Twelve - First Flight
They had gone to the top floor of the apartment building, but the school was below it, earth-sheltered. Fatigued and wary, Karen squinted at the jet black honeycomb patterns on the walls, feeling as if she'd been transported to an alien planet, one where everything was sleek and metallic. Then she was whisked off to the infirmary and put under. Her body was stitched back together.
Hours later, she awoke and was helped into a garish orangey bodysuit with a black honeycomb printed on the chest. In a freezing cold room, she slogged through a written test, but couldn't for the life of her recall what it was about. When she woke up the next day, a smiling Billy was there, and life began as a student at the Hierarchy of International Vengeance and Extermination Academy for Extraordinary Young People.
Karen did what she did best. She learned. She was a scholar at heart, and whether it was limits and continuity or archery and martial arts, she breathed in lessons like air. Prep school teachers couldn't cure her restlessness. Paola, despite her experience, couldn't satisfy her love of knowledge. The HIVE Academy gave her everything she needed. So she stayed after class to ask questions and turned in her homework early. When the teacher showed training videos of assassins slicing through their enemies, she was the only one who didn't look away.
Within a week, they were whispering about her. At first it was embarrassing. Through Billy, she learned most of the rumors painted her more deadly than she ever dreamed to be, as the daughter of Fatality or Queen Bee. But it became the kind of whispers she encouraged, by raising her hand first to go in Sparring class, maintaining that smug look as she left the arena, and laughing when she sprained her wrist.
A performance, all of it. After a few classes, it was clear what the HIVE weren't like her father's syndicate or even The Seven. They didn't just want to get away with evil stuff. They wanted to march right up to the good guys' faces and punch them out.
"It's a little out there. Don't see why I couldn't keep my revolver," Billy said as they walked to their Art of Lying class. "But I'd rather be on the winning side."
She snorted. "The winning side?"
"From what I've seen, you've got to be out there to win. The good guys always cut corners, hold back and worry about people getting hurt. But you see guys like the Joker? They're not afraid to cross the line."
"And you?"
"Kid, I'm past the line. I like this stuff. We can be ourselves here." He blinked and a second Billy appeared, slapping the original on the back in solidarity.
"And it pays," the clone said. "Whatever keeps me fed and gets me a bed. Enjoy the perks."
Karen was pretty sure Billy's idea of the perks included Sundays off to visit the carnival or beating the money out of snack machines. Like the majority of the kids, he wasn't a go-getter. When she looked around she saw metahumans like him, lost and needing a cover, or scrappy thugs who needed a gang to survive.
But the HIVE wasn't a gang. That much was made clear: They were taught by stone-faced former assassins, spies, and henchmen who wore charcoal gray suits better suited to military officials. From the old Russian man who had assassinated the king of Beldona in the eighties to the ex-supermodel who had worked as a lab assistant to Hugo Strange, they all treated the students to a detached, critical eye.
Classes included Martial Arts, Ability Lab, Physical Education (with zero games, mind you), Target Practice, Disguises, How to Succeed as a Villain in the Modern World, and Secret Intelligence. At first glance at her schedule, Karen laughed. What a joke. They were treating this like, like...like it was real! Like it was serious! But she knew better than anyone what happened when you treated crime as a game. You got locked up or you got killed. The HIVE had a point. So she threw herself into all of it - worked longer, worked harder, worker smarter. Survive, survive, survive.
When she and Billy arrived a week ago, there had been about seventy students admitted, from all over the continent. And in that short interval, kids were dismissed every day. Most couldn't keep up in the weight room or in sparring matches. Some balked as their Villain History teacher listed the thirteen ways to kill a person with a bobby pin. Two were critically injured in Target Practice. Karen had seen one, being ushered out on a gurney by guards. Never had she felt more grateful for Paola's guidance.
And her family? They were with her in her heart. Some might say that was twisted, but considering their history, she had a feeling her parents would be glad she was safe. Yasmina would be slightly disappointed in how she did it all, but she'd just huff and tell Karen not to let herself get killed.
She supposed she had her father to thank. In his death, he had truly given her freedom.
The thought played on repeat as she stood across a giant of a boy in Sparring. Did he think because she was attractive she couldn't keep up? Mammoth had been giving her a hard time she got there, clipping her shoulder or stepping on her hand in their shared classes. At first she thought he was an oaf, but for whatever reason, he didn't like her. And now she was going to have to fight him, one of the strongest players on the board.
The 'why' was detail. The 'what' was present. Karen clicked her mind off and widened her stance. When Mammoth charged towards her she stepped to the side, letting his weight throw him off. She stomped on the junction between his shoulder and neck. Pain wracked through her leg. His gigantic fist swung out behind him. Like a pill bug, she rolled away then stopped on her knee, crouching. He was so clunky, as if unused to his own body. His hits struggled to reach her. She dove between his legs.
They went on for a while like that, him swinging like a drunk baseball player, her sliding out of reach. She didn't want to worsen her sprained wrist or hurt herself further, trying to harm a guy who was basically a giant brick. If she could just tire him…
Mammoth stomped one meaty leg and a shockwave rocked the arena floor. Karen shook slightly, not just from the tremors, and backed away, clinging to a pillar.
This was all too familiar. Neco, the supervillain who'd beaten her half to death last spring, had the same power. What if the floor cracked open?
It didn't. But Mammoth was coming for her.
"Stop!" Karen yelled, cowering. But no one listened, no teacher stepped in, no door to the locked arena center opened.
Like a coil, Karen's body sprung up, launching herself at her opponent. He staggered back a few steps. His hand tugged at her bodysuit, but she dug her fingers into his skull. She hoisted herself onto his shoulders, locking his thick neck between her knees. There was the sick crunch of bone and a sharp gasp.
She was so surprised she forgot to let go as Mammoth went down with a thud. Her left arm took the worst of it, twisting awkwardly under her like she'd forgotten how to take a fall.
The house lights came up and she could see her classmates sitting in the seats, shocked into silence. For a moment, Karen laid there, staring back at them, until pointy-toed boots entered her sight. She scrambled to her feet.
The Headmistress didn't look quite at her. She took her time, walking slowly, her grey skirt suit becoming a moving piece of furniture in the black-and-gold room. With clinical eyes, she peered down at Mammoth.
Karen cleared her throat. "Is he -"
"No." The word wasn't relief or even disappointment. Just a word. She took out a device and typed something, then it beeped. With determined steps, Headmistress crossed to Karen. The girl almost flinched when the woman laid a hand on her shoulder. "We have a winner."
The other students started to clap, until they remembered it was forbidden. Just as well. It would have been insincere.
Afterwards, Headmistress made Karen stay after class. Perhaps she wanted her to go to the medic and get checked for injuries. But no. She was told to sit at a desk in the front pew. Headmistress stood.
Something big was going to happen. It wasn't every day the head of the school sat in on class then asked to speak with you. Karen shifted, staring at her silvery-gray hair bun. She wondered why the woman went nameless, when others like her father chose grandiose monikers for themselves. "Headmistress" was just a title, as plain as the word "Boss" or "Professor". In comparison to her peers, it was hardly intimidating or commanding.
"Where are you from, Beatrice?" Headmistress asked, her voice calm.
Karen frowned, before she remembered her new name. "East," she offered. And no one could make her share more. The students didn't know much, but they knew enough, that if you ran off, you could destroy the HIVE Academy. But they also could destroy you. As such, everyone kept a tight lip on their families, their former lives, their homes. Thankfully, if you could prove yourself, the staff didn't push for more than your name and age. They were more concerned with who you'd become than who you were.
She thought she saw a shift in the woman's expression, but in the dim stadium-style classroom, it was hard to tell. "And what did you do in the east?"
"What every ragamuffin does. Steal. Fight."
"I'd say you had a lot of experience with the latter. But you don't see quite the ragamuffin, as you claim."
"What do you mean?"
The headmistress tapped her pen to her chin. It was an awkward gesture, like an alien pretending to be human. "These other children are tough, but they don't spar like you do. Take Mammoth. He's strong and gifted, but he doesn't use his head. And he doesn't possess half your dexterity."
Karen rested her head on her chin. Half-truths wouldn't hurt. After all, her stepmother's secrets were buried deeper than her father's, almost completely decomposed. "I'll make a long story short. My mother was a socialite on weekdays and a spy on weekends. But she always made it to Sunday church, so bless her soul."
"Charming." For some reason, the Headmistress typed something on her device. Was she taking notes on her? "And your father?"
Karen held back her cheek this time. "Dead."
"Ah." The Headmistress gave her a reptilian smile, her blue eyes narrowed into slits. "Did he share your hobbies?"
"Sure. He taught me to survive, to think. My mother did, too, in the physical sense. "
The Headmistress nodded. "It paid off. You float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. That was an impressive shot you delivered to Mammoth, just when he stood on the promontory gazing out at his victory."
"I suppose." Karen didn't know why she felt uncomfortable. Oh, duh. She had used more force than necessary. She could've waited it out, tired him out as she always did with the brutes. There were safer shots, even now she thought of four. But she had lunged with an animal hunger, took a risk, and enjoyed it. "Headmistress, may I be excused?"
She held up a hand. "One question: why haven't you had your surgery yet?"
Karen bit her lip. "I got my stitches."
"But the medical staff on hand promised you a thorough reparation of your injuries. Do you not want them?"
There was no clear-cut answer. Sure the pains of the last few weeks plagued her, especially with so many physical classes, but she didn't trust this place, this underground school full of rivals and potential enemies. Not enough to be put under for days and then spent an undefined time resting in a bed. "I don't want you all to go through a bunch of trouble on my account. But I thank you kindly."
"Nonsense. You are one of our top students. It's no trouble. Do you know you have earned an A in every class? That's unprecedented for a student's first week. Some have been here for a month and cannot get past satisfactory."
"Thank you," she said, although there was no direct compliment.
"And you know what a top student deserves? A reward."
They stood in an office, so unlike the ones she knew it could hardly be called such a word. There was a desk, a chair, a computer, filing cabinets, but the floor-to-ceiling screen and open display of weapons were out of place. The gold walls did little to offset the oppressive feel to the dark room, reminding Karen once again that she was underground and there was no sun to be found. She hated that feeling.
The Headmistress clicked a remote and the screen hummed to life, casting a blue glow in the room. As it loaded, she spoke. "Your talent and skills are one-in-a-hundred, Beatrice."
"Not one-in-a-million?" Karen joked, only slightly offended.
"We'd have to study more students," she answered seriously. "But so far, you are one of the best we've had since we began operations this year."
The screen showcased images of graphs and charts, diagnostics that were hard to decipher. Her teacher turned to her. "What would you like?"
"Uh… For this to be in English?"
The Headmistress sighed and clicked a few buttons. The screen beeped and flipped to something resembling a digital medical screen. In the center was a black outline of the human body, with the muscles and bones and organs in various shades of gray. Some areas were highlighted gold - the spine, parts of the skull, the torso.
Karen reached out toward the screen, but something about it stopped her from touching it. "Is that mine?"
"Yes. These are the places where your body has suffered recent trauma. Mind you, this picture was taken the day you went to the doctors, so something may have changed."
"Well, what about it? Is it fixable?"
"As of now, we believe so. But it may be affected when you create your alter ego."
"Oh." Karen remembered seeing some short kid, Gizmo, gloat to the other students when he was given permission to create his uniform. Here in the HIVE, you could create a name for yourself, but it didn't mean a thing unless you were Selected with a capital S. That meant the Academy would help you create a personalized uniform and weaponry. A giddy feeling swelled in her, but she kept her face as serious as her teacher's. "So you Selected me?"
"I have. But the creation of your uniform will have to be delayed until we understand how you'll heal. The deep muscles on your torso were seriously damaged."
"So…"
"The doctors think they'll get injured in a fight. Likely, repeatedly, depending on your choice of weapons and abilities."
This was serious. For a moment, she huffed to herself, frustrated and disappointed. Billy had warned her. She had known better. Yet her own idiocy and fear had harmed her body and now she was going to miss her shot at rising above the rubble her life had crumbled to. Then her head snapped up.
Or not.
Karen stepped closer to the screen. "Would you pass me the remote?"
The Headmistress complied. Karen zoomed in, staring at the muscle groups. She didn't know science as much as she'd like to boast - she hadn't gone past the ninth grade and the HIVE had a very specialized approach. But her mind could envision these kinds of things. "I think," she said slowly, "there needs to be something in between the torn muscle and spine. Some sort of elastic adhesive."
"Hm. It's possible. They've thought of that, but they proposed something called cabasteel. There's no history of putting it in a human body."
"That's too inflexible. It should be soft and thin." She widened her stance, trying not to faint or anything. This was a teeny bit gross. They were talking about her own live body. "It'd need to be something that won't break down, obviously."
The Headmistress sighed, tapping her foot. Karen thought she'd shoot the idea down, but the grey-haired woman clicked another button. The screen shifted to the view of a safari, the picture's focus on an enormous wild plant, with glittering blue fruit and purple leaves. "We've something like it. A wingberry plant. Very exotic."
"Wingberry. Sounds common."
"I assure you it's not, Miss Madden. This material was formerly used to create cloth for our guards. It was thin, stretchy, and durable."
"Caveat?"
Her mouth thinned to a flat line. "Durable, not fireproof or bulletproof. We underestimated how much protection we truly needed."
"I see."
"It is hard to cut through. We'd have to study how to work through it. And it could dissolve a little. But it won't be serious." She typed something and Karen watched as two little thin white triangles like dinner napkins attached to the body, just under the shoulder blades. "We'd have to start with a lot, and trim it down over the next few weeks. But it will be completely hidden by your bodysuit, until -"
"Wait. Stop. Zoom in."
When the Headmistress did so, this time Karen did touch the screen. She looked over the image of the body - her body - and something went off inside her. "They could be bigger," she said softly.
"Bigger?"
"Use more material." She lifted her chin, spoke clearly. "I want wings."
And wings she got.
A week later, Karen sailed over the hills and the valleys in the country. Yes, a unit of evil soldiers were making sure she didn't escape. But she was free, soaring above the ground. She'd been Selected with a capital S. And then she'd chosen very well.
She didn't handle (drive? fly? flap?) her wings the cumbersome way Mammoth struggled to control his super strength. They were natural to her, as much as her limbs. And they were light, gossamer thin. Like a fairy, Billy had said when he'd visited her in the science lab. But no, she was stronger, better, sharper. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.
Wings could've saved her and her father from an awful confrontation. Wings could've saved her from tumbling down a cliff to escape thugs. But what did the past matter when she was here, young, gifted, and better than ever?
When she entered through a window to the apartment, she nearly ran into the receptionist, Ruby, who seemed too upbeat for someone working in crime. Then again, never judge a book by its neon pink cover.
"Miss Beatrice?" she grinned. "I'm glad I ran into you. Tomorrow's the deadline to rename yourself. Don't forget to drop off your form."
She put her hands on her hips. "No, I'm ready now. It's Bumblebee." She started for the elevator, but turned. "Uh, all one word, Capital B."
"Yay!" the receptionist cheered. "But...I think you still have to turn in your form, though!"
In her dorm room, Bumblebee peeled off the suffocating cowl on her school-issued black-and-gold bodysuit. It made her look official, for sure, but it was just out of one school uniform and into another. She wasn't the HIVE's property. She worked here, but she belonged to herself.
She opened her closet and looked at the outfit on the mannequin. Maybe it was a desire to blend in a little that made her stay close to the school's colors. But she had made some significant changes. First of them, she was never wearing a mask again. What was the point? Karen Beecher Marks was dead, and in her place, Bumblebee lived. Just Bumblebee.
