Transfusion 5.5
A sudden lunge to the side, and a burst of gunfire passed within a few centimeters of my face. Without wasting a second, I pressed forward, tracking the movements of the automated turrets carefully. Dodging even one of them would have been a challenge — manageable, but a challenge. Four simultaneously?
"You can't protect yourself with evasion forever. Use your power and your mind if you actually want to succeed. You've spent too long restraining your abilities — you need to learn to use them when it counts."
The familiar voice came from behind the finish line, one I had come to know well over the past couple of months.
Brink was positioned dozens of meters ahead, directly behind the turrets. He was narrating my performance — functioning, in practical terms, as my coach, offering guidance on how I used my abilities. And while he was right in this particular moment, commentary during a live exercise only irritated me.
A wide step forward, drop low, execute a quick roll to clear the next stream of fire. A sharp burst to the side, and the second volley passes wide. I roll across the ground as rounds sweep close to my head. I was nearly at the objective — only a few meters from the finish…
Without warning, the fourth turret rotated far faster than I had anticipated. As if in slow motion, I watched the bullets begin to leave the barrel — aimed directly at my chest. They were moving too fast. There was simply no time to dodge.
But instead of my skin, the rounds met a sudden black shield that a moment ago had been liquid at my hip. It absorbed the volley without difficulty, any crack in its surface closing the instant I wanted it to. A single thought, and the liquid surged toward the turrets — splitting into four streams, flowing into each barrel, sealing them shut.
Without losing a moment, I made the final push — launching myself several meters into the air, beyond the angle of the gun mounts. The combination of enhanced physical strength, coordination, and agility let me complete a full rotation in midair before landing cleanly on the far side of the finish line.
A training exercise that would have been straightforward suicide for an ordinary person hadn't made me break a sweat. Based on the time, I had set a new personal record.
Working under the director had turned out to be considerably harder and more dangerous than I had expected — but the results were proportional. My skills had grown at a pace that surprised even me, and six months in, the progress was evident.
"Not bad," Brink said, with the tone of someone deliberately trying to temper enthusiasm. "Not perfect, of course — plenty of room left to grow."
"I thought it was excellent." I gave a quiet huff. "Sure, I solved the problem with good old-fashioned rolls and pivots instead of simply breaking everything apart with blood — but what does it matter? You don't judge the winner, and if the result is there, why teach an old dog new tricks?"
Despite my arguments, Brink only shook his head.
"Who would the Patriot be if he had only ever used his strength and speed, and never once attempted to fly? I understand why you conceal the less… marketable dimension of your power. But is there really any reason left to hide? Vought needs a popular young hero right now more than ever — someone to restore their brand to its former standing — and there's simply no one else at the required level. If you reveal what you're capable of, people will understand that you genuinely belong in the top tier."
As always, the director's words were entirely reasonable and infuriatingly logical. Brink was a professional with titanic experience, and his understanding of the hero industry was unmatched by anyone I had encountered. Which was precisely why, once we had signed the confidentiality agreement, I had decided to tell him about my actual ability.
And the sheer volume of ideas that came pouring out of the old man made it immediately clear how genuinely enthused he was. At the same time, he was equally irritated that I had been concealing my capabilities.
This particular argument had been running without interruption since the beginning of my training under his mentorship. Two months of intensive work and varied instruction had passed, and with each session he arrived with better arguments for why I should open up and stop holding back.
And each time it became harder to construct a convincing counter.
Brink had become exactly the kind of outside perspective that let you see yourself from an angle you couldn't manage on your own.
I was no longer some aspiring super dreaming of success and freedom. I had a meeting scheduled with some millionaire or magnate on virtually every calendar day. Money flowed into my accounts continuously, and even if Vought lost their minds and imposed a full boycott on me, I could retire immediately and spend the rest of my life in comfortable luxury. But they would never do that — because my brand had become one of the most profitable assets at their disposal.
In a world where supers were now viewed as something strange, as test-tube mutants, securing advertising contracts had become significantly more difficult. After the wave of scandals, many companies had withdrawn from partnerships with heroes, and overall revenue had dropped sharply. Stan Edgar had even made several public statements that Vought would be placing greater emphasis on pharmaceuticals and reducing its dependence on everything connected to superheroes.
Except for one hero whose brand hadn't suffered in the slightest over the past year and a half — and had, in fact, only strengthened. I needn't name him. And of course this had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that I personally knew a dozen businessmen who collectively controlled ninety percent of American television, and had saved the lives of a few of them. Pure coincidence.
It helped too that virtually all the money I earned went either toward my parents or to charitable causes. Vought had leveraged that as well, positioning me as a symbol of the younger generation of heroes — those who actually did something meaningful for the people around them, rather than simply acquiring another mansion and an expensive car.
Margo had quietly informed me that my advertising contracts already outnumbered Translucent's, and were approaching the Deep's — which, for a hero still early in their career, was genuinely extraordinary. I was quite possibly already inside the top ten most popular active heroes in the world. Based on the number of fans stopping me for autographs at every turn, I was prepared to believe it.
Fortunately, my hero costume covered me completely, which made me difficult to recognize without it. But enrolling at Godolkin and the broadcast of the enrollment ceremony had been the tipping point — I was now being recognized on walks and in shops.
Some people found things like that aggravating. I found I didn't mind them. Without occasional contact of that kind, there was a real risk of drifting too far from ordinary people — of genuinely starting to believe you were something specially chosen.
And taking all of it into account, there was increasingly no real reason left to hide. Was my ability disturbing? Possibly. But what did that matter when it had been used to save hundreds of lives? That was already more than the vast majority of professional heroes had managed.
The only remaining concern was that someone who understood the specifics of my ability could theoretically prepare for a confrontation with me. But given the number of new techniques I had added to my arsenal, that preparation was going to be considerably more difficult than they might expect.
I exhaled slowly and rubbed the back of my neck, then drew the blood out of all four turrets. An expensive piece of equipment — purchased by Brink specifically for training speedsters and heroes with defensive capabilities like mine. But it earned its cost, honestly.
"Perhaps…" I said. "Perhaps it will be possible to reveal the abilities before too long. But can that happen after the holiday? I've been spending far too much time in these airless training rooms. I want to enjoy myself a little. Let off some pressure."
"This is your second university degree and you still haven't had enough fun?" Brink asked, with an amused expression that said he knew perfectly well where this was going.
"What's the point of enrolling in university a second time if not to go to parties twice?" I answered, with a deliberately theatrical shrug. "Besides — last time I was too young to properly experience everything student life has to offer. It's time to make up for lost ground."
"Of course. I believe every word." The old man's tone was entirely unconvinced. "All right — you can go. I'll only say that I, personally, am looking forward to seeing you in the costume of a real hero."
I rolled my eyes at that, then left the training hall and headed toward my room. The most lasting lesson I had probably taken away from my time at Cornell was that warm, personal rapport with the director significantly improves your quality of life.
My arrangement with Brink was, in all honesty, close to ideal. I had enormous freedom and effectively determined my own schedule. The primary commitments were training under the director's supervision, staying in contact with family, appearances in advertising and occasional shows, and maintaining my medical practice. Lectures I attended rarely — only when the subject was genuinely interesting.
Godolkin regularly hosted professional heroes who shared their experience and the kinds of rare insights you couldn't learn anywhere else. That was genuinely valuable, and even I had no desire to miss those events. But beyond occasions like that, the university didn't neglect simple recreation either.
Because today was one of the more entertaining American holidays — and, for me, a new one: Halloween. In a world where the hero cult had reached such heights, a small tradition had emerged among supers: wearing the costumes of the heroes who had inspired them.
Godolkin, naturally, was not going to let an occasion like that pass uncelebrated. The entire university would be transformed and decorated, but what interested me most was the evening gathering — where practically everyone would be present. I genuinely loved training, but rest was also necessary.
After saying goodbye to the director, I went back to my room, changed out of my training gear, showered, got myself sorted, and touched base with Margo and with family. I confirmed the work schedule for the next two weeks and got the latest on Lily from the latter. The girl was growing up sturdy and mischievous, but the philosopher and the psychologist seemed to be managing. They had missed this phase of child-rearing the first time around and were now filling in the gaps.
After that I spent some time monitoring the news feeds, caught up on current events, and when the time came, ran through a light warm-up session. Immediately after, it was time to put on the costume — one that had taken nearly as long to construct as my official one, but was absolutely worth every hour.
Dark green, done in a military style, with a golden American bald eagle across the chest, black leather gloves, and a large triangular shield — this was, without any serious competition, the most iconic superhero costume in this world. The Patriot may have held the top position in current popularity rankings, but he still had a long way to go before he reached the level of the Soldier Boy.
There was also something that felt slightly strange about wearing the costume of a hero who was still active. At least this way I was paying tribute to the first hero — the one who had performed genuine acts of valor all the way back during the Second World War.
…And, honestly, it simply looked considerably better on me than blue tights and a cape. The stark military aesthetic made me look genuinely formidable — even faintly intimidating. In a certain respect, my official costume achieved the same effect. The important thing was that I didn't look like one of the clowns Vought typically liked to promote.
I adjusted the straps and the heavy fabric one final time, smiled at the mirror, and headed out toward the center of the celebration.
And while I typically skipped events like this one, tonight there was someone there I actually wanted to see.
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