knew how hard the blow would fall on the already-aging woman beside her.
Within just a couple of months, the "Supers for Christ" church had lost two-thirds of its followers and a massive share of its donations. A year later, they had been forced to close their heroes' university entirely — the one that had provided instruction in full accordance with Christian doctrine. And the Young Americans, the teenage hero team where Annie had spent several years of her life, had collapsed like a house of cards in a strong wind the moment its members learned the truth of what they were.
Having lost everything that quickly, Annie didn't know what to do with herself. Her whole life she had wanted to become a real hero — not some talking doll on a screen. Someone who actually saved people. A beacon for people of every age and background, someone others could genuinely look up to.
And to try, even just a little, something like an actual life beyond the walls of her home, her parochial school, and her university. She wanted freedom — just a small taste of it, but she wanted it with an urgency that almost frightened her. That particular dream, though, was buried considerably deeper than the others.
Strange as it was, the hero crisis had become the opportunity Annie needed to pursue what she actually wanted. With no more righteous institution available to send a well-brought-up young girl for proper training, her mother had settled on the most elite option remaining. And within that option, Annie had a genuine chance at everything she had been dreaming of.
Godolkin had the reputation of producing the best of the best. The great ones. Members of the Seven. Annie refused to admit, even to herself, that part of the appeal was the fact that this was the place where Maeve had studied — her personal hero, the one she had always looked up to most… And from everything she had heard, there was considerably more freedom here than in any parochial school.
"Oh, what's that place? Sweetheart, shall we go inside? Your father loved football — maybe there's a college team that plays here?"
The unexpectedly loud outburst pulled Annie out of her thoughts. She lifted her head and saw a large stadium nearby, with people from across the university converging on it. It stood close to the main entrance but just beyond the core campus, which meant ordinary visitors could reach it without stepping into the university proper. And since they had come here to look around anyway — why not see what was happening?
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