บท 31: HAVEN: Heroes in the Making Convention

Ella's room was much bigger than his, bordering on becoming a suite. A sizeable hallway—spotting a wardrobe and bathroom—opened into a large bedroom with dark furniture, which struck a pleasant contrast with the white walls. Two twin windows framed a breathtaking view of a tight-knit cluster of skyscrapers dotted with hundreds of lights. Ella joined Rebecca on the bed after opening the door for him, while Caleb sat on a chair by the windows, busy with his phone. With the assortment of bottles by the footrest and filled glasses in both women's hands, it would seem they were putting the complementary wine to good use.

"What took you so long?" Ella asked, after sipping from her cup. "It's dark out."

"I met someone from my high school," he replied. "So we had some catching up to do."

"Who? Marc—"

"Dawn."

It occurred to him that his sister was unaware of Marco's betrayal. As he reclined in the only other chair near the wall opposite Caleb's, he elected to keep it that way for no other reason than not wanting to utter his ex-best friend's name.

The conversation took another turn, divulging into talks about their experience at Madison Square Garden. Meanwhile, he remained quiet, his mind on the events that had transpired earlier. If he had a nickel for all the times someone managed to steal his life force, he would have two. Not much, but one too many. The inherent weakness of his current form, his foes exploited, did not bode well for the future. His insistence on adorning a human vessel, which at the time was a decision born of convenience and nostalgia, had come back to bite him.

And then, the serpentine head of Anakulos appeared in his mind, the extent of the primordial deity's string-pulling and puppeteering to bring him to this moment a question he had no answer to. Have all the key moments in his life been deliberately planned and orchestrated? Yes. With that question answered, what was the Anakulos' end goal? One thing was certain though, now he had the power to forge his own destiny, no matter what part Anakulos played in getting him to this point. He sighed, an exhausted gaze falling on his sister.

"So, what will you do with your first paycheck if you become a superhero?" Ella asked.

"I don't know," Caleb said, glancing up from his phone. "In fact, that seems like a distant pipe dream now, so I'd rather not think about it."

Rebecca, with concern shrouding her eyes, looked at her brother, then at him. "How about you, Jalen?"

"Uh, I'm knee-deep in debt. So, that's where the money will go." Ignoring his sister's guilty gaze, he reasoned that there was no need to divulge his intentions about not becoming a superhero.

"Well," Rebecca said. "My older brother's got a medical condition. So it'll help him a bit."

"What condition? If you're comfortable sharing," Ella asked.

"He suffered a hemorrhagic stroke in his head while playing football. It's been ten years since his brain surgery and it's only getting worse." In a much weaker voice, she added. "He lost his motor function last year."

"Sorry."

"It's all good."

Ella glanced at him, her eyes probing. Then she said, "Our mother passed away battling ovarian cancer. It sucks when you see people you care about suffer and you feel there is nothing you can do about it."

Tears streamed down Rebecca's face as Caleb swiveled his chair away from them, his phone still in his hand. But Jalen could see he wasn't even looking at it, his gaze falling outside the window.

"I just pray I make it." Rebecca wiped her tears away.

"You can do i—"

"Why?" he asked, interrupting Ella.

"What do you mean?" Rebecca said.

"You heard Mrs. Ivarsson's statement. You are a category four superhuman. In all honesty, it's quite foolish and borderline suicidal for you to pursue superhero work."

"Jalen!" Ella's tone was ripe with shock and anger.

"But it's true." He continued. "Superheroes regularly encounter category three criminals. This is public knowledge. Take Meltdown, for example. He was easily defeated by Mistletoe. And yet, before that, Meltdown took on a police task force himself."

"Mrs. Ivarsson also mentioned that the ranking was skewed towards combat powers," Ella said.

"Well, that proves my point more." He pointed at Rebecca. "What is she gonna do against Meltdown? Blind him with her light while he dissolves her skin? For fuck's sake, Rebecca. Put your efforts elsewhere. Superhero work isn't for you. With your skill set, you're better off joining the circus. You'd make bank there."

Rebecca, with her face marred with tears and snort, stood up and ran outside the room. Caleb rushed in behind his sister, his hate-filled glare directed at Jalen.

"Nice one, Jalen." Ella plumped her head down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. "That was real fucking class."

He sighed. "I do not regret what I said. It is better she hears it now than to be found dead in a ditch when she starts patrolling the streets."

Ella wrapped herself in a blanket and turned away from him, sending a clear message. Understanding this, he quietly left her room. During their time in the helicopter, Rebecca had engaged in extensive conversations with Ella about her powers and goals. She possessed the remarkable ability to absorb and project light, as well as to control existing light sources without physical contact. However, the key distinction was her power output. If she could focus her light into powerful lasers, then no doubt her evaluation would change. Unfortunately, her highest power output merely inconvenienced others at best. This made her aspiration of becoming a superhero a dangerous and unrealistic dream.

❊ ❊ ❊

The next day, they piled into Ivarsson's car. Jalen sat at the front, facing the window. The ride was silent, the tension palpable in the air.

"Do you plan on carrying that cat all day?" Ivarsson asked. The car ground to a halt, the morning rush hour truly in effect.

"Yeah," he said. "She is well behaved."

That comment earned him a clawed paw digging into his thigh.

More silence ensued, only to be broken by Ivarsson again.

"What's the matter? Mr. Nkanga's cat got all your tongues? You guys were talking up a storm yesterday."

"You have that asshole to thank for that." Caleb pointed at him.

Ivarsson wedged the car into a narrow gap between two parked cars, then turned the car into a relatively quiet road compared to the previous jungle of commuting cars. "Well, whatever happened between you all, you'd better bury the hatchet. Today is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Especially so for those of you not named Ella Nkanga."

Located on the opposite side of Central Park from The Carlyle, the Radiant Tower overlooked the Hudson River. Its peak proudly showcased the prominent golden sunburst symbol of The Radiant Assembly, visible even from a distance. The skyscraper dwarfed all other buildings, dominating this section of the city's skyline.

Cheerful people with superhero merchandise packed the streets, many of whom were dressed in superhero costumes with Novaman's colors dominating the bunch. They passed through a security checkpoint that halted the masses from reaching the Radiant Tower. Regardless, the skyscraper's premises were no different from outside with people, though this time superhuman, waiting at its doors.

"We'll use a different entrance," Ivarsson said.

She maneuvered the car into a secure underground parking lot. Then they disembarked and used an elevator to reach the ground floor where the convention was located.

A massive hologram was situated at the center of the expansive floor. Floating in bold letters near the ceiling was HAVEN: Heroes in the making. Below that stood gigantic recreations of the current members of The Radiant Assembly. Front and center was Novaman, the blazing sun of power and justice. Standing beside him was Ameor, the lightning wizard, and Metal Shadow, hunter of the night. Downpour, Lightflare, Demistra, and Ampress filled out the seven-team roster. As he took in the impressive display of powerful superheroes, he couldn't help but wonder how his god form matched against Novaman in particular. Another tricky opponent, if he was to go against them, was Demistra and her mastery of a wide range of mystical arts.

He turned his attention downward, to the surrounding booths, and found them empty for the most part, only a few people moving about.

"Why can't the rest outside get in?" he asked.

"Priority was given to category one to three superhumans," Ivarsson said. "The rest will be allowed in later in the day."

"That hardly seems fair," Rebecca said.

"That's the way things are, Mrs. Maier. The people that usually survive in this hero business are already in."

Rebecca dropped her head. While Ella brought the woman into a hug.

"The booths are open to you all," Ivarsson said. "Have a look around and regroup here when Novaman's arrival is announced. After meeting Novaman, we will do some simulated combat scenarios, so get your game faces on."

Ella dragged Rebecca off somewhere, leaving Caleb, Jalen, and Ivarsson behind. Caleb shot him one final hateful glare before walking off. Ignoring the questioning look from Agent Ivarsson, he casually strolled towards the booths. As he walked by, he skimmed through the names of the booths, searching for something intriguing.

One such booth was the Hall of Heroes. The greatest superheroes who ever lived graced these walls. It served as a monument for the brave men and women who risked their lives for humanity, both superhuman and human. Holographic depictions of past heroes allowed him to witness their defining moments and hear their recorded stories. Submariner, the founding member of The Radiant Assembly, had the largest segment.

An elderly man, with a drooping posture, wielding a walking stick, watched the documentary-style holographic retelling of Submariner's greatest moments. He slid in behind the man to observe the holograms as well.

The documentary currently focused on Submariner's exploits in thwarting the invasion of Jacksonville, spearheaded by the Krakens, biomechanical submarines developed by Germany when the U-boats proved ineffective. It was heavily implied that if Submariner had not been present, single-handedly battling the ten Krakens beneath the ocean's surface, Jacksonville would have been lost, with the rest of Florida soon to follow.

"A heck of a time, that was," the old man said, his voice coarse and marred by decades of smoking.

"Yeah." He agreed, even though he wasn't there to experience it. "My granddad said he was the greatest superhero who ever lived and I'm inclined to believe him. I mean… no one else has come close to the power he exuded in his prime compared to his compatriots."

The man laughed a deep, hearty laugh. "Every other person I meet admires the vast good he has done. You know, freeing 100,000 Jews from concentration camps, saving the Allied forces from the jaws of certain death in France and Norway, or even the grueling months following the war spent rebuilding destroyed communities. And yet, you are focused on his greatness, no doubt of his battle prowess."

Silence fell as he contemplated the man's words. He wanted to disagree with the man's assessment of his words. However, the man had hit the nail on the head.

"Don't fret it, kid," the old man said, turning towards Jalen for the first time. "I have become very cynical with age. Though I appreciate your lofty opinion of me."

His eyes grew wider with surprise. He inspected the man more rigorously now. Submariner wore a skin-tight mask during his illustrious career. Still, his distinctive blue eyes that seemed to reflect the richness of the ocean's depths stared back at Jalen.

"Close your mouth, kid," Submariner said. "It looks like you've seen a ghost."

"So you are—"

"I was. Not anymore. Call me, James."

They stood still, immersed in the depiction of Submariner's greatest moments with images of the superhero's time off the coast of Europe, accompanied by a British narrator.

"So what was it like?" he asked. "To be at the top of the world. To be beloved by millions of people."

James shrugged. "There were moments when it felt truly sublime, yet at other times, it was utterly terrifying." He reached up and muted the narrator. "You want to be a hero, kid?"

"No," Jalen replied. "It really isn't my style. But my sister might become one."

"Good," James said. "Make sure to keep your sister close. You know why I am here, witnessing my life unfold before my very eyes?"

"To reminisce about the old days."

"No, kid." James walked away from the Submariner section, towards the section of another superhero. "It is to remind myself about the grave mistakes I made. What you see is a man of purpose, driven to eradicate evil and injustice from the world. Rather, I was a broken man who neglected his family. I have saved millions across the globe, but when my wife needed me most, I failed her. I was not even present to watch my baby girls grow." James shook his head in disgust, turning to the exit of the booth. "It seems I have lost my appetite to reminisce. See you around, kid. And remember to be there for your sister."

James left the booth, his gait reliant on his walking stick.

"Should I grant him youth?" Yun asked. "That way, he can stay with his children longer."

He shook his head. "No, somehow I feel that will only horrify him."

He took one last glance at Submariner's section, then at Ampress' section. The superhero became active shortly after World War two ended, using her energy absorption powers to maintain her youth till the present day. Ampress became Submariner's successor in The Radiant Assembly, becoming the captain of the team when the water-based superhero retired. She maintained that position for over thirty years, enduring both the good and bad, until she stepped down a decade ago to make room for Novaman, as she assumed a lesser role mentoring the next generation of superheroes.

Thirty minutes later, he walked out of the booth and wandered the convention floor. There was a superhero costume booth that piqued his interest. It showcased the evolution of the costume designs over the years, from a blend of spandex and cotton used in the 1920s to 1950s to the myriad of advanced materials used today like Kevlar, memory fabrics, carbon fiber, steel alloys, and even the hardest metal on Earth, Lemunite.

While designing a hypothetical costume for himself through a kiosk, he suddenly heard a panicked voice that sounded familiar. He rounded the corner behind the booth, following the sound. A few paces ahead, a group of men walked toward the restroom. One of them, a blonde-haired man with broad shoulders, pulled Caleb, who struggled against his captor's iron grip, by the collar. Jalen fell in behind them.