AN: This is the second of what I envision as a trilogy, starting with "Push." This will probably not update as quickly as the first part, because there's a lot to get through, some parts are being difficult to write, and I may yet have to rearrange and/or add events. I really hope to keep up the quality, even as I continue to work and complete previous projects as well as this. Thanks to those of you who've stuck by me!

The reality — the enormity — of what Dave Karofsky was doing was driven home for him when he made his goodbye video.

He recorded it in what looked from the outside like a normal semi-trailer, but inside was more like a cross between a research lab and a hospital room, bristling with computers and high tech equipment he couldn't even fathom the function of. A car had taken him, Brody, and the two goons (as Dave called them; it struck him as a Kurt-ish way to refer to them) to a warehouse in a quiet corner of a New York industrial district. The trailer was open and waiting for them when they arrived; he could just make out a pair of white coated men peering out, as if in eager anticipation.

The goons parked the car next to the trailer and opened the door for him. Dave knew this was his last chance to change his mind, or escape. But the thought of Kurt, which once might have convinced him to stay, now convinced him that this was something he had to do. Brody stayed in the car as Dave exited; he turned to the pyrokinetic just as he stepped out.

"You'd better keep your promise," Dave snarled. "If I ever find out that you let Kurt get hurt—"

"I know." The reply wasn't sarcastic, but weary; of what, Dave wasn't sure. "I know I won't be able to convince you — not right now — but Kurt and your father and Rachel will be safe. I swear."

"You tried to kidnap me, so excuse me if I don't believe you."

"I thought it was for your own good," Brody said in a strained voice through gritted teeth. "But Kurt was right: it was a mistake, one that I tried to fix."

"Yeah, well, maybe sometime you can tell me what would've happened to me if you hadn't."

"Nothing bad. You just would've been taken someplace different." Brody paused. "But I suppose you wouldn't believe that either. I guess that's my fault, isn't it?" What was that in Brody's voice? Bitterness, maybe? Of who or what? Maybe it wasn't important.

There was little else Dave could say. He nodded and started up the ramp to the trailer without another word. The presence of the two goons to either side of him reminded Dave that had things gone slightly differently, he probably would've been carried into that very trailer unconscious. The room barely shook when it was hitched onto a cab and pulled out into the city streets; one of the taciturn men with him deigned to briefly explain that the trailer had some kind of special "inertial dampeners." It all sounded rather Star Trek to Dave.

A few minutes into the ride, they (or at least, one of the white-coated people who'd introduced himself as an "intake specialist"; Dave couldn't remember the bland, generic man's bland, generic name) asked him to record a video. "For what?" he asked.

"For the record," the doctor said. "That you're here of your own free will. It's also for possible outside contact."

Dave's heart leaped. "Possible outside...?"

"Once you're at the facility, you'll need to stay there. I'm afraid that's policy for active talents like you."

"Active...?"

"Able to detectably affect the world around you. Non-powered staff and passive talents are able to come and go more freely." The doctor's face had what looked like actual sympathy; that made it a little easier to swallow. "It's necessary to maintain the integrity of your cover story. The less chance the people in your life have to accidentally interact with you while you're with us, the better, for them as well as for you."

Dave gulped. "So, this video is kind of a... goodbye letter?"

"In a sense."

"What should I say?"

The doctor moved a chair behind Dave, and a small table in front of him. It held an open laptop; the webcam was already on. Dave couldn't help but look at his digital reflection. "Your name, your talent, that you're entering of your own accord, with no interference or coercion."

"It's that important?" Dave asked.

"It is. This organization works for everyone, David: talents and the rest of humanity. It's all too easy to skid down the slippery slope, especially with something as world-shaking as talents, and this is just one step we take to make sure we stay true to our core principles."

Maybe these guys are for real after all, Dave thought. The doctor certainly sounded sincere. Still, it was a hard thing, turning to that camera and saying those first words. My goodbye note. How long will it be before I see any of my friends or family again? How long will it take to gain control? What's waiting for me on the other side of this ride?

"You can also give any well-wishes you want to those you're leaving behind," the doctor continued, his tone becoming gentler and warmer. "I can't guarantee any of them will ever see it, but we find that having the option helps — both us and the talent." Dave nodded, trying to keep his emotions in check. "Whenever you're ready, press the F4 key. Press it again when you're done."

Dave looked at himself on the screen, almost hoping he'd tell himself what to do, what to think. He inhaled, pressed F4, and began to speak. "My name is David Karofsky. I'm a telekinetic." God, he sounded like one of those AA stereotype jokes. "I've... been told that someone I know might see this, so maybe I should prove it." He glanced over at his side; a pen laying next to the laptop rose into the air and glided into view of the camera. It hovered in front of Dave's face for a moment, did a couple of loops, and lowered itself back out of frame. "That's, uh... That's the least of what I can do. It's... kind of freaky, to be honest, but that's what I'm going away for.

"Oh, yeah, I should say that I'm entering the Agency of my own free will. I chose this, because I need to learn how to control my power. I want..." Dave licked his lips. "I want to make a difference. I've got a lot to make up for in my life, and I feel like I have a responsibility to use my power to do it. I just don't know how... if there even is a way. Even if there is, I can't, not by myself, not with the control I have now. That's why I decided to do this.

"Dad, if you're seeing this, don't worry about me. I'll figure things out, and I'll be a better man for it. Kurt, again, thank you so much for everything you've done for me. This decision was made easier knowing that you'd be protected. Live your life while I'm gone, but I'd prefer you wait to marry Adam until after I come back. I get dibs on being your best man. Rachel, I have no idea how you got hold of this or why you're watching it, but yes, it's true, I'm a psychic, and no, I won't use my power to help you in your next Broadway show. Santana, we both know how much you love Brittany. You two had better be back together by the time I see you again.

"But... I'm going to be gone for a long time. I don't know how long. I just... I love you all. I'll miss you guys..." Dave bit the inside of his cheek; the pain helped, but not much. "I hope when I come back, you'll still have room in your lives for me, and..." A tear stung his upper lip with saltiness. God, he was being silly, he knew that. Even if he was riding to some kind of doom, he knew he'd escape (after all, hadn't he promised Kurt?). And if this place really was what they said they were, and they let him go with mastery over his telekinesis, the people in his life would welcome him back at once, right? None of that changed the fact that he was going away, stepping into an unknown future, leaving behind everything that was familiar, everything that he loved, and he didn't know when he'd be able to return to any of that, if ever...

With a shaking finger, Dave pressed F4 again. He couldn't go on. Wiping his eyes, he looked up at the doctor. The sympathy remained, but his face was otherwise neutral. How many of these had he seen? How many other talents had recorded similar tearful farewells? Were they easier or harder than the ones (and there had to be some) who had no one to say goodbye to, or only "good riddance"s?

"We'll be on the road for several hours," the doctor said. "You can take a rest if you want." He nodded towards a hospital-style bed, bolted to the floor and already outfitted with a blanket and sheets. "If you'd like something to eat or drink, let me know. The bathroom is that grey door in the back."

Dave nodded dumbly, rising from the chair. He was emotionally exhausted — or maybe still lingering effects of whatever drug Brody gave him. It occurred to him that it may not be the best idea to sleep, not until he knew exactly what the Agency was, but he was too tired to care. He slipped onto the bed, under the surprisingly comfortable covers, and was asleep the instant he closed his eyes.


His sleep was, as far as he could remember later, dreamless. No, wait, he remembered snatches of feelings, images: despair, Kurt, fear, Brody, Santana, an alley, hope...

Dave raised his head a little, blinking. He glanced at his watch; over eight hours had passed, and as far as he could hear of the outside, they were still on the move. He considered trying to get some more sleep — who knew when they'd arrive at their destination? — but his mind was already working again, his heart starting to pump with anticipation and the adrenaline it brought, and knew it'd be pointless. Dave smacked his dry mouth as he rose, rubbing the grit out of his eyes. The doctors weren't in sight, but knew that this particular area probably only covered three quarters of the length of the trailer, and there was still one mysterious door — red — that no one had bothered to explain to him. The two goons were lounging around, one reading the New York Times and the other playing solitaire. They looked up as Dave slipped out from under the covers.

"We almost there?" Dave asked, and to his surprise, one of them actually answered.

"Not far now," the paper reading one said, returning his gaze to the business section. "Another hour or so."

Dave had no idea what that said about where they were going; in a world of psychic powers and high technology unknown to the general public, never mind shadowy organizations who probably knew a back road or ten, time could be deceiving. "Mind if I get a drink, or...?"

The card playing one rose. "We got water, soda..."

"Water's fine." The goon opened a cabinet, which turned out to be a small refrigerator. He plucked out a bottle of water and tossed it towards Dave. He plucked it out of the air (with his hand; no sense risking exploding the thing with his power) and opened it. The cool drink immediately soothed his parched throat. "Thanks." The goon grunted and returned to his game. Dave took another swig. It was silent, except for the rumble of the road underneath them, the snapping of playing cards, and the rattle of some glass beakers in a stand. "Uh... don't take this question wrong or anything..." The goons looked up again. Hell, he wasn't even sure why he was asking this to begin with, but it was better than the silence. "But... what's keeping me from, y'know... Busting out of here? Just taking apart this whole room and escaping? Because I know there's gotta be something, but..."

The goons glanced at each other; were they smirking? "Us, for one thing," the newspaper reading one said. "But there's also the doctors in the back room."

"What can you guys do? Are any of you... uh, talents?"

"Nope," said the card playing one. "But we've all got a lot of time and training with them, and... Let's just say we know how to handle ourselves."

"Okay..." Dave took another drink; anything to keep his mind from plunging into the depths they were preparing to dive into...

"And this room," the card playing one added. "If you did try messing with it... You'd find it a lot harder than you'd think. Why do you think we need this whole thing to transport just you? Because it's built for people like you."

Now that was interesting. "Really?"

"The docs have tried to explain how they do it. Don't understand it all, myself. But think of it this way, kid: you're going somewhere with a bunch of other kids, just like you, with all kinds of weird powers. One building. A massive building, but still just one building. And it holds all those people, no matter how out of control their shit gets. You think that'd be possible with just any normal construction?"

Dave was about to protest the "kid" moniker; these men couldn't have been that much older than Dave — ten years tops. But it was lost in contemplation of the larger point. What the goon had just said was certainly true; any facility that housed talents — people who were probably just as powerful as Dave, if not more so — would have to be as special as those within it. And now that he thought about it, what if the power was something mental, like mind control or possession or something like that? Wouldn't they have to have some kind of guard or shield against those too, in case the talent went rogue or out of control? It'd only make sense, or their whole mission would be pointless.

Then the other part of the goon's explanation hit home: other talents. He really was on his way to meeting other talents... Other people like him. Brody even said there was another telekinetic... Dave couldn't name the emotions welling up in him: anticipation, relief, nervousness... Maybe it was all of that and more. The water bottle creaked under his tightening grip.

"Hey, kid." Dave looked up; the newspaper playing one had joined his comrade at the table. "You know how to play cribbage?"

Dave blinked. "Uh... I think so. It's been a few years since I've played, though; I don't know if I remember all the rules..."

The solitaire playing goon was shuffling his deck now; he waved Dave over as the other twisted around in his chair to open a cabinet behind him and take out a wooden board dotted with holes. "C'mon. We'll play three handed."

Dave blinked again. Then, without even thinking about it, he slid off the bed. He sat in the empty chair and watched as the goon dealt out cards: five to each of them, and one onto the center of the table, next to the board. Dave picked up his hand (five of diamonds, definitely keeping that... but should he keep his king, or the nine to go with the seven and the eight, and hope to cut a ten?). Some small voice within him said this might be the last time he could pretend to be Dave Karofsky, normal human, so he might as well enjoy it while he could.

"Seven."

"Fourteen for two."

"Fifteen for two."

And the truck drove on through the night.


They'd just finished their round, with Dave winning, when something buzzed. One of the goons took out a cell phone and glanced at the screen. "We're here." The red door opened and the doctors emerged.

There was a subtle shift under Dave's feet that he could feel. Then the low-level rumbling that his brain had tuned out for hours ceased, leaving the room almost eerily silent. The door ground open; Dave stood. A balding man, scarecrow-lean with wire-rimmed glasses and a magnanimous smile, was standing outside, on some kind of concrete platform; it took Dave a moment to recognize it as a standard loading dock. "Hello, David," the man said as the doctors stepped forward. He gave them both nods, and they traded clipboards and hurried words before the doctors strode past the man, towards the back of the loading dock. Dave watched as they passed through pools of bright light, pause in front of a door, enter it, and vanish into whatever building the truck was backed up against. "I'm Dr. Rosemont," the man said, startling Dave; he'd almost forgotten he was there. He held out a hand as Dave approached; they shook. "Welcome."

"Uh... Thanks?" Dave had no idea if that was the right thing to say; what was the etiquette for greeting a scientist in the worldwide organization you were entering to learn about your psychic powers?

"Follow me; we'll get you situated right away." Dr. Rosemont nodded towards the goons and turned. Dave followed, stepping out into the slight chill of the early morning. He looked around as best as he could; as far as he could tell, the buildings around them looked like a bog standard industrial park — one that had seen better days. The one they were entering could've been any concrete and glass office building anywhere in the country.

The two approached the door the doctors had gone through; only now did Dave notice the two security cameras above it gently sweeping the loading dock. Dr. Rosemont raised a key card towards a sensor; it beeped. He then typed rapidly at a numerical pad — at least ten digits. Only then did a loud click sound. Dr. Rosemont swung open the door; he gently nodded towards Dave, who returned the nod and entered. He was in a long hallway, carpeted in red, the walls painted tan; it was indistinguishable from any other office building Dave had ever been in. He blinked as his eyes got adjusted to the light. Dr. Rosemont stepped in front of him.

"This way." He led Dave down the hall and to a bank of elevators. He pressed a call button, and one pair of doors slid open. Once the two were inside, the doctor again used his key card on a sensor pad, then pressed the P1 button several times in a strange but deliberate pattern. The doors slid shut, and after a brief pause, the elevator descended, much faster than Dave had expected — first to P1, then to P2 (the last floor), then further, the floor indicators no longer even lighting up. Dave caught Dr. Rosemont take a sidelong glance at him, but he didn't react; compared to much of what he'd already seen and been through, an elevator going deeper than it was supposed to was pretty... mundane.

Finally, after a few more seconds, the elevator ground to a halt. Dave found himself holding his breath as the doors opened. Dr. Rosemont's sidelong glance returned as they stepped out. "So what do you think?"

Dave looked around him. "Um..."

The doctor chuckled. "It's not much to look at, no. But important work goes on here."

In fact, Dave got the impression that "not being much to look at" was the entire point — a point well taken. This floor — which had to be even further underground than the parking areas — looked like a hospital or science lab: clean and clinical, with drab walls punctuated by framed art and linoleum floors striped with colored path indicators. Even at this early hour, there were people, most of them in lab coats (though with the occasional man or woman dressed in street clothes), milling about. None gave them more than a second glance.

"This," Dr. Rosemont explained as they went down the red line painted onto the floor, "is one of four major Agency research labs located all over the world, almost completely self sustaining and in constant communication with each other."

Dave mused on what it must have taken to build these things and still keep up secrecy. Dr. Rosemont, as if reading his thoughts, told him that it was a delicate balance, finding places that were out of reach and with a minimum of curiosity seekers, yet not in a country or region that was so politically unstable that a one day regime shift could jeopardize the entire operation. The most common compromise: look normal. No, not normal, mundane. Be as isolated as possible in some stronghold of civilization, yet look so much like a million other places like it that it just wouldn't occur to anyone to that anything of interest was going on within.

"It's all in the name of security," he said as they passed by an almost endless line of closed doors, most with small signs on them that Dave barely had time to read: "Dr. Andrew Whitman", "Genetics Lab", "Fire Suppression Room." "Our food is brought in through a warehouse on the surface that we own. We generate our own electricity and water, and we have our own worldwide intranet that's isolated from the Internet at large."

"Wow..." Dave breathed as they passed door after door after door. "This place is huge..."

Dr. Rosemont chuckled. "It is. We're many feet below the surface, with shielding that protects against detection from satellites or what have you."

"And you said you make your own power and water, for this entire place? How is any of this possible?"

Dr. Rosemont's eyes twinkled. "Ah, you could write an entire thesis on that. We hope to introduce our ideas and technology slowly to the rest of the world over the next few years. Once we do, I'm sure that the issue of global warming will be greatly eased, and—"

"David?" Dave turned. A black woman had just stepped out into the hall. She was lean, in her mid-thirties or so, with short curled hair, wearing a simple blue top and a colorful, flowing skirt. She moved with a confidence and a grace that he immediately admired. "Are you David?" she asked in a tremulous voice shot through with an accent he wasn't familiar with (he'd later find out it was Nigerian).

Dr. Rosemont discreetly stepped back. Dave's throat suddenly felt dry. Besides his memories drawing conclusions, there was this immediate feeling of... kinship? They couldn't be more different physically, yet he felt it — felt the bond they shared, a bond that almost no one in the world could hope to replicate. "Yeah. You're Deborah...?"

She nodded, smiling a dazzling white smile as she stepped towards him. "I asked one of the guards to wake me as soon as you came. I have been waiting a long time to meet you, little brother."

Then her arms were around him and they were hugging so tightly and tears were flowing down his cheeks and onto her shoulder... He wanted to apologize until he felt the moisture soaking into his own shirt. So instead, he just held her. "I... I thought I was alone..." he said, even as he felt like he was choking. "For such a long time I thought I was the only one..."

"Me too," he heard her sob. "Me too. But no more. From now on, we'll know. We'll know we aren't alone." Her warm breath tickled his ear. "Welcome home."

Dave Karofsky had never felt so whole.


Not long after, Dave was shown to his room. It rather resembled his college dorm room, with its blank grey walls, beige carpet, and sparse furniture that included desk, bureau, and bed. It was a little Spartan, a little utilitarian, but he hoped to liven it up some.

After all, who knew how long he'd have to be living here?

At least he was the only occupant, even if he did still have to share a bathroom (he wondered if talents were any cleaner than the denizens of his floor at Columbia, who must've all been raised by mutant badgers in a garbage dump). Dave was given just enough time to drop off his bags before he met with Dr. Mayhew, one of the other "intake specialists." He was rotund, and jolly to an almost stereotypical degree. But there wasn't an ounce of insincerity to him, which relaxed Dave's guard (No! Bad Dave! Keep alert! Just in case!). He explained that most of Dave's structured time would be in testing and training. Dave could further his education if he wanted, complete with "degree" from anywhere in the world via the Agency's academic connections; apparently, this place had enough doctorates to staff an entire major university.

Dr. Mayhew took out a map (a dizzyingly large map) and pointed out various places of interest: commissary, cafeteria, gymnasium, lounges, the psychokinetics lab, etc etc etc. At one point in his explanation, he looked up, and slipped into a small smile at Dave's rather glazed look. "Don't worry; it took all of us a while to get used to it."

Then there were the rules. Most of them came down to one simple prohibition: no communicating with the outside world in any way without permission. His cover story, after all, was a precariously balanced stack of lies; just one nudge could bring the whole edifice — whole sections of the entire Agency — crashing down. Never mind that rivals were already actively trying to do that (although apparently, doing so without exposing their own secrets was a tricky business); nobody there wanted a lonely talent or well-meaning family member doing it accidentally. "We can adjust your cover story, of course, but it takes time, and every contact you make is a potential threat to it. We must think of everyone here, from the other talents to the civilian workers. All their safety is at stake."

Listening to the comprehensive list of bans (which Dr. Mayhew recited from a tablet with some actual passion, as if he hadn't done it countless times before, because it was that important), Dave's mind flew back to Kurt. He wondered what Brody had to do to convince his superiors not to erase Kurt's memory. Damn, if only he'd thought to ask before he left...

"... And that's about it for now." Dave snapped out of his reverie. Dammit, focus! "Do you have any questions?"

Oh, God, did Dave have questions — so many, they'd probably be dribbling out for days or more. Might as well start with the ones that immediately came to mind, though. "So... how do you keep the talents here from going literally crazy with cabin fever? If they... we can't leave because of our cover stories..."

Dr. Mayhew nodded, a smile creeping over his doughy features. "Did you know that we have an extensive tanning salon?"

Dave blinked. "You're kidding."

"Yes and no. No, in that we really do, but yes, in that that's obviously not all. We regularly take talents to a facility we have not too far from here. It's in the middle of a large forested area with heavy security, next to a very nice private lake. We make sure they stay for at least five days each trip, but if anyone wishes to stay longer, well, we're flexible."

It did sound nice, but... "Still sounds kind of like a prison, though. No other people around, no way to get in or out..."

Dr. Mayhew's face fell, leaving Dave feeling unreasonably guilty. "Yes, well, it's the best we can do under the circumstances..."

"I know, I know... Cover stories, limited contact... It just... It just feels like there should be another way..."

"This is the simplest, the safest. There are too many others out there, watching much too closely. We walk a fine tightrope as it is; the less opportunity we have to slip, the better."

There are so many more questions whirling around in Dave's mind, but each and every one was fighting for his attention, for his voice box. "I..." He shook his head, his mouth working even though nothing was coming out.

"I understand," the doctor said, and it really did sound like he did. "It's overwhelming at first, isn't it? Believe me, you are not the first to feel that way by far, and we have a myriad of resources to help ease the transition. Here's my card. Call on the internal phone system anytime, day or night, and I'll answer."

Dave dully looked down at the small white card in his hand. It was clean, the writing and colors crisp; it snapped between his fingers. He vaguely noticed that it only listed the doctor's name and an extension: no logo, no company name, no title, no full phone number. "Yeah. Sure."

It was rude, but Dr. Mayhew seemed to take in stride. Maybe he really had seen it all before. "Any time. I mean that. But speaking of time, did you get enough rest on the trip, or should we continue your orientation later?"

"No, I'm fine." He wasn't, not by far, not in the ways that mattered, but it wasn't like not knowing about his surroundings was going to do his nerves any good.

"All right, then, I'll walk you to Dr. Hunt's office; she should be in by now. You'll want to get to know her; she's the primary researcher in charge of your testing and training. She's very eager to meet you."

As a person or as a test subject? Dave almost asked, but he shut himself up in time, and silently rose to shadow Dr. Mayhew out into the catacomb of hallways once more.


Dr. Eleanor Hunt (as it said on the door) was a tall, lean, olive-skinned woman of approximate middle age, with dark hair pulled back into a braid hanging from the back of her head. There was an intensity in her gaze that sent a shudder through Dave; her warm smile as Dr. Mayhew introduced them helped, but not much. It was as though her eyes were always probing, always searching, always analyzing. He almost wanted to ask Dr. Mayhew not to go, but he tamped down on that childish impulse, just watching him shut the door behind him, leaving the two of them in the office.

It was a surprisingly untidy office, books and binders stacked over almost every available surface. Three whiteboards were filled with writing he couldn't decipher, and there were three computer monitors set up both on the desk and atop the file drawers behind it. Dr. Hunt sat her desk while she waved Dave into a visitor's chair on the other side. He sat, his hands immediately setting to fidget.

"I'm glad you decided to come, David," she said; her voice was low and soft and almost musical. It reminded him of Kurt's. "You made the right decision."

"For who?" He hadn't meant to give voice to that question, but it had been running through his head ever since the moment he made his choice, so little wonder it escaped.

Dr. Hunt, for her part, barely seemed to react, but then, she didn't seem the type who would. "Everyone. Yourself, your friend..." God, it hadn't even occurred to him that others here would know about Kurt. How much did they know? "... And yes, the Agency too. You're a special young man, and we're glad to have you."

"Special," Dave spat, as if it were an epithet. What the hell had being "special" ever given him? "Special" ripped apart his family. "Special" gave him a seemingly endless string of sleepless nights practically quaking in fear of what he and his mind could do. "Special" tore him away from college, from his friends, from the life he was finally starting to make for himself. Fuck, maybe the only worthwhile thing "special" gave him was Kurt; a powerless Dave Karofsky would never have merited his compassion. What interest would he have had in a closet case bully who made his life miserable without that added telekinetic spark?

So maybe that was a second thing "special" had given him: a real means to make up for all that. That was why he was here, wasn't it?

"Yes," she said, her voice softening. "Those who work here who don't have a lot of direct contact with talents... Many of them don't understand how much having a gift like yours can cost. Dr. Rossi — our psychiatrist — has heard dozens upon dozens of stories of loss. Family, friends, jobs, dreams... I ask him to tell those stories, as much as he can without breaking privilege, to myself and the other researchers, just to remind us who we're dealing with."

"Who you're dealing with...?"

"Human beings," the doctor answered. "Who've often sacrificed so much just being who they are. Sometimes I wonder who has it worse: the ones with families who reject them for being 'freaks' or 'possessed', or the ones with loving families who have to leave them behind to come here."

Dave shook his head dumbly; emotions were squeezing at his chest, at his heart, threatening to snap him entirely. "You kind of sound like a psychiatrist yourself," was all he managed to say.

Dr. Hunt chuckled. "I do have training in that field, yes. It comes in extremely handy in devising and implementing training techniques."

"Yeah? You're going to give me control?"

"No, technically, you are. The success or failure of your training depends entirely on you, after all. But yes, I did develop the regimen you're about to experience, though you'll be working mostly with my assistants."

"What about Deborah?" Dave burst out. He wasn't sure why he thought of her at that moment (though she'd been lingering in his mind ever since they reluctantly separated at their first meeting), but her name was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Dr. Hunt smiled and nodded. "Of course. In fact, she's going to be an integral part of your training. She's already helped greatly, both as a subject and a consultant." Knowing that made Dave feel better — a lot better, in fact. Idiot! You barely know any of these people! But still, who said emotions were rational? "So..." She patted a manila folder on the desk next to her keyboard. "I've read your file." Dave craned his neck in curiosity, but she made no move to open the folder. "I won't be able to tell you much at this point, not until we've got hard numbers on your power, but what about it concerns you?"

"Well..." Dave cast his mind back to New York; his life there seemed so remote, in time as well as distance, even though it had been less than two days since he was last there... Going to college... Living his own life with his friends and family at his side... He swallowed down the lump in his throat. "A lot of it is with control. Which I guess is kinda obvious. But the power's been getting stronger, and I've had trouble not using it just by instinct. I'll be honest, I'm dunno how you're gonna help me with that..."

"I'm going to use an analogy you probably won't like," Dr. Hunt said.

"Okay..."

"I've found that learning to master almost any kind of power, especially on the instinctual level, is like... potty training."

There was a full half minute of silence.

"You're right," Dave rumbled with an ill-hidden smirk. "I don't really like it."

"But it's apt," Dr. Hunt replied. "When you're a child, you have accidents, especially when you're asleep. You don't know how to tell when you need to go, so sometimes you hold it so long you don't realize it until it's too late. Eventually, through practice and listening to your body, you learn what that urgency feels like, so thoroughly that you don't have to fear accidents even when you're not awake and alert. With powers, it's a similar principle. You learn to get in touch with what you feel and what it means. You learn how it acts and reacts. Eventually, with practice and patience, you'll know that part of yourself so thoroughly that you'll be able to control it on every level, so your power won't manifest itself when you're upset or asleep — just like you stopped wetting the bed."

"Huh. That was... a better analogy than I thought it'd be."

Dr. Hunt smirked. "That's a reaction I hear a lot. In much the same way, we're going to concentrate on how your power feels to you: how your body reacts to it, how your mind shapes and perceives it. Having another telekinetic helping you will make that much easier. This facility is built to withstand abilities such as yours. I believe being able to unleash your true power will also do a lot of good, as will our ability to monitor its growth."

Dave's head began to buzz at the mere thought of being able to release his telekinesis without having to hold anything back. "Really? I can just... go all out?"

"We want you to, in fact."

"Wow... The guards who brought me here said that you had ways to make sure I couldn't, y'know... hurt anyone. How do you do it?"

"It's all technology. Actually, any factory making computers or MP3 players could manufacture it. But they never would, because they'd think the results would be useless. Because they don't know about people like you." She nodded towards Dave. "We've also made advances in new metallic alloys... Again, ones that most of the rest of the world would dismiss as worthless."

Dave still wasn't sure what to think of this... of these people. But what they were offering was tempting indeed: hope. Brody was right: Kurt had long blown past the limits of what he was capable of teaching, what he was capable of doing to help him keep the telekinesis from hurting someone. As hard as it was to believe at first, this truly seemed to be a place where he could learn what he needed to know, where he could be a telekinetic without fear. Or maybe that was his desperation affecting his judgment. Either way, he was too deep in to back out easily; might as well go along with this to see what else he could learn — at least until he was given some reason to jump ship. But with everything he'd heard, his confidence in his ability to do that, even with his massive power, was shaken.

No, you promised. Kurt would never forgive you if you broke your promise. He'd kill you himself, even if you were already dead. You have to keep your promise. You have to.

Despite its grimness, the thought was more buoying than he'd expected.

"How long will it take?" he asked. "How long before I can... go home?"

Dr. Hunt folded her hands in front of her. "Well, that's entirely up to you. Technically, you can go home any time you like. But once you decide to break ties with us, that's it. And we'll have to take certain... measures to protect ourselves in that event."

Dave's heart raced. "'Measures'?"

"Yes." Dr. Hunt's eyes averted from his face for a moment. It was a more disturbing reaction than coldness or detachment would've been. "Severing ties with us also means that we wouldn't be able to help you anymore. Not with controlling your gift, not protecting you if... someone else should find out about you. We have to think about ourselves and those still committed to us first. I'm afraid that's policy." There it was again, the vague but ominous specter of "those other guys." Dave had little doubt they existed; once he found out about one such organization, there had to be more, right? And it made sense that these people would (apparently) be at the "good" end of the spectrum — which left the others more towards the other end. He shuddered. "That's why we highly encourage those who do want to leave prematurely to think very carefully first. Sometimes it works out, but..." She coughed. "We usually work to make sure it doesn't come to that."

"How?"

"Mostly by being selective about who we contact in the first place. If a talent's power is under control or inherently not dangerous, we simply ask if they want to join us on a volunteer basis. If they're a potential or actual danger to themselves or others, they're usually aware of it, and usually open to joining."

Dave's ears zeroed in on that word: "usually." He wanted to ask about the not "usual," but maybe now wasn't the right time.

"But to get back to your original question, it really does depend on how seriously you take your training, how well you respond to it, and whether you wish to continue even after you're done — by training to be a field agent, for example."

"What do talents usually do after they're done?"

"Return to their old lives. We provide support and a cover story for the transition, of course. I'll be honest with you: most readjust, but others... I won't deny that this process involves a lot of lying and a lot of time spent away from loved ones and life plans. Sometimes they find they can't go home again. We've had talents return to us because they couldn't go back to a life where they had to hide everything they'd discovered about themselves. That was the case with Deborah, I believe." Dave was reminded of stories he'd read about ex-cons, and their difficulty adjusting to free society after years in prison. It wasn't a pleasant comparison. "It depends so much on individual circumstances that I can't even begin to guess right now how long you'll be here or what your options are afterward. The only thing I can tell you is that if you really want to learn how to control your telekinesis, become its master instead of letting it master you, we truly are your best hope of doing so. I firmly believe that."

Just listening to her say that, with strong voice and equally strong gaze, somehow made Dave believe it too. "I hope you're right."

"We'll do our best, David. We really will."

"What exactly do you get out of all this?" Dave burst out, unable to keep a damper on his suspicions any longer, even in this minor way. "I mean, I was told you guys get money from businesses and governments and all that, but what are you getting out of us?"

"Knowledge," Dr. Hunt said simply. "We learn about powers, how they develop, how they work, and what long cherished scientific principles have to be tossed out because of them. We create technology along the way to deal with powers that could have wider implications. And sometimes, when a talent wants it, we get someone who can use their abilities to help us or our sponsors do what needs to be done. Does that make sense?"

Dave couldn't help but feel some vaguely sinister shades to the recitation, especially the last part. But perhaps that came from the certainty that if not the Agency, then someone out there was most likely using a talent to rob banks or steal government secrets or kill people for money. The very thought of being forced into cruelty, forced to become someone even worse than Karofsky — forced into sabotage, destruction, murder, perhaps through someone holding his dad or Kurt hostage — formed a rock of horror in his belly. He could only nod dumbly in reply to Dr. Hunt.

"If you have more questions, we'll have plenty of time over the next weeks," she said. "I'd like to start with you as soon as possible, but I realize you'll probably need at least a few days to settle in and get used to your new surroundings. I'm going to have you check in with me daily, and we'll figure out what your needs are and how to take your training."

Dave had to clear his throat before replying. "Sounds good."

"Well, then, I'll call Dr. Mayhew and have him show you around." Dr. Hunt rose. "As I said, David, you made the right decision in trusting us. I know that must have been difficult, but I think now that we have the opportunity to demonstrate our sincerity, we'll be able to show you that your trust isn't misplaced."

Dave hoped she was right. For everyone's sake, he hoped she was right.


It was only when he had to dodge a golf cart whirring by that Dave got a sense of just how big this place was. Quite a bit of the space, Dr. Mayhew said, was taken up by the equipment and machinery required to keep the base running and safely contain a variety of superhuman powers. Dave could barely keep track of everything he saw: the laboratories, the gym with indoor pool and basketball courts, three libraries, the cafeteria, even more laboratories... He was pretty sure he'd already forgotten about a few rooms on top of those.

"Here's a good place to wrap up our little tour," Dr. Mayhew said cheerfully, waving towards an open set of double doors. "One of the rec lounges." The room was wide and deep, scattered with everything from couches to pinball machines to big screen TVs to a foosball table. It was populated by a wide variety of people of widely varying ages and ethnic groups; some were dressed in lab coats, others more casually. Some were reading, some were playing games, some were chatting in low voices. It was so familiar and mundane that it was a little hard for Dave to believe that he was at a top secret hidden research base.

"So, uh..." Dave said, eyes bouncing from face to face, "are there are a lot of talents here?"

"We have exactly thirty here, not including you. I daresay that apart from the rather obvious age signifier, you probably wouldn't be able to tell who they are merely by looking at them. Ah, we're in luck; here are some of them now. You should get to know your fellow talents." Dr. Mayhew guided Dave to a far corner with beanbag chairs and an Xbox. The small group gathered there was mostly around his age — ranging from fifteen to mid twenties — apparently matching the general demographic range of talents with the Agency, according to the doctor's earlier "lecture." It made sense, given their mission; puberty was around the time powers started manifesting, and as a talent grew up, it also grew less and less likely that the Agency would feel the need to intervene in their life. Older talents were more likely to have a power that was easily hidden, or to have learned to control their power on their own... or to have already been snatched by a rival organization.

One of the women was the first to notice the two approaching; she looked up as she brushed a lock of curly red hair out of her eyes. She nudged the young Asian man sitting next to her in the side; he lowered his graphic novel. He, in turn, kicked the back of one of the beanbag chairs set up in front of the Xbox; the African-American girl sitting in it immediately hit her controller, and the game froze mid-explosion. She and the blond young man with a light beard playing with her turned in their seats.

"Everyone," Dr. Mayhew said, clapping his hands together, "this is your new, ah, colleague, David Karofsky. David, this is Brynn Cavanaugh..." He indicated the redhead. "Ray Iwamoto..." The Asian boy gave a jaunty two fingered salute. "Annette Ross..." The African-American girl waved with the hand still holding her controller. "And Cameron Esterhaus." The blonde just nodded. "I hope you'll all give David any help he requires... Show him the ropes, if you will." There were general nods of agreement among the four. "If you'll excuse me, David, I have to get back to my office. I'll talk to you later, see how you're doing?" Dave gave his own nod; Dr. Mayhew clapped him on the shoulder and hurried off.

Without the doctor's presence, Dave suddenly felt very awkward. The four stared up at him as he stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. "Uh... Hi," he finally managed to say like a complete dork.

The blond — Cameron — grinned wryly. "I know what'll break the ice." He raised his right hand; sparks crackled between his fingertips. "Electric manipulation. I figure if I ever go into the superhero business, I'll be Dynamo or something like that."

"Teleportation," Ray said simply.

"Technopath." Annette said in a low voice, blushing slightly. "Please don't pay any attention to anyone who says I'm some kind of 'genius,' though. I hate that word."

"But you are," Brynn said. "You're probably the most useful one of us, at least around here." She rose from her seat. "Local weather manipulation. Sort of a white Storm, though I'm not nearly as powerful or as gorgeous as she is," she said with a chuckle. She held out a hand. "Nice to meet you, David."

"Call me Dave." He shook her hand warmly, then the others' in turn. It was slowly starting to seep in: these people had powers just like his. It was simultaneously terrifying and exciting. "I'm a telekinetic."

Cameron raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah? You're the one Deborah's been talking about for the past month?"

"I suppose. Probably."

"I'm glad," Annette said. "She's a nice lady. She was really excited about meeting you."

"Yeah, this'll be the first time we've had two talents with the same powers here in a while," Ray said. "Or so I've heard."

"Really?" Dave asked. "That sounds like it's kind of..." He hesitated, biting his lip. He wanted to keep the last word in; he'd only just met these people, and he didn't want to arouse any bad feelings. But he couldn't just leave it there either; the anticipation was already built. So he had little choice; he sighed and said, apologetically, "... Lonely."

As Dave feared, a slight pall seemed to fall over the four — not heavy, by any means, but there nonetheless. "It can be," Cameron said. "I'm the only electric guy the Agency knows about."

"Me too," Annette said.

"There's another teleporter in India," Ray said. "I've talked to him online a couple of times, but I don't know Hindi and his English isn't that good yet, so..." He shrugged.

"It's okay, Dave," Brynn said. "That's a big reason why we've stuck together. Even though we don't have the same powers, we sort of come from the same place, you know? All talents do."

"You guys seem pretty tight."

"Yeah," Brynn said, "we're kind of like a little family, I suppose."

Am I worthy of this family? Dave thought. Would I fit in? But it was way too early to ask that. Maybe once he knew more about the people here, he'd have a better sense of where he could fit in. He hoped it was somewhere; he'd had enough of feeling like he was on the outside looking in. Until then, he resolved to try to keep Deborah in his mind. Maybe that would keep him going until he figured things out.

"Ray was the first of our merry band," Cameron said, pointing his controller at the young man in question. "He helped out Brynn when she first got here. They in turn were my mentors, and we three guided little sister Annette here." He affectionately rubbed the top of the girl's head.

She giggled, slapping at Cameron's hand. "Shut up! I'm only three years younger than you!"

"Isn't that what being a little sister means?" Cameron teased.

"Yeah, but you treat me like I'm ten!"

"I do not! Ray, tell her I treat her like a mature and respectable human being!"

Ray snorted. "Don't drag me into this again. Bother Dave, before he gets to know you and stops being polite."

"Brynn! Ray's being mean to me!"

"So I'm the mom," Brynn said, as if she hadn't been interrupted at all. "Since the others act like children." She directed those last words directly at Cameron, who pouted.

Dave laughed. This easy camaraderie, the easily forgotten but always underlying knowledge that you were with people who knew — no self censoring, no fear of discovery... It was making Dave almost... giddy. Even if he didn't learn how to control his power, even if he had to escape... He'd knew he'd always remember this very moment.

The first moment since the age of thirteen when he actually felt truly relaxed.

The moment didn't last long; he had business to attend to. "Uh..." Dave lowered his voice, his eyes darting about. He couldn't see any cameras or listening devices, but would he even know what either looked like, could look like? Then there was the fact that he was opening up to these people, expressing misgivings even though they'd just met. His instincts told him they could be trusted, but then, his instincts were for shit lately. (Or maybe it was him ignoring his true instincts that got him into trouble?) Either way, no matter what was going on here, he'd have to trust someone, or go mad with isolation. And these people... He felt like he could, even after just a few minutes of interacting with them. That had to mean something, right? So he swallowed his fear (he'd had to do a lot of that these past few years) and asked his question. "What do you guys think of this place? Really? I mean, it seems kind of..."

"Too good to be true? Everyone's way too nice and compassionate and all that crap?" Cameron's easy smirk didn't look like it'd changed, but there was a shade of something new to it. Something more serious.

"Yeah."

"We've wondered that too," Brynn said with her own look around to make sure no one was in earshot. "All I can tell you is that it seems like the people we work with do believe what they're saying to us. They definitely haven't mistreated us or tried to exploit what we can do... as far as we know."

"If you ever meet Victor Lagarde, he's a telepath," Ray added. "He says he can't sense anyone messing with anyone's heads here, but..." He shrugged.

"It is kind of creepy, being treated this good," Cameron said, the smirk now totally gone. "But I'm afraid to look a gift horse in the mouth, you know?"

"It is a little cynical," Brynn said, "assuming that everyone who collects talents must be evil or selfish."

"But cynical for good reason," Cameron replied, pointing a finger at her. No one denied it.

"They were going to kidnap me," Dave said. "The guy who tracked me down was afraid I was about to go out of control."

The others didn't seem surprised. "We hear rumors sometimes," Annette said. "About things like that. What they do to people who don't want to come even though they should."

"One thing I've learned in history class," Brynn said, "is that a lot of the worst events happened because someone was trying to do the right thing. So just because they're 'good' doesn't mean they can't be 'evil,' if that makes sense."

"Too much sense," Dave murmured.

"But I've heard some scary shit about who else is out there," Cameron said, clasping his hands together; Dave almost thought he could hear the popping of electricity as his palms met. "And what they do. Unless the Agency starts, like, vivisecting us, I feel real lucky I ended up here."

Dave's eyes flickered from face to face. Again, he had no idea if his instincts were at all correct, but they were saying that this group seemed sincere. If so, that they confirmed that his and Kurt's concerns were valid (or at least shared) was both comforting and... not, to say the least.

"Basically," Ray said, his finger tracing unseen patterns on the cover of his graphic novel, "we're pretty sure we've got the best deal right now. Whether it's good, even as good as it seems, well... We haven't quite figured it out yet."

"Which may be a good thing," Brynn said thoughtfully. "I think we're all smart enough that we'd have seen through a deception by now."

"Unless it's only at the highest levels," Cameron pointed out. "We're pretty much at the bottom of the need-to-know totem pole around here, for reasons that sound good, but..." He shrugged. "Me, I'm keeping my head down for now. Whatever their reasons are, they've done good by me, and I think they deserve at least that much."

Dave nodded. This was probably something he'd have to decide for himself. The thing was, he didn't at all feel foolish about his paranoia; his life so far, not to mention Kurt, had driven home what was probably one of the most important lessons of his life: when it came to being a talent, there was no such thing as "too paranoid."

"Um... Dave?" He turned to Annette. The others seemed to know what she was going to ask; he caught Brynn nodding encouragingly out of the corner of his eye. "I was thinking... We have this... thing we do when someone new joins."

"Uh oh, a hazing?" Dave asked, with enough of a laugh to reassure her he was joking.

She giggled. "No. What we do is go to one of the testing rooms and we show them our powers."

Dave raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"Usually when talents get here, they don't know about any others," Ray said. "So it kind of helps us... bond, you know? I know it sounds cheesy, but..."

Dave felt himself rise before he even thought about it. "No, I... I get it." He nodded at the others. "I'd like that."

Brynn squealed, clapping her hands as she got up. "I love this part! C'mon, let's show Dave what we can do!"

"Don't mind her," Cameron drawled. "She's may be the oldest, but inside, she's just a little kid."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Brynn shot back. Then she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Sorry about this, Dave," Ray said. "We're a bunch of weirdos here."

"That's okay," Dave said with a quiet smile. "Actually, you guys are just my kind of people."

And for once, he meant it literally.


The first place the group stopped at was Annette's workshop. Her abilities didn't lend themselves to direct demonstration, but the results spoke for themselves. Dave examined the complex machinery and computer guts scattered about the tables in awe. "Holy shit, this is awesome..."

"Thanks," a blushing Annette said.

"I mean, I have no idea what any of this does, but it sure looks cool."

"None of us know what any of it does," Cameron said, patting Annette's shoulder affectionately. "Only Annette and the most PhD of PhDs have the brains to understand any of this stuff."

"Right now, I'm doing some AI tinkering," Annette said quietly, looking down at the floor and shuffling her feet. "I'm also working on that laptop over there." She nodded towards a Macbook on a table to Dave's right. "I think I could triple its processing power without using any extra space in the casing. The rest of it is mostly just robotics."

"'Just'. You hear that?" Cameron laughed. "Fifteen years old, developing tech years ahead of its time, and she calls it 'just'."

"Well, it is 'just' to her," Ray pointed out. "It's only us dummies that think this stuff is amazing."

"Shut up," Annette said, slapping Ray's shoulder.

"So," Cameron said to Dave, "if you're done feeling academically inferior, we've got General Testing C all to ourselves." He grinned wolfishly. "Let's rip some shit up."

General Testing C was a room — a rather large room, about the size of half a football field. The walls were solid metal, the floor dotted with what looked like training dummies made out of various materials: plastic, metal, rubber, and more. These were in various states of disrepair, from slightly dented to pitted and scarred to half missing.

"Here we are," Cameron said, spreading his arms wide as he walked backwards in front of Dave. "Talent showoff central. Perfect for unwinding after a bad day or trying to impress that gorgeous research assistant you've got an eye on."

"Even if she barely realizes you're alive," Ray snickered.

"Hey, give me time! My natural charm will get through to her eventually." He returned his attention to Dave. "If you ever need a consult on the hottest women who work here, let me know. Never let anyone tell you that brains and beauty can't mix. We've got some unbelievable babes here!"

"We sure do," Brynn said with a faraway smile.

Dave laughed and shook his head. "That's okay. Women aren't my thing."

All Cameron did was raise his eyebrows. "Oh. Huh." Dave wasn't sure if he was expecting more, but considering some of the hints Brynn slipped, and the fact that they all had some kind of supernatural ability, he had a feeling that there probably wasn't a lot of homophobia about. I just came out to a whole new group of people, and it was so... easy. Kurt would be proud. I hope. "Hey, less competition for me. So how about we show Dave what we've got?"

Annette stepped back, leaning against the wall behind Dave as Ray and Brynn took up spots on either side of Cameron. "Why don't I go first?" Ray said. The words were barely out of his lips when he just... vanished — disappeared without a sound, save for the whooshing of air being sucked into the space he'd occupied just a moment before. Dave's jaw dropped. "Over here!" Ray's voice called out. Dave whirled to his right; Ray waved from the far opposite corner of the room. Dave had just about focused his eyes on him when he disappeared again... and reappeared a foot in front of his face, grinning like a fool.

"Gah!" Dave jumped back. "Shit, man, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack!"

Ray laughed. "Sorry, I couldn't resist." Poof, he was gone again, this time teleporting to Annette's side. She barely reacted.

Dave's heart was finally slowing to normal levels."That was... that was actually pretty cool."

Ray shrugged humbly. "I've got limits, especially when it comes to range. I seem to be able to avoid appearing inside a solid object just by instinct, but it's not exactly something I like to test out a lot."

"My turn," Brynn said. She stepped back from Cameron, her eyes lifting to the air above him. Dave followed her gaze with curiosity. "Give me a second," she said. Dave heard her breathing get deeper, saw her lips purse and her shoulder set out of the corner of his eye. It might've been his imagination, but he felt the humidity in the air rise; the air felt clammy against his skin.

Then wisps of vapor began to form above them — just a few visible streaks at first, but as more appeared, they wove together like yarn, forming a small cloud that grew and stretched with each passing second until the entire ceiling was obscured in a layer of white fluffy cotton. Dave couldn't keep back a gasp.

"I can't affect a very large area," Brynn said in a mildly strained voice, "but ever since I came here, I've been getting better. Stronger."

"Okay, Brynn," Cameron said, rubbing his hands and grinning. "Hit me with your best shot."

"You should take another step back," Annette said. Dave, a little confused, complied.

"Get ready." Brynn returned her eyes to the skies. Slowly but perceptibly, the cloud layer darkened, turning that threatening shade of black that sent Dave's pulse racing immediately. A low rumble rolled through the room. Then Dave saw it: flashes of light piercing the clouds.

"C'mon, baby!" Cameron shouted. "Come to papa!"

"Keep your shirt on," Brynn snapped. "I've almost got it."

Another rumble, and the flashes grew brighter and more frequent. Dave found himself holding his breath; Annette and Ray were watching in wide eyed anticipation as well. Finally, an almost blinding bolt crashed down from above, its jagged path zigzagging through the air directly into Cameron. He cried out as the lightning struck him — not in pain, but in excitement, in joy. Not a single hair or stitch of clothing on him was so much as singed; it was as though he'd... absorbed the entire strike. "Woo! Now that's the stuff!" He raised his hands, electricity arcing between them like that metal sphere Ms. Marshall brought in that one time in physics class. Cameron grinned toothily, and Dave almost thought he could see the electricity shooting through his eyes. "Now watch this, Dave!" He pointed his hands towards one of the dummies. Twin bolts discharged from his fingers, bright enough to leave afterimages in Dave's retinas. They flashed across the room and crashed into the dummy. Dave's vision took a second to recover; when it did, he could see two huge burn marks scarring the dummy's surface, even as the smell of charred plastic assaulted his nose.

"That was..." He had to swallow before he could speak again. "That was... Wow." The clouds had already dissipated, leaving only the bare metal ceiling there always was. Ray and Annette pushed themselves off the wall and joined Dave; Brynn and Cameron also approached, the latter sauntering with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"I really impressed you, huh?" he said cockily.

"Shut up!" Brynn snorted. "We all amazed the pants off him, right?"

"Y-yeah. You guys are... Wow."

Cameron chuckled and slapped Dave on the back. "That's why they call us 'talents,' dude! Because we're fucking talented!"

"Don't mind him," Annette said dryly. "He always gets that way after lightning."

"Yeah! I'm all charged up!" He punched the air. "Woo!"

"How about you?" Brynn said quietly, turning to Dave. "Mind showing us your power?"

Dave hesitated; he wasn't sure why. Finally, he nodded. "Sure. Least I can do, right?"

"No rush," Ray said. "Powers are kind of personal, you know?"

"No, I know. Just give me a sec." Dave turned towards the dummies. "They'll fix whatever we do to those things, right?"

"Yeah," Cameron's voice said behind him.

"Okay." Dave opened his mind ever so slightly; he felt the telekinesis flow out, pooling in him, ready (begging) to be used. Sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils, he raised his hand, palm pointing towards one of the steel plated dummies. He let the power flow out of him, and...

The first sign was a rapid vibration, the dummy almost humming in its oscillations. Then came a high pitched whine, creaking and groaning as metal tore itself apart. A loud crack echoed through the room; Annette squealed and covered her ears. The dummy ripped itself out of the floor, hovering above the stump that still protruded from the floor.

Dave didn't even look over to see the others' reactions. Like peanuts or potato chips, he couldn't stop at just one. He had to do it more... Another dummy broke itself from its stand. Then another, and another, and another... It was almost scarily effortless.

Someone — either Cameron or Ray — whispered "Whoa" behind him, but he barely heard it, and cared even less. He smiled; the dummies bounced along the floor on their broken stumps, ten strong marching towards the group in a perfect straight line. They encircled the five talents, then, one at a time, turned towards them as if enemy soldiers facing down a cornered platoon. The dummies rapped the floor one last time and whirled around in unison, before they all toppled like dominoes, a ring of inert metal and plastic.

Only now did Dave pay any attention this companions, and— Oh, shit. They were all staring at him or at the dummies, wide eyed and speechless. But there was shocked, and there was shocked, and Dave had no idea which this was. He didn't even think he'd done anything that remarkable — certainly it wasn't even close to Ray's easy teleporting or Brynn's making lightning out of nothing or Annette's complex technology or the blast of electricity that surged from Cameron's hands like a thunderbolt from Zeus — but his performance definitely struck some kind of chord. He found himself praying in his mind, praying that he hadn't just ruined his first potential friendships in this place before they could even get started...

"That was, um..." Brynn's breath hitched before she could continue. "That was really impressive, Dave."

"Shit, yeah," Cameron breathed in what sounded like awe. "Deborah's demonstrated hers before, but you... Fuck, you didn't even look like you worked up a sweat."

"I didn't," Dave admitted. "It's been getting really strong the past few years."

"But you're, what, eighteen, nineteen?" Ray said, his eyes still more focused on the dummies than Dave. "I thought powers were supposed to reach their maximum level before then."

"I don't know either way. All I know is that the big reason I came here is because I need to learn how to control this thing no matter how strong it gets." He looked from face to face; some of the shock was starting to subside, thank God, but his anxiety didn't subside. He had to ask; if he didn't, he'd wonder forever. "I, uh, did I... y'know... do something?"

"No!" Brynn cried, perhaps a little more forcefully than she should have. "I don't know about the others, but... I was just... surprised. Deborah's the only telekinetic we know, and she's never done what you just did."

"I think she could," Ray said thoughtfully. "But the way you just did it, like it was nothing..."

"I thought it was cool," Annette said quietly.

Dave nodded gratefully towards her, the anxiety loosening ever so slowly into relief. "Thanks. I'm sorry if I... went over a line or something. I guess..." Dave's eyes found his shoes; old habits were hard to break. "I guess I've just spent so long feeling like a freak that—"

He never got the next words out, instead stiffening in surprise under the embrace that suddenly encircled his chest. More surprising was who the arms belonged to. "Yeah," Cameron said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I know. We all know. The best thing about being in this place is that we know we aren't alone now."

Brynn was the next to press close, then Ray, and finally Annette, her arms barely getting around Dave's waist; some distant part of Dave's brain hoped that it was just her angle, and not because he was getting fat or something. "It's okay, Dave," Brynn said. "No one will ever be afraid of you here, least of all us. We'll never let you feel like a freak again. You're one of us."

You're one of us... Not even coming out had felt like this, not when he was still so afraid that he was alone because of his power. Dave tried to keep the tears back, but completely failed. He wrapped his arms around Cameron and Brynn, and held them close, as if they'd disappear if he let go.

When he held onto them for a full five minutes, and they let him, Dave finally started to believe he was in the right place.