Storm Ryder

In a world post-apocalypse—the only safe place on earth was, seemingly, the Arkadia.

Deep underground, expansive and secure, beneath the surface of what was once the populated Smoky Mountains on the east coast of America—the great bunker remained sound and functioning, even fifty years after its original creator had constructed it. Built by a wealthy doomsday prepper long ago, the Arkadia persisted in rural east Tennessee, and it rarely changed over time, something that simply could not be said for the rest of the world. The massive bunker held everything needed for long-term survival—an indoor greenhouse, multiple sources of power, filtered water and well-maintained plumbing, and even luxuries known to the old world, like schooling, medical care, and entertainment. Many inhabitants of the Arkadia knew it to be the best place they could ever be.

More so than practical methods of survival, Bible studies, or knowledge of the outside world—inhabitants of Arkadia were taught that their home was the ultimate beacon of safety and security, above all others. More than believing in God, understanding science, filtering water, hunting for food, or understanding the social and political realities of the world beyond—everyone in Arkadia knew, first and foremost, that Arkadia was just the place to be. All lessons outside of this were generally a secondary priority, a silent, never spoken truth of life in the great big bunker.

Questioning this deeply-engrained lifelong lesson was something that the inhabitants rarely did, and it was always discouraged whenever it infrequently arose.

Another thing that was routinely discouraged—which was something that Sam Ryder always quietly detested—was any aptitude for creativity. Things like painting, performing, singing, dancing, and drawing—they were seen as unproductive, and not something any inhabitant of Arkadia should strive for. Most times, inhabitants were pushed to show interest in productive activities, like growing foods in the hydroponics lab, making repairs on the bunker in various ways, learning how to use and fix the water filter and the generators, understanding the computer system, and learning how to do work in the meat-cloning facility and the rations department. These skills were necessary to keep Arkadia functioning to the best of its ability, and whenever an inhabitant strayed into areas of creativity, it was seen as an unnecessary distraction from the skills most needed and sought from them.

And—while Sam harbored a good bit of practical knowledge—he loved creativity, loved to express through painting and music, and loved to put on a good show. In fact, it was the only thing to ever bring him out of his shell.

Despite the cultural disdain against creative endeavors in the Arkadia, some inhabitants genuinely enjoyed the shows put on by Sam Ryder, particularly for holidays and birthdays. Most times, he was relatively reserved, even antisocial—but whenever the opportunity to perform was presented, he felt as if the birthday or holiday at hand was just for him. It was a gift, a special occasion that would briefly allow him to express things how he pleased, an opportunity that certainly didn’t arise often in Arkadia.

In spite of the fact that some found Sam’s performances delightful—many other inhabitants held apprehension towards him, finding him to be unproductive and peculiar. Some even speculated that he was only able to get away with being so strange and unproductive because he was the president’s son—but Sam himself knew better.

Solomon Ryder was the current president of Arkadia, having just won an election between himself and one of the members of their small society’s congress, comprised of only six people. He’d won two elections in a row now, and most everyone respected the man, but certainly not everyone liked him. He was one of the few inhabitants of Arkadia that wasn’t born within its safe metal walls, and because of that—despite him having lived in the bunker for many years now—some still viewed him as an outsider, as someone who had no right to rule over the rest.

The non-supporters of Solomon Ryder often liked to spread negative gossip about him and his son, though none dared say it to the president’s face.

Sam, however, was another story. He often heard biting and chiding remarks from others, but it hardly mattered to him.

After all, he’d long since grown past the days of caring what “normal” people thought of him, and he had very much settled comfortably into the reality that he simply was not normal, and would never truly fit in with those who were.

In fact—he was more abnormal than any of them knew.

He pondered on many of these instances as he wandered the wide, metal hallway of the adult classrooms, meandering alone, feeling hesitant to walk into psychology class so late. The adult class wing of Arkadia was generally their equivalent to college classes, separate from the younger wings of the schooling system, places he once knew well, and now rarely ever saw.

Sam was twenty years old now, attending the adult classes routinely with all the same faces he’d grown up alongside, and he was notorious for arriving to classes late or skipping them altogether, despite having generally good grades and usually completing his work. Nevertheless, he found school to be unfathomably dull and mind-numbing, and he much preferred to isolate in his room, surfing on his laptop and binging on music videos from the old world, always seeking more inspiration, listening and watching his favorite musical genius as he kept his face buried in one of his notebooks, filled with his own song lyrics.

Sitting in front of his computer, playing music for hours, and scribbling song lyrics into his notebook was one of his favorite things to do whenever he wasn’t painting or practicing to perform. But, schooling was necessary, and it was something he had to trudge through in order to reach his free time in the afternoon.

Sam slowed to a stop in front of the second door to the left, a metal door with a long handle, identical to all the rest. The hallway was empty, as everyone else was already in their classes, and had been for a while.

He paused there, lowering his head and sighing, not wanting to walk inside. He had wavy, silky hair, long enough to reach his neck, his black curly bangs dangling in front of his big dark eyes as he stood still, biting his lip and trying to think of any possible excuse he could use that would allow him to escape from psychology class today, though none came to mind.

Nodding along to an old Bowie song that was stuck in his head and releasing a final breath of disdain, he turned the handle and strolled into the classroom.

The interior of the psychology classroom looked the same as always—Professor Alexander standing at the front with his glasses and salt-and-pepper hairs, gesturing as he spoke, and falling suddenly silent when the door opened—and many others turned around in their desks, eyeing the door behind them and staring at Sam as he walked in.

Sam paused and sighed. He wore a black button-up today and pants to match, hanging off his slender figure, and his fingers curled around the edges of his sleeves, trying to ignore the many eyes on him as he broke into a stride toward his seat.

Professor Alexander watched him the whole way, and he pretended not to notice, sinking into his desk by the wall. The only thing he enjoyed about psychology class was the fact that his seat was on the second to last row—farther from the attention of the front—and, it was also positioned directly beside Kira Sakoto’s seat.

Kira, right beside him, was leaned forward in her seat, resting her chin on her palm and staring over at him, just as a few others still were. She had a nice, petite figure and an alternative sort of fashion sense, short hair that was combed over to the side and dyed a shiny purple color. She squinted at him and smirked, mildly shaking her head.

Sam caught her eye for a moment and scoffed out a noise, shaking his own head and reaching into his desk to retrieve his textbook, as everyone else already had theirs out and opened to a specific page. While he opened the book and peeked over at Kira’s to find the correct page, the professor continued to eyeball him.

“Almost twenty minutes late this time,” Professor Alexander remarked, nodding once at him and narrowing his eyes behind his large spectacles.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I was just…” Sam muttered distractedly, his voice smooth and light, and his attention still focused on the textbook’s page numbers. “Uhm…”

“It’s page three forty-one,” Professor Alexander stated.

Sam nodded and flipped to the correct page.

“And,” Professor Alexander added, raising a finger and perking his brow. “You’re gonna end up getting removed from this class if you keep avoiding it. Then, any hope you might’ve had of working in the medical wing will be gone forever. You have to pass all health-related classes in order to qualify. That includes psychology. Treating this class with flippant disregard means you will not have a career in the health wing. Ever.”

“And there go all our hopes and dreams,” Kira said caustically, warranting a few chuckles from everyone else in the room.

Sam smirked and swallowed a laugh, hooking his finger over his mouth and trying to hide a smile. Contrary to how he usually was—soft-spoken and reserved—Kira was different, outspoken and sarcastic. She often had an attitude, which was a personality trait that Sam usually didn’t enjoy very much from most other people, but he found it rather fun and entertaining whenever it came from her.

Professor Alexander stared at Kira, narrowing his eyes pensively at her before his attention shifted back to Sam.

“So… do you have an actual reason for being late, or do you not even feel up to inventing an excuse this time?” he grumbled.

“He was off writing more gay poetry or some shit,” said a loud, hearty voice from the far corner in the back.

Everyone snickered again—and Kira whipped around in her seat, glaring sharply at the guy who’d spoken. It was none other than Johnny Matheson, a large, meaty football player seated in the back corner, leaning back over his chair with arms outstretched behind his head, his hairs short and blond, and his face large and expressive. He wore a nasty smile as he and his fellow jock friends laughed together, all of them seated nearby each other and trading idiotic smiles with one another.

“What—are you mad because he can write and you can’t?” Kira snapped at the leader of the jocks. “Everyone knows you’re retarded. You don’t have to remind anybody.”

Some of Johnny’s friends raised their brows and held fists to their mouths, releasing an elongated “ooooh!” and looking to Johnny for his response.

“Bitch—I’m the star quarterback,” Johnny snarled. “I don’t need to write.”

“Oh—trust me, dipshit, we know,” Kira quipped in response, tilting her head and giving him a mocking sort of look. “You never even have to write the damn assignments like everybody else. Football privilege. You just get passed right on through because you know how to run around touching other guys and playing with balls all day.”

At this—nearly everyone exploded with laughter, even Johnny’s friends, which made his expression fall sour and his jaw begin to twitch.

“Don’t give me that football privilege shit—that little faggot gets to write and sing and do all that gay shit just because he’s the president’s son,” Johnny yelled over the laughter, jabbing one of his sausage-like fingers over at Sam. “That’s fucking president privilege. So shut the fuck up.”

“All right—all right—that’s enough,” Professor Alexander intervened, raising a hand and silencing everyone before Kira could unleash a response. “Eyes back on the books, people. We were discussing the different disorders that could arise from childhood depending on circumstance, and we were just about to get to abuse…”

Sam sighed, gazing down at his book and hiding behind his bangs, feeling an agitated churning in his stomach. He was fairly accustomed to hearing snarky remarks from Johnny, but it was never a pleasant thing to endure.

Kira spared him a glance before looking down at her book as well.

For a while thereafter, Professor Alexander ranted about the various ways childhood abuse would affect a person into their adult lives. About five minutes into his lecture, Sam slowly slid a small sketchbook out of his desk, slipping it beneath the textbook and periodically drawing on the bottom of it. He began to illustrate a detailed cartoon of Johnny, but with exaggerated stocky proportions, a big goofy mouth dripping drool, and large, vacant eyes that were gazing off in two different directions.

“Generally speaking,” Professor Alexander was saying, pacing to and fro in front of his whiteboard as he spoke. “When a child of abuse gets older, they will—more commonly than not—become one of two personality types. They will either repeat the abusive behavior that they experienced in childhood, because they perceived it as normal—or, they will vehemently behave in the opposite way, so as to never repeat abusive behavior. People of the latter personality type tend to have more empathy than the average person, and they are slower to seek confrontations. They might apologize more often than they should. They might go farther out of their way for people than anyone else. They might treat children with extra love and compassion—and they tend to show hyperawareness in any situation where they see that a potential conflict might arise.”

Sam wasn’t listening. He sighed and paused his drawing, glimpsing up at the professor and mindlessly fidgeting with his pencil.

The blonde girl in the front row—Jennifer—flipped one page over in her textbook, then made a strange face and raised her hand.

“Yes, Jennifer?” the professor said, nodding at her.

“Um… why is Superhero Syndrome in this chapter?” Jennifer wondered. “I didn’t think that was a childhood disorder. I thought it was just a wasteland one.”

“Ah. Well… it’s technically both,” Professor Alexander replied knowingly, pressing his fingertips together. “You see… Superhero Syndrome is a disorder that is usually only developed by people who grew up in the wasteland. It’s a very new disorder. People fifty years ago had no name for it. They knew nothing about it, because it didn’t yet exist. See, the thing is… Superhero Syndrome is a very rare disorder known only to wastelanders from outside. It is a condition wherein the sufferer believes themselves to be superhuman in some way. They believe that they are “affected” by the destruction of the old world, and that, somehow, the apocalypse has given them new abilities. And, most times, the disorder shows signs in childhood. We don’t know much about it here, but if you ever traversed the hell-scape of the outside world, then you might just run into a wastelander who has wild stories about someone they know with Superhero Syndrome.”

Sam stared thoughtfully at the professor, resting back in his seat and twirling the pencil between his fingers. He looked down for a second, flipping over to the next page and seeing the section on Superhero Syndrome, which was only two paragraphs long, considerably shorter than every other disorder segment in this chapter.

“So… do you have to be in the wasteland to have this disorder?” Jennifer tried to understand. “Or… do you just have to be… like… from there?”

“Well…” Professor Alexander nodded sideways. “Like I said, not much is known about it. I suppose someone in a place like this could potentially have it, it’s just never been seen or heard of before.”

Sam spun the pencil around his fingers once more, this time hardly moving his fingers at all, the pencil moving from one finger to the next, seemingly on its own.

Kira stared over at him, squinting at the pencil in his hand and making a face. She then leaned over to him, hushing her voice to a whisper.

“How’re you doing that…?” she murmured.

Sam blinked and shrugged, clasping the pencil fully again.

Kira stared for a moment longer, then sank back into her seat, smacking her lips and shaking her head. “Freakin’ magic tricks…”

Sam flashed a half-smile, saying nothing. He was well-known for his illusionary magic tricks, particularly when performing, and Kira was one of the few people in Arkadia who genuinely enjoyed it. Most of the people who liked his shows were children, but there were a few adults like Kira who liked them as well.

“Now. Back to the topic of abuse,” Professor Alexander said, clasping his hands. “Who here can tell me what a dissociative disorder is?”

A brief silence fell. A few people looked around, but nobody raised their hand to answer.

Sam blinked, his hand twitching around his pencil. He almost wanted to raise it—as he very well knew the answer—but he felt hesitant to.

A moment later, he let out a breath and decided to raise his hand anyway.

The professor gave him a nod.

Sam lowered his hand and cleared his throat.

“Well… it’s… basically a type of disorder that means your mind is checking out of reality,” Sam said softly, trying to strengthen his voice. “I think it comes from trauma, and it can cause a lot of… amnesia, sometimes…”

“Correct,” Professor Alexander replied. “It comes in many forms, some more severe than others, and the way you know you have one is…”

As the professor began to rant again, Sam stared down at nothing in particular, now wearing a rather distant visage.

He knew full well what a dissociative disorder was; in fact, he knew for certain he had one, as he was never ever able to remember anything about his earlier childhood. He knew that his father originated from somewhere in the wasteland—and he knew that Solomon Ryder had brought him here and introduced him into Arkadia society when he was ten years old—but he had no recollection of it at all, no memory of the outside world, and no idea what his life had been like before growing up here. All of his memories were filled with the wide metal walkways of the bunker, the familiar faces he’d seen around him for years, and the common rooms everyone daily used, from the mess hall to the library, and from the atrium to the bathrooms. As far as he could ever recollect, his life had always been here—and, for whatever reason, he simply could not recall what else life might have been for him before.

It was a great mystery to him, a big huge question mark hovering over his life that he had long since grown accustomed to harboring, though it sometimes bothered him that this ever-lingering question never seemed to have any answers. Asking his father yielded no fruit. Solomon always gave him vague explanations, saying simple things like “We moved here because it’s safer,” and nothing else was ever explained. Eventually, Sam stopped questioning it altogether, finding it to be pointless to try—but the curiosity always lingered in his mind regardless.

Still, as the professor talked on, Sam’s mind wandered back to more immediate things, like the birthday party that would take place shortly after this class was over. He smirked at the thought, staring down at his desk and thinking of all the children—Katie, Kevin, Marcus, Daniel, and the others—and he couldn’t wait to meet them in the gym for the party. Playing with and performing for the children of Arkadia was one of his favorite things to do. There was simply something different about spending time with children; he didn’t have to worry about gossip, drama, conflict, ulterior motives, or anything else. Children were purer, and they spoke their minds more freely. Not to mention, he simply loved to put a smile on their faces, and some of their parents never seemed to prioritize their happiness in the same way he did. It was a normality for Arkadia, something everyone was silently and subtly trained to do; happiness was considered a secondary priority to learning skills and behaving correctly.

It wasn’t as if Sam thought that skills and manners were wrong—but he never liked the lack of happiness in every Arkadian’s priority list, especially and particularly whenever children were involved. After all—you only get one childhood in your life, and to be robbed of it by coldness or unhappiness was a rather cruel situation that he felt strongly convicted to fight against. He wasn’t sure why, but deep to his core, he knew for certain it was important for him to do.

In fact, if not for Sam organizing the children’s birthday parties, he doubted they would ever have any. Their parents rarely even attended the parties, and they almost never helped him to set one up. They believed parties to be a waste of expenditure, something that kids shouldn’t be raised to expect, as it wasn’t a productive endeavor.

But—thanks to Sam’s routine of saving up some of his ration coupons in a routinely strategic way—he was always able to buy a large amount of pizza or desserts in bulk for whatever birthday was about to be celebrated, and he was greatly looking forward to Katie’s party today.

When the class was over—he felt as if he couldn’t leave the classroom fast enough. He shoved the books back into his desk and marched briskly out of the room, marching down the hall before many of the others did. The only person to keep up with him was Kira—who jogged up to him from behind and followed him up the stairway towards the atrium.

“Hey—where’re you going?” Kira panted, glancing over at him as they thumped up the stairs. “Katie’s party isn’t for another two hours or so.”

“Yeah… but I have a lot of stuff to double-check,” Sam replied, both of them emerging at the wide, spacious clearing beyond the stairway. “I have everything set up, I just have to decide on what music to play.”

“Oh. Well… isn’t Katie a Jackson fan?” Kira smirked.

“Yeah. As much as I am,” Sam replied with a smile, both of them strolling past the entrance to the mess hall. “I got her into that…”

“Tch. You got all the kids into everything they like,” Kira remarked. “If not for you, I don’t think any of them would’ve even known any musicians. Daniel wouldn’t be obsessed with David Bowie, and Katie wouldn’t be obsessed with Michael Jackson, and Marcus wouldn’t be obsessed with Kurt Cobain…”

“And I’m obsessed with all of the above, and more,” Sam stated. “That’s my job.”

“No… your job is to keep working in hydroponics for ration coupons and scraping-by money,” Kira laughed. “Your passion is freaking music. Music and art.”

“Music is art,” Sam muttered.

The two of them continued down the extensive area of the atrium, a rounded and enormous area with many openings to several hallways and stairways all around, and the mess hall was directly in the middle of it all. This area was the heart of the bunker, the place that connected every wing of Arkadia together.

Kira glimpsed over at him and cracked a smirk again. “Are you gonna dress up again?”

Sam let out a breathless laugh, pocketing his hands and making a shrug. “Probably. I like the Jackson look. It’s the most like my look.”

“Yeah… your whole style makes you look like Michael Jackson crossed with Ozzy Osbourne,” Kira snickered. “MJ hats and physique, but with the Ozzy alternative thing going on too, the dark colors, and the chains, and man-rings, and stuff… and I’m not gonna lie, you also look kind of Alice Cooper whenever you put just a little bit too much makeup on your eyes…”

“Aww… no I don’t,” Sam chuckled, running a hand down his face and shaking his head. “I never go that far…”

“Well… you could,” Kira said. “It’d look badass on you.”

“Not really,” Sam mumbled. “My face is too… just… not… masculine.”

Kira barked out a laugh. “Awww… are you all shy about your smooth pretty face?”

She reached over and tried to pinch one of his cheeks, making him laugh and duck away.

“Well… go ahead and go do your thing,” Kira said, slowing to a stop near another stairway. “I have to go check the laundry, but then I’ll meet you guys in the gym. Oh… my mom and dad are gonna be there this time, too. They actually like what you do, believe it or not.”

“They can’t be very good friends with all the other parents, then,” Sam replied, only halfway joking.

“Nope. But they don’t wanna be,” Kira said simply. “My parents never liked normies. Runs in the family.”

Sam stared, flashing another smile and waving her off.

Kira gave him a two-fingered salute before turning on her heel and vanishing down the nearest stairway. Sam watched her go, then sighed and faced away, only just noticing the small group of people nearby. There were four of them, all familiar faces, standing in a group near one of the entrances to the mess hall—and all of them were staring fixedly and silently at him now.

One of them was a burly man in dark clothes, Kenny Adler, who was Kevin and Katie’s father. He had the blond hair like his kids, but darker and shorter, and his eyes were darker than theirs, small and beady as they narrowed into slits, glaring at Sam intensely.

Beside Kenny was his wife, Alison Adler, a petite woman with bright blonde hair, and she was glaring at Sam as well, her arms folded and her mouth poking out slightly, looking almost agitated by the sight of him.

The other two—a man and woman named Jacob and Lisa Cornwell—were Daniel’s parents, both of them with short brown hair, and both of them were giving him the same stern look as the Adlers.

Sam returned their stares, swallowing and quietly turning away. He strolled toward the farther stairway along the wall—the one that would take him back to his own living quarters—and he felt their glares burning into him from behind the whole way.

He felt incredibly uncomfortable whenever the Arkadians would treat him in such a way, whether it was with grim stares or griping remarks. Sometimes, it was due to him being the president’s son, and other times, it was because of him being a creative type—but there always seemed to be a reason for others to gossip about him and give him the cold shoulder, and he wasn’t interested in learning whatever their reason was for it this time.

As he marched down the metal stairs—he decided to focus only on the fun ahead, and he found himself smiling again as he reached the lower level, a hallway with five entrances. There were two on the left, two on the right, and one at the end of the hall—the one that led into his home.

Sam strolled down the hall and opened his door, greeted by the same divider he’d seen for ten years. In the Ryder home, there was a single metal wall standing in the center, separating the two living spaces from one another. The one to the right was his father’s room—and the one to the left was Sam’s, complete with a single twin bed, several music posters on the walls, and a tall, thin bookshelf in the corner that was positively cluttered with records, CDs, and tapes, all manner of old-world music that he’d collected over the years, thanks to his friend James. His desk was directly beside the entryway, placed against the wall, the computer powered off, his hamper overflowing with clothes beside it, and his closet was right next to his bed, closed and having been left undisturbed since the last birthday party in Arkadia.

This room was his safe space, an area he knew better than anywhere else, where he’d sit in front of his computer writing or drawing while his favorite music played, or where he’d lay on his back and gaze into the dingy graying ceiling, losing himself in the music and daydreaming about a time when he might just be able to expand from here, maybe breaking away from Arkadia altogether.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t appreciate the safety and security of the place—he always had—but something inside him felt drawn to the world beyond, as if whatever was outside these metal walls was always calling to him, and perhaps his wildest and even his most ‘unproductive’ dreams could come true out there.

He couldn’t know. He scarcely had any idea what the outside world was like, and none of his classes taught him much about it, aside from emphasizing how very dangerous the wasteland apparently was. Their classes mentioned “savage societies” and never went into any greater detail about what the people and societies outside might have been like.

Still—for reasons unknown—he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more out there than just danger. He felt as if he wasn’t being told the truth, or at least, not the full truth. How could savagery be all that existed in the world outside? If that was true—then how could any society still be out there at all?

During his earlier years, he felt apprehensive, almost afraid of the idea of ever leaving Arkadia—but as he grew older, the thought of it seemed to scare him less and less, and now, the idea of embarking on a journey outside was almost enthralling. Who knows—perhaps the world even had its own post-doomsday Hollywood out there now.

Maybe there was a place in the world where he could perform his heart out, and no one would ever judge or chastise him for it again.

Sam stared absently into the closet for a moment, smiling at the idea, then shaking the thought away. He moved briskly toward the closet and flung the white door open—revealing the many outfits inside. All of them hung neatly from the bar at the top, some of them sleek and Michael Jackson-themed, others tight and alternative, the Alice Cooper style Kira so often wanted to see him in. A few of the outfits were more attention-grabbing, like the Bowie ones, and on the shelf above them were several hats, as well as numerous shiny chains of silver and gold.

Sam paused, then stepped over to his computer and powered it on. He began to play music from one of his favorite playlists before stepping back over to the closet, sifting through the hanging outfits and selecting a slender black one from the mix. He peeled his button-up off and began to change as the music played behind him.

“I always feel like, somebody’s wat-chin-me-e…!”

Grinning with joy, he dressed in a white button-up, fastened a thin black tie around his neck, and flung the black suit jacket over himself, leaving it open. Then, he changed into the correct pants, sleek and black with the high bottoms, as well as the shiny black shoes to match it all.

Once he was done, he plucked a black trilby hat from the closet, placed it on his head, and spun around to face his bed, staring at himself in the full-boy mirror that hung just above it. He looked perfectly smooth, jacket left stylishly open atop his slender frame, hat tenting over his face, a few of his bangs hanging loosely above his big dark eyes.

His smile grew as he observed his reflection.

He felt as if he’d worked all month long for this moment, enduring his least favorite classes and working his dull, never-ending shifts in hydroponics, paying his dues nonstop before he was finally allowed to be himself again.

After giving his reflection one more once-over, he turned to his bookshelf and grabbed one of the CDs, then marched out of his room and started down the hallway.

He slid across the floor, practicing his quick spins and dance moves as he did—and then, he slowed to a stop, spotting a familiar face across from him.

A little ways down the hall, an older gentleman was hunched beside the security system on the wall, opening it and surveying it intently. The man had brown scraggly hair, much of it messy and thrown back, and he had wild brown eyes to match. He turned his head, spotting Sam and offering him a smile and a wave.

“Heya, kiddo. Big party?” the man, James Morrow, said to him, his voice throaty and raspy as usual.

Sam smirked and nodded, sauntering towards him. James was a friendly face, one of the few people in Arkadia he considered a friend, and he was the oldest repairman in the bunker nowadays.

“Yeah… big party,” Sam affirmed, adjusting his hat and meandering closer.

James laughed, folding his arms and squinting interestingly at him.

“You’re so damn different when you get all ready to put on a show. You even walk different. Y’know that?” the repairman remarked. “Not the antisocial little shy kid in the corner anymore.”

Sam’s smile grew again, sliding his hands into his pockets. “It’s nice to hear that. Everybody usually thinks me doing this stuff is a waste of time and energy.”

“Well… never underestimate morale,” James advised, waving a finger at him. “Fun, and happiness, and celebration, and enjoyment… those are all just as important as everything else we do here. Bad morale will kill a tribe faster than faulty wiring or food rationing. Trust me.”

Sam nodded, his smile now waning, glancing down in thought. He was used to hearing life lessons from James—as James was one of the few Arkadians who’d originated from the wasteland—but now, he found himself wanting to ask the man something he never had before.

“Hey… have you ever heard of Superhero Syndrome?” Sam inquired.

James blinked, his mouth drifting slightly agape. He ran a hand down his face, nodding mildly and releasing a sigh.

“Yeah… yeah, I’ve heard of it,” he uttered, now gazing off to the side, seeming to be deep in thought.

Sam eyed him curiously.

James spotted his lingering stare, and then, he squinted strangely at him.

“Why d’you ask?” the repairman wondered.

Sam shrugged, glimpsing down. “I don’t know. I heard it’s something that usually only ever happens out in the wasteland, so… I don’t know who else to ask. I thought you might know more about it than anyone else here.”

“Aside from your father,” James reminded him.

Sam made another shrug. “Well, yeah, but he never really answers me. He just gives me vague cryptic answers that never actually answer anything.”

James nodded sideways with understanding. “All right… well… basically, the idea of Superhero Syndrome is…”

He paused, running a hand down his face again, clasping his mouth for a moment and huffing out a breath. His brow hardened, looking at the metal wall for a second and mildly shaking his head.

“Well… I don’t like explaining it the way they want me to,” James resolved, lowering his hand by his side.

Sam stared quizzically at him. “Whaddo you mean…?”

“I mean… what they mention in their little books here isn’t what Superhero Syndrome actually is,” James explained, his tone lowering. “There were very few documented cases of it back in the day… but the biggest point of the matter is… it’s not a syndrome.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, growing more confused by the second. “What do you mean, it’s not a syndrome…?”

“I mean… it’s not a syndrome. It’s not a disorder. It’s not something that some crazy folks just magicked up outta their own imaginations,” James ranted, motioning around his own head. “I mean, granted, some people might do that… delusions of grandeur do exist… but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Then, James moved slightly closer, glancing around and ensuring nobody was nearby to overhear. When he met Sam’s eyes again, he lowered his voice almost to a whisper.

“There’s a place out there called Veilspire,” he muttered softly. “And there’s an underground lab in that place where Remnant likes to collect these special folks. Superhero Syndrome is a rationalized little cover story for you all to read in your textbooks here… but the reality is, there are a select few folks out there who really do have abilities beyond anything you could ever imagine.”

Sam’s mouth drifted open, a million questions suddenly flooding his mind. He’d never heard James mention anything of the like before—nothing about Remnant, special abilities, or a place called Veilspire.

“What… um,” Sam mumbled, scratching his cheek and wondering where to even start. “What is Remnant…?”

“Remnant is what most wastelanders call the remnants of the government out there—dystopian globalists,” James told him, peeking back over his shoulder again, seemingly worried that someone might walk into earshot.

“O… kay,” Sam murmured. “And… what’s Veilspire…?”

“Well… Veilspire is more of a… mixed bag,” James replied with a sideways nod. “It’s the biggest city out there… biggest one in this region, anyway. Waaay bigger’n Gatlin City. Some Americana folks out there think they’ve got free reign in the big city, but Remnant’s still running it from the shadows, got the most of the politicians in their pockets. Not all, but most. But… ehem… anyhow…”

James scratched along his brow and shook his head once.

“Getting off track—the point is, Superhero Syndrome is pretty much a made-up disorder,” he stated. “It’s a cover-up for the fact that real people with real abilities are actually out there. God knows what people would do if they actually believed and accepted that to be true.”

Sam stared, falling deathly silent, his heart beginning to pound with slow, steady excitement. In all this time, he’d never found any possible explanation for the things he could do—and this was the first time he’d ever heard one.

“How do… uhm…” Sam uttered, adjusting his hat again. “How do you know if you’re… one of those people…?”

James reared slightly back, observing him with investigative intrigue.

“Why,” he breathed, perching his brow. “D’you think you’re one…?”

Sam slowly gnawed his lip, looking down and avoiding his eyes, his heart thumping with anticipation. He’d never told it to anyone before—not even his own father—and he’d been carrying the secret for many years now. The idea of bringing it to light and finally telling someone was as intimidating as it was nerve-wracking.

“No,” he sighed. “No, I’m just… curious about it…”

James gave him another surveying stare.

“M’kay,” he replied moments later. “Well… typically, you’d realize it pretty fast. It’s called a ‘childhood disorder’ in your textbooks because you tend to notice if you have superpowers pretty damn quick. It’s not a thing you can really be a late bloomer with. It’s as natural as walking and running.”

Sam nodded quietly, then gave him a questioning look.

“But how is it… possible?” he asked. “How could people just… have powers…?”

“Ah… well, the science-fiction believers of the world like to chalk that up to radiation and mutation, but that doesn’t really apply, considering most of the bombs that obliterated the earth didn’t involve any sort of radiation at all,” James answered with a shrug. “Some folks think that we ripped a hole in the dimensions during that Godawful war, and it affected a few people in extradimensional ways. But… me personally… I tend to think it might even go beyond that.”

Sam squinted at him. “How…?”

“Well…” James crossed his arms and sighed. “In Mathews, the Bible speaks about twelve disciples that are given abilities. Superhuman powers appear in other places in the Bible, too. Maybe we did rip holes in the dimensions… and maybe that’s the science behind the spirituality of it all. I tend to think it’s all true… all at once. But… well… who the hell really knows.”

Sam nodded again, staring down at his feet and saying nothing, several thoughts racing through his mind.

James observed him, his face softening into a grave and thoughtful sort of expression.

“Hey… kiddo, listen,” he said. “If you still got dreams of running off and becoming a star outside these walls someday… then listen closely.”

He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, tightened his grasp on it, and gave him a firm, serious look.

“Being one of those special few affected people means you would have a target on your back,” James told him pointedly. “So… if you do think you are one… or if you ever meet one… then just be prepared for Remnant to try and hunt your ass down. It’s a dangerous damn thing to be special in this world… and you’re unlucky enough to be kind and decent, too. Being compassionate is something the world likes to attack and take advantage of already… and adding that superhero problem on top would make you the biggest fuckin’ target in the world out there.”

Sam returned his serious stare, unsure of what to say. James always seemed to be able to decipher him astutely, almost as if he could read his mind.

“Well… I don’t… really have to worry about that,” Sam mumbled sheepishly. “I’m not a superhero… and it’s not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon…”

James continued to stare fixedly into him, his brow bone hardening again, appearing to be deep in thought, and also looking rather unconvinced.

“All right,” he sighed seconds later, shaking his shoulder once before releasing it. “All right, kiddo. Just keep that in mind if you ever need to.”

“Yeah…” Sam said, pocketing his hands again and fidgeting mindlessly with the CD case in his pocket.

The two were quiet for a few seconds.

“And,” James added, raising a finger. “If your father or anyone else asks—I didn’t say any of this. They don’t like me talking about the outside.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed. “Well, I’m gonna go now…”

“Yeah… go ahead and have fun,” James replied, waving him off and facing the security system again, hunching down in front of its bright blue screen. “Gotta tinker more with this anyway… damn thing’s on the fritz for some reason… ughk… piece of…”

Sam nodded once more, sparing him another look before he broke into a stride.

He walked past James, approaching the stairway and vanishing from the hall. As he wandered up the stairs, he found himself dwelling deeply on everything the two of them had discussed.

For so very long now, he’d been passing off his magic tricks as simple illusions, tricks of the eye, something that anyone could do if they learned how to be a magician—but he knew the reality. He knew he was simply capable of things that made no sense, and he’d always been very vigilant about keeping it hidden or passing it off as a trick of the eye, never once speaking openly about it. This was the first time he’d ever talked about it with someone else—and it was the first time he’d ever gotten any answers about it as well. Researching in the Arkadia library always yielded no fruit, and asking his father never got him anywhere. He’d grown very accustomed to never finding answers when he sought them—but now, as he ventured up the stairs and emerged in the atrium, he found himself somewhat stunned, almost unable to believe that he’d finally heard some kind of explanation for it all.

Perhaps it was because he’d finally asked the right person. Interestingly enough, asking the old repairman of Arkadia had gotten him more answers than every textbook he’d ever read and every teacher he’d ever spoken to. Then again, James was not like the Arkadian teachers and textbooks. He was not from here. He was from the outside world—and he clearly knew more about it than anyone else in these walls.

Sam frowned, strolling into the mess hall and walking past the long, rounded table in the center, the distribution stand in the very middle, its many shelves filled with fresh foods, which were being handed out to Arkadians in exchange for ration coupons all around the table. He moved past them all, walking out the adjacent exit and approaching the large double-doors across from him, which led into the hallway toward the gymnasium.

Sam slowed to a stop at the double-doors, turning around and gazing across the wide, spacious interior of the atrium, the metal walls and the high ceilings with countless pipes running across, and the many doorways and hallways wrapping all around. It was a sight so familiar—like every other place here, from the classrooms to the library, and from the mess hall to his own home—he could never imagine a life wherein he’d walk among different people, or live in a different place.

He loved to dream about it, to speculate and wonder about a day when he might finally be able to run free and chase his dreams—but, all in all, he couldn’t imagine such a thing ever becoming a reality. The thought of it put a lump in his stomach, a strange, subtle aching that almost made him feel homesick, even though he’d never left home.

Seeking answers about himself, chasing stardom, and whatever pursuit of happiness he felt such a longing for—maybe a time might arrive when he could seek those things.

But, just as well, maybe he was destined to live safely within these walls forever. If that was the case, then at least he had his friends, people like Kira, James, and the children—Katie, Kevin, Daniel, Marcus, and the rest.

In fact—so long as there were children here, then he had purpose here, and that might just be enough for him.

Sam faced the double-doors, adjusted his hat once more, and pushed the doors open—striding down the empty hallway, directly toward the gymnasium.

The gym was the largest room in Arkadia, complete with bleachers on either side, which were mostly empty as of now; one side had a large foldable stage set up, a sound system and several lights plugged in all around it, and a mirror ball spun from above it all, casting countless reflective shines all around. Many of the lights were powered off, and the smell of hot pizzas was on the air, something Sam specifically instructed his favorite lunch lady to bring here—and, directly across from the entrance was another set of double-doors, which nobody ever used aside from the security guards. Those doors led to one of the few hallways that were connected to the bunker’s exit, which hadn’t been opened in years, and no one ever bothered to explore it, as they had no reason to.

In front of the foldable stage and its many colorful lights—a group of children were playing, chasing one another and throwing dodgeballs at each other. One of the nearby adults—Kira—yelled at them to be careful, worrying that they’d accidentally strike the sound system with a runaway dodgeball, and the other two adults—Kira’s friends, Eric and Jamie—merely laughed and took turns taking swigs from a little metal flask. A white foldout table stood behind them, where the pizza boxes and sodas sat, and everyone was seemingly waiting for the party to begin.

Sam walked quietly into the dimly-lit gym, stopping and turning on his heel. He smirked, heading stealthily over to the sound system before any of the children could spot him.

Daniel, the dark-haired boy, was running away from the Adler siblings—just when Kevin leaped behind him and smashed a dodgeball into the back of his head with a loud, echoing PANG.

“Agh…!”

Daniel fell to the floor, turning and shooting Kevin a look.

“You cheater…!” he hollered, making Kevin and the others explode with laughter. “How come you’re not going for Marcus?! You’re only going after me!”

“I can’t even see him in here!” Kevin exclaimed, blowing his blond bangs from his eyes. “It’s too dark!”

Daniel, Katie, and Kevin all glimpsed around until they spotted Marcus standing nearby, holding a dodgeball and raising his eyebrows at them. Marcus was the only African American child of the four.

Daniel then leaped to his feet, making a dramatic face at Kevin. “Man, that’s racist…!”

“No it’s freaking not!” Kevin proclaimed, spreading his arms open and snickering. “It’s just true…!”

“Hey,” Kira yelled sharply, snapping her fingers and pointing at the kids. “No race-baiting. You’re all too young for that shit.”

“Ooo, Kira said a bad word!” Katie giggled, swiping her hairs back, the same platinum blonde as her brother’s.

“I didn’t say shit—shush,” Kira griped, making Eric and Jamie both laugh.

Marcus tossed a dodgeball and hit Katie in the arm. Instantly, Kevin seemed to explode into a rage, grabbing another ball and chasing Marcus halfway across the gym, threatening to dismember him if he ever touched his sister again. Marcus chortled heartily as he ran away, and Daniel decided to sprint after them, all while Katie remained behind, abandoning the game and wandering over to Kira and her friends.

“When’s Sam gonna be here…?” Katie asked timidly, peering up at them with bottle blue eyes.

Jamie and Eric traded glimpses, Eric scratching along his goatee, and Jamie making a mild little shrug, fidgeting with her long back braid. Kira, however, answered her with no hesitance, lowering to one knee and smiling at the girl.

“Any second now,” Kira said with a smile, gently combing Katie’s short hairs back behind her ear. “Wait for it.”

Katie grinned, and Kira straightened up, giving a subtle glance over to the stage—where Sam was hunched in the shadows, quietly inserting his CD into the stereo.

While the performer secretly prepared for the show to start—two more figures emerged from the far hallway, strolling over to the others and joining them. It was Yukito and Marie, Kira’s parents, whom she greeted with a couple of hugs, Eric and Jamie suddenly turning away and trying to hide their flask from sight.

“Aww… I’m glad you actually came to one of these things,” Kira smirked at her parents. “You are seriously gonna love this. Trust me.”

“I imagine so,” Yukito remarked, adjusting his glasses. “Unless you’re just talking him up all the time.”

“Yeah… we figured you just had a giant crush on him,” Marie smiled teasingly.

Kira suddenly frowned, swallowing and biting her lip. She glimpsed over at the stage for a split second before shooting her parents a forbidding look.

Sam—still hunched over the stereo in the darkness, and selecting the instrumental he wanted to play—instantly paused, glancing up and eyeing Kira from a distance. Then, he choked out a faint little laugh, resuming his task and hitting the play button.

Suddenly—a soft, soothing melody began to play from the speakers, echoing across the darkened gym. Katie blinked, raising her brows and wheeling around to face the stage. Daniel, Marcus, and Kevin all skidded to a stop farther across the room, spinning around to see that someone was standing atop the distant stage now, the lights coasting gently over it, to and fro.

Sam kept his head lowered, face hidden beneath the hat, raising one hand and sliding on a single white glove as the spotlight above him finally landed directly on him—illuminating him for everyone in the room to see.

Katie beamed, Kevin joining her side and Daniel and Marcus strolling over to join them. Kira, Eric, and Jamie began nodding along to the steady rhythm of the song, Yukito draping an arm around his wife’s shoulders, both of them gingerly rocking side to side as they watched.

Sam slowly grasped the microphone before him, holding it to his face and singing along to the instrumental with impeccable accuracy.

“Hold me… like the River Jordan… and I will say to thee… ‘You are my friend,’” Sam sang in a beautiful voice, one that matched the original singer of the song amazingly well. “Carry me… like you are my brother… love me like a mother. Will you be there…?”

Yukito stared, looking impressed, as did Marie, both of them trading faces. Kira merely smiled, Jamie and Eric nodding along to the music.

Katie slowly wandered closer to the stage, gazing up at Sam with a childlike wonder.

Sam inhaled a deep breath—and once more, as he always felt in this limelight, he was entirely gone from everything in the world, gone from shyness, discomfort, anxiety, anger, and boredom. Everything that hindered him during nearly every task of his day to day life—all of it washed away with the rhythm of the music, and he lost himself to it in a way he was certain he would never grow tired of.

“Weary… tell me, will you hold me? When wrong, will you scold me? When lost, will you find… me…?” he sang beautifully, now raising his voice and hitting every note with passion. “But they told me—a man should be faithful—and walk when not able—and fight ’til the end! But I’m only huma-an!”

Marie grinned and clasped her mouth, Yukito and Eric both smiling and nodding. Kira wore a contented smile, and the kids all watched Sam attentively—none more than Katie, who stared up at him with eyes of enchantment.

Sam closed his eyes, raising his head higher and singing with impassioned fire, feeling as if the world beyond him—everything outside of he, lost to the music and living solely in this song—might as well have not existed at all.

“Everyone’s taking con-trol-of-me…! Seems that the world’s got a role-for-me! I’m so confused, will you show-it-to-me? You’ll be there for me… and care enough to bear me…! Hold me… lay your head, lowly… softly, then boldly… carry me there! I’m only huma-an…!”

As Sam’s voice and the music both grew steadily louder, Kira, Eric, Jamie, Marie, and Yukito all softly began to clap along, and the children joined them seconds later.

Now—the atmosphere of the gym felt entirely different somehow, filled with beautiful music and a single, alluring serenity, all of them feeling fully enraptured.

As Sam continued to sing, Kira cracked another smirk, leaning over to Jamie and muttering to her.

“This is way better than him trying to do David Bowie,” she remarked.

Jamie almost barked out a laugh, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth.

“Yeah… it’s harder for him to do that voice,” Eric agreed, folding his arms. “But I bet he could capture a Bowie vibe better if we had a buncha drugs and tight pants in here…”

“Save me,” Sam sang louder, slowly raising his gloved hand above his head. “Heal me, and bathe me… softly, you say to me… ‘I will be there.’”

Then—the edge of his fingertips began to glow a bright, ominous blue, separate from the many neon lights all around him.

Kira’s parents gaped at Sam, and the kids all beamed and applauded for him.

“Lift me,” Sam carried on, extending his fingers higher and allowing the blue light to float far above him. “Lift me up, slowly… carry me, boldly… show me you care.”

His hand outstretched, and he extended his arm to the side, making the mysterious blue light hover to the right.

Then, he gestured left, and the blue light followed his hand in a beautiful, trancelike way.

He moved it back and forth in a slow, smooth manner along to the beat of the music.

“Oh my…” Marie breathed, covering her mouth and looking to her husband in surprise. “How is he…?”

Kira laughed.

“Need me… love me, and feed me…”

Sam held his arm upright once more—and the blue light engulfed his arm, slowly expanding and brightening all around him.

“Kiss me, and free me… I will feel blessed.”

He extended all of his fingers, and the light began to grow even more.

And as the song reached its crescendo—the blue light seemed to overtake all the neon lights above him, blasting several rays of bright electric blue down around him, swooping back and forth atop the stage before slowly dimming and fading, just as the song came to an end.

Sam held a hand over his hat, his head lowered as everything suddenly fell silent.

“WOOO!” Kevin exploded, clapping ravenously alongside the other children.

“Oh my goodness… how does he do that?” Marie gasped.

“He’s a magician, Mom,” Kira sniggered. “I told you.”

“Where does he get all this from…?” Marie murmured.

“Mostly James,” Kira replied. “James has been giving Sam old records and CDs and whatnot for like ten straight years now. He used to scavenge a lot of stuff outside…”

“Does he always cosplay for the birthday parties?” Yukito wondered. “Who does he usually dress up as…?”

“Depends on whose party it is,” Kira shrugged. “It’s Katie’s birthday, and Katie likes Michael Jackson, so…”

“Hey!” Jamie shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling up at Sam. “Do the moonwalk!”

Sam slightly raised his head, making a wink and a click of the tongue. Then, he shot his arm out to the side—pointing at the stereo just when it began blasting another song.

Instantly—the lights started swooping across the scene faster, and a remix of several Jackson songs began to play.

Just as the music hit a quicker pace—Sam erupted into dance, spinning in place once and cocking his head to the beats, just before wheeling around and moonwalking flawlessly across the stage.

“Ha!” Jamie yelled, grinning and clapping. “Sweet…!”

Sam lost himself completely, every movement rhythmic and rushed with feeling; he nodded along and began to sing as well, raising his hand and making a flick of the wrist. The neon lights almost seemed to escape from their bulbs—soaring downward and expanding into several multi-colored illuminations all around him. Katie wore a smile of amazement, the boys all applauding and yelling from either side of her.

“Suzie, got your num-ber! Suzie, ain’t your friend!”

Sam whipped his head from side to side, then slid across the stage in an incredibly smooth way, moving his wrist to and fro and making every light around him dance alongside him as he moved.

Everyone continued to watch with rapt engrossment—none of them noticing that a new crowd of people had just walked into the gym from the hallway.

Sam was gone; he nodded vigorously to the music and unleashed several improvised scats as he danced more and more fervently up and down the stage.

The others, however, soon began to take notice of the new arrivals; Kira turned, she and her parents spotting the crowd of ten-or-so people approaching them from the far hallway. Eric and Jamie noticed seconds later, and now, all of the adults were completely distracted from the show.

Sam lunged his head back—his hat flying off as he finished with a passionate “WOO!”

The song suddenly ended—and then—a booming voice of authority called out from across the gym.

“All right—turn that off.”

Sam’s eyes shot open—and he straightened up, panting slightly, his hairs askew and his grasp still viselike around the microphone. He gazed across the dimly-lit room, past his small audience, seeing several more people now standing nearby—and the man at the front of the crowd was the first he recognized.

“You heard me, boy,” Solomon said flatly. “Turn it off.”

Sam frowned, sighing and making a final flick of the wrist. The stereo shut itself off behind him.

Everything fell uncomfortably quiet for a moment.

Solomon Ryder sighed heavily, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sleek white suit. He had a handsome face, short silver hairs, and salt-and-pepper stubble to match, his eyes narrowing pensively at his son atop the stage. Behind the president of Arkadia were two Arkadian security guards, wearing the full uniforms and carrying two assault rifles, and everyone else in this small crowd consisted of parents—the very same parents that had been eyeballing Sam earlier in the afternoon, the Cornwells and Adlers, as well as the Greenes, who were Marcus’s parents. All of them looked similarly agitated, many of them with folded arms and sour expressions, and the president let out another grave sigh before he slowly marched forward.

Kira, along with her friends and parents, stared at them apprehensively. Katie frowned, trading grim looks with her brother, and all the children stared at the president anxiously, waiting to see what he would say or do.

“You’re gonna have to break up this little party, here,” Solomon informed, making a loose gesture toward his son.

Sam shot him a double-take. “What…?”

“This… whatever you’re doing in here,” Solomon muttered, swatting at the stage and the foldout table. “This is over. Pack it up.”

“Why?” Sam asked, stepping toward the edge of the stage. “It’s just a birthday party.”

“It’s my child’s birthday,” Alison Adler chided, marching forward and scowling at him. “Not your child’s.”

“These aren’t your children,” Kenny Adler chimed in, stepping to his wife’s side.

“So what…?” Kira barked thoughtlessly, storming away from her friends and rounding on the group of parents.

“Um—excuse me—nobody is talking to you,” Alison said nastily, raising her hand and blocking Kira’s face. “Kindly mind your own damn business.”

“Oh, no—no, no, no,” Marie spoke up, shaking her head and moving forward, glaring daggers at Alison. “Do not talk to my daughter like that.”

“Ex-cuse me?” Alison snapped.

The two security guards stood silently by while the parents and Kira all began arguing loudly with one another.

Kevin grimaced, trading disappointed looks with Daniel and Marcus, and Katie frowned sadly, turning away and gazing down at the floor.

Sam glanced over at the kids, spotting the downtrodden look on Katie’s face, then turned toward the group again, leaping swiftly off the stage and approaching them.

“Hey—hey, hey,” Sam said, trying to raise his soft-spoken voice and holding up a hand, glimpsing between everyone who was arguing now. “We don’t need to fight. C’mon. It’s Katie’s birthday.”

“Hey,” Solomon yelled much louder, standing beside his son and instantly gathering everyone’s attention. “That’s enough now. Everyone—hush.”

Kira and her parents fell silent, as did the Adlers, the Greenes, and the Cornwells, all of them staring silently at the president.

Once all of the shouting finally ceased, Solomon released a heavy cloud of breath, turning and facing his son fully.

Sam met his gaze, trying to focus only on his father, wanting to ignore the many other eyes on him.

“People… are not comfortable… with what you’re doing in here,” Solomon told him in a low, steady tone, now speaking much more softly and seriously.

Sam stared, shooting him an odd look.

Solomon sighed again, leaning slightly closer and lowering his voice a bit more.

“There’s been a lot of talk, son,” he muttered. “You coming in here with everyone else’s kids… playing with them, and holding secret parties for them… it’s not normal. It’s really not acceptable. It’s disturbing.”

“What…?” Kira blurted, breaking away from the parents and thundering over to the president. “What’re you talking about?! Do you seriously think—”

“Kira—shush,” Marie said, tugging her daughter back.

Sam ogled his father incredulously, feeling vexed and downright flabbergasted.

“Really…?” he exhaled, raising his brows.

“Son…. It’s not normal,” Solomon insisted. “Think of what it must look like to all of these parents—”

“These parents…?” Sam breathed. “They won’t even raise their kids. They let you and your propaganda do it for them. They won’t even let them have a birthday—”

“And that is none of your business,” Solomon said firmly. “They’re not your children.”

“I don’t care,” Sam snarled through gritted teeth, stepping closer and glaring heatedly into him. “It doesn’t matter whose kids they are—it matters that they have a damn childhood. You only get one.”

Solomon’s expression flattened, giving his son a long, caustic stare, as if he’d said the most ridiculous statement he’d ever heard.

“Hey… no offense, Mr. President, but I kinda agree with Sam here,” Jamie said, raising her hand, Eric nodding in agreement with her.

Many eyes turned to Jamie and Eric, who were standing side by side with arms draped around one another. In Arkadia, Jamie and Eric had something of a reputation, as they were known for being a ‘party couple.’ The two of them often drank, laughed, joked, and took few things very seriously. It was strange to hear any kind of serious statement come from either one of them.

“I mean… Christ,” Jamie laughed, trading smirks with her boyfriend. “Do you think me and Eric would be chasing our childhood all the time if we ever had one? We like to have fun. And there’s a reason we like to have fun.”

“Morale,” Sam stated.

Solomon, and everyone else, all turned back to him.

Sam stared fixedly into his father, feeling more fed up than he ever had before.

Solomon’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Morale,” he uttered.

“Yeah. Morale,” Sam affirmed. “Because survival is important, and we all know that—but there’s no point to it if no one’s ever happy.”

“You’re free to believe that if you like,” Solomon muttered. “But you’re not free to run off with other people’s kids and do whatever you want with them.”

Sam’s brows shot upright, and he scoffed out an astonished little breath.

“Really…?” he laughed dryly. “So, why is it that we’re all taught that the children here belong to the community of Arkadia before anyone or anything else? Including their own parents? What, does that rule only apply to work training and school propaganda? Once it has anything to do with someone having fun, then it’s suddenly not okay anymore? Is that how it is? Because that’s garbage.”

“That’s called a double standard,” Kira said grimly, folding her arms and glaring sharply at the president. “And it is garbage.”

“No—it’s called priorities,” Solomon said flatly, jabbing a finger at the stage. “This—is not—a priority.”

“Yes it is!” Sam exclaimed irritably, swatting over at the kids. “You don’t know what it’s like not to have a childhood! You have no idea!”

“Neither do you,” Solomon said sternly.

Sam’s mouth fell agape—and, suddenly, he found himself utterly lost for words. His mind flooded with countless memories—the classrooms, the mess hall, the hydroponics lab, and the endless metal hallways of Arkadia—as well as the many looks and remarks of disdain and disapproval he’d gotten from so many people here—but as he tried to think farther back, his mind became a fog, his head beginning to ache, and he couldn’t recall a single thing from before.

It was the same as always; everything from before age ten remained a shrouded mystery, and he couldn’t remember a single detail of it no matter how hard he tried.

Still—as his stomach churned, and as he glared into his father with apprehension—he knew for certain that he did know what it was like to be robbed of a childhood, and he felt such a great anger wash over him, he could’ve fired out a punch and clocked his father straight in the jaw.

However, while his teeth clenched, and while his hand balled tightly into a fist by his side, he managed to resist the urge, leering hatefully into his father as if the man had more audacity than anyone he’d ever seen or heard before.

“All of us do,” Kira said.

Sam blinked, and everyone else turned to her.

Solomon sighed, giving the girl a look of annoyance.

Kira stood her ground, arms crossed and expression painted with agitation.

“None of us had birthday parties. None of us had Christmas. Anytime we ever tried, you tried to shut us down,” she told the president forwardly. “I’m lucky enough to have good parents—and they tried. They always tried to celebrate when it was time to celebrate—but then, suddenly, the ration coupons didn’t come on time, or the price of a toy or a birthday cake would skyrocket, just for long enough to screw us out of a party. Do you think we never pieced together what you were doing? You were taking away the only little shreds of happiness we could even try to have. And yeah—like Sam said—that’s fucking garbage.”

“Solomon,” someone else called out before the president could respond.

Everyone in the gym turned around—seeing another figure emerging from the far hallway, the fluorescent light behind him obscuring him slightly, though his head of wild hairs was unmistakable.

James marched into the gym, strolling in between the two security guards and stopping a short ways away from the president and the group of parents. He was still wearing his repairman outfit, as well as his thick brown coat overtop of it, a few wires hanging out of the left pocket, and a remote device was held in his hand.

Solomon squinted at him. “What? We’re in the middle of something right now.”

“System’s still on the fritz,” James reported, taking a few steps closer to the president and huffing out a breath.

“Then go back downstairs and fix it,” Solomon said.

“No—the whole system, Solomon,” James clarified, raising his voice slightly. “The security system isn’t functioning, and it’s not just the one downstairs. I just checked five more of them, and they’re all down. All of them.”

Solomon stared, as did everyone else in the room. Sam and Kira traded subtle glimpses, and all of the parents now looked worried as well as irritated.

“Did you check the one in here?” the president asked moments later.

“I’m about to,” James replied. “But I need you to call for Rossman and have him check everything from the big computer, because this ain’t right. This isn’t some wiring problem or some blip in the system that’s messing with one of the boxes—it looks like the whole damn thing was deactivated, and I can’t get it back online.”

There was a long, tense silence following his words.

Solomon let out a deep cloud of breath, nodding and waving him off. “All right… go ahead and check the system in here. I’ll go talk to Rossman in a second.”

He turned back around to face Sam.

“And you—pack this up and disperse this little shindig,” Solomon ordered, thrusting a finger at him. “Party’s over.”

Sam glared, his heart hammering with another burst of anger. Most times, he would reluctantly comply with whatever his father and the rest of Arkadia wanted—but, as he glanced back at Katie, spotting the ever persistent frown on her face, he decided—for once—not to.

“No.”

Sam gave his father a defiant look.

Kira flashed a smirk, as did Jamie and Eric. Marie and Yukito were watching calmly, but all the other parents gave Sam another series of perturbed stares.

Solomon perked his brow at his son. “No…?”

“No,” Sam repeated, cocking his head. “Party’s not over until I’m done.”

Before anyone could argue—Sam flicked his wrist out to the side—and the stereo suddenly came back to life.

A hard, steady beat began to echo across the gym, the lights swiveling and dancing across the scene once more, and Sam began nodding along to the music and letting it take him away yet again, moonwalking backwards and distancing himself from his father.

Solomon, as well as every parent behind him, all watched with disapproval.

Sam felt elated; he’d be damned if his father would take away the only thing about life in Arkadia he truly enjoyed, and he certainly wouldn’t allow him to take it away from the children as well.

No—this was it.

He would do what he liked, and he cared nothing for the consequences anymore.

He began dancing vigorously, whipping his legs about and spinning once in place before breaking into several other dance moves. Jamie and Eric started to clap along to the beat, and the children—all suddenly smiling again—soon began to do the same.

Kira rushed over to the stage, grabbing the microphone and wheeling around.

She tossed it over to Sam—who swiftly caught it and began singing along to the music.

“Skinhead, deadhead—everybody, gone bad. Situation, speculation—everybody, litigation. Beat me, bash me—you can never trash me. Hit me, kick me—you can never get me,” Sam chanted perfectly into the microphone, glaring directly at his father.

“Sing it!” Kira called out to everyone.

“All I wanna say is that—they don’t really care about us!” Sam sang with heart.

Kira, Jamie, and Eric, began to sing along with him.

“All I wanna say is that—they don’t really care about us!”

Katie grinned, she and the boys joining in as well, clapping and singing with passion.

“All I wanna say is that—they don’t really care about us!”

Solomon mildly rolled his eyes, the parents all gaping at Sam as if he had slapped each of them across the face. The security guards remained silent, and James, still standing beside the president, cracked a smirk as he watched.

“In the suite, on the news—everybody, dog food. Kick me, kike me—don’t you wrong or right me,” Sam yelled powerfully, flinging his wrist above his head and making all of the lights erupt with a sudden brightness. “All I wanna say is that—they don’t really care about us!”

“Wooo!” Kira beamed as she and her friends continued to clap and sing along.

As the show carried on, and as everyone on Sam’s side lost themselves to the great bliss of fun and defiance, Solomon merely shook his head, sighing with defeat. He peered past them all for a moment, squinting at the far double-doors, then turned to James and muttered to him.

“Well… this is hopeless,” Solomon said. “Just check the security box out there. Lemme know what you find.”

James nodded and gave him a two-fingered salute, trying not to smile wider as he strolled past him.

The Adlers continued fuming at Sam from afar, but the Greenes and the Cornwells were gazing up at the lights now, still seemingly astonished by Sam’s brief magic trick. The president then turned to all of the parents, wearing an expression of exasperation.

“Just leave it alone for now,” Solomon advised them. “Let him have his little moment, and then this’ll be over. It won’t happen again after tonight. You have my word.”

The Adlers scoffed and grimaced, the Greenes and Cornwells looking hesitant and disturbed, though none of them argued with him. The angry parents reluctantly turned on their heels and began to walk out of the gym, many of them chattering angrily with one another as they did.

“You two—stay here, and keep an eye on them,” Solomon instructed the two security guards. “Make sure nothing happens. Just babysit until it’s over.”

The guards both nodded, facing away and positioning themselves at either side of the open doors.

Solomon sighed heavily, walking across the gym and approaching the brightly-lit hallway. As he did, he slowed to a stop there, turning back and giving his son one final stare over his shoulder.

Sam danced and sang with fire in the center of the room, and everyone around him kept clapping and singing with him, all of them completely lost to their moment of joy.

Solomon stared, eyeing them all intently, peeking over at the doors on the other side of the room. James was now pulling those doors open, entering the seldom-used hallway to check the security box there.

With one last sigh, Solomon turned and walked out of the gym, finally leaving the birthday party.

For a while thereafter—Sam remained immersed in the rhythm, the beats, the words, the tones, and the feeling—the all-consuming rapture that overtook him whenever he’d delve completely into music, and, somehow, that great joy felt even stronger than usual now.

Before long, James emerged from the far hallway again, closing the double-doors behind him and approaching the party. The song began to end, and Sam finally allowed himself to stop, panting and blowing his bangs back from his eyes. A spot of sweat appeared on his brow, and he felt wonderfully exhausted, now smiling from ear to ear.

Kira approached him, giving him applause, as well as Jamie and Eric. The kids all rushed up to him, and Marie and Yukito watched them all with contented smiles.

“Dude! That was awesome!” Marcus exclaimed.

“Man—you just told them off, Sam!” Daniel grinned.

“Stuck it to the man!” Kevin laughed, clapping and nodding as he chanted the lyrics again. “All I wanna say is that—they don’t really care about us!”

The other boys soon joined him, all three of them now singing in a hilariously disjointed way. Sam laughed, and then, his eyes landed on Katie, who was gazing up at him with a brilliant smile. He sank down to one knee, leveling his eyes with hers.

“I got you something,” he said kindly.

Katie’s eyes lit up. “Really…?”

“Yeah. It’s your birthday,” Sam chuckled, reaching into his pocket. “’Course I got you something, silly…”

As everyone else stood by and watched, Sam pulled out a small blue stuffed animal from his pocket, a soft kitten plushie with shiny green eyes, one that Katie had been wanting from the Arkadia market for almost two months now. He smiled warmly at her, grasping her arm and gently placing it in her hand.

Katie’s smile grew even more, and she snapped her arm tightly around the stuffed animal, hugging it closely and nuzzling her face into its head.

“I love him…!” she beamed.

“Good… I’m glad you do,” Sam snickered. “Take good care of him, okay? And… if you ever feel alone…”

He reached out, tapping the stuffed animal on its forehead.

“That’s what he’s there for,” Sam told her.

Katie nodded, peeking out from behind the stuffed animal’s head, as she had halfway buried her face into it. She revealed another childlike grin, and Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it.

“We’re gonna have to hide it,” Kevin remarked.

Sam blinked and paused for a second, turning to the boy and giving him an odd look.

Kevin shrugged and sighed. “Dad usually takes that stuff away. Whenever you give us something, he always takes it and throws it away whenever we’re in class or something.”

“What…?” Sam uttered, making a face and giving Katie a questioning stare. “Does he really do that…?”

Katie frowned and glumly hung her head, nodding down at her feet.

Sam stared at her, feeling another churning in the pit of his stomach. He glanced up at Kira, Jamie, Eric, and James, all of whom wore the same disheartened expression.

“He only does that to the stuff he can find, though,” Kevin added, wearing a mischievous half-smile. “I’m good at hiding stuff. There’s a loose tile in the floor under my bed—and that’s where all our music is now. I can keep that kitty thing in there, too.”

Katie faced her brother, smiling again and hugging the stuffed animal even tighter.

Sam flashed a flattened sort of smile, sighing and gingerly patting the girl on the head. He found no greater joy than preforming and making the children happy, in whatever ways he possibly could—but it always left him deeply troubled whenever he heard about their parents having just the opposite effect on their lives. It was true that they weren’t his kids, and perhaps it did look strange to other people for him to play some supportive parental role for them—but that simply didn’t matter to him. He only wanted them to be happy, and he couldn’t think he was wrong for that at all.

“All right—we need to eat, because the pizza’s gonna get cold, and the smell of it is driving me insane,” Kira said, clasping her hands together and wheeling around to face the table. “I am so hungry.”

“Me first!” Kevin yelled.

“No—me first!” Daniel shouted, shoving him aside.

“Katie first,” Sam corrected, standing fully upright and holding up his finger. “It’s her birthday—she gets first crack at the pizzas.”

The boys all moaned and groaned in unison.

“Hey—my pizza, my rules,” Sam told them, laughing and sauntering over to the table, motioning for Katie to follow.

“Ahhhm—hey—can I get in on that?” James asked, pointing at the large pizzas atop their saucers.

“Yes, James,” Sam sniggered.

As everyone began surrounding the table, Sam lifted the small Katie off the floor, allowing her to see everything clearly. She selected the supreme pizza, pointing at the piece with the most cheese on it. So, Sam nodded and set her back down, removing her chosen slice from the saucer and placing it on a paper plate for her. Soon after, he made plates for Kevin, Daniel, and Marcus as well, passing them out to all the children before he and the other adults began to make plates for themselves, the stereo now playing a slow, calm instrumental in the background.

“That was awesome, by the way,” Kira commented, standing beside him and giving him a coy smile. “I have never seen you actually stand up to these fucks before. Especially not your father.”

Sam glimpsed at her, flushing and setting a slice of pizza on his plate.

“I don’t know. I’ve had enough,” he shrugged. “I think we all have…”

“Hell yes, we all have,” Jamie confirmed with a powerful nod, she and Eric standing across the table from him and giving him prideful smiles. “Listen—I know we don’t know you as well as Kira does, but I just have to say—well fucking done, Sam.”

“Yeah. That was badass,” Eric agreed.

“Damn straight,” James agreed, speaking with a mouthful of pizza, and gesturing to Sam with his slice. “You did good, kiddo. Keep making waves.”

Sam laughed and nodded, then fell silent for a moment, giving James a curious look.

“Um… what’s wrong with the security system?” he thought to ask.

James paused, his smile fading. He swallowed his mouthful of food and made a halfhearted shrug.

“No idea,” he muttered. “But Rossman should be able to figure it out and fix it. It looks like it was disabled from the mainframe, and that’s his area of expertise…”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, then stopped when he felt something tugging on his black suit jacket. He turned, seeing Katie standing beside him, reaching up and offering his hat back to him.

“Oh… thank you,” Sam laughed, taking the hat and placing it back into his head. “I forgot this fell off…”

Katie giggled, still clutching the blue stuffed kitten.

“Can I have another piece?” she asked sheepishly.

“Well, yeah… ’course you can,” Sam told her, nodding and taking her plate from her. “It’s your birthday.”

He set another slice of supreme pizza on the plate before handing it back to her, and she walked off to join the boys, who were all sitting along the edge of the far bleachers now, chatting and trading ideas about playing dodgeball before they’d go home for the night.

Sam gazed across the room at them, wearing a soft, content smile.

There were many problems and drawbacks to life in Arkadia, but—at the very least—he was sometimes able to make the kids happier. He hoped his father and the other parents wouldn’t fight to take this away from him, or away from them. He couldn’t understand why they didn’t see the importance of it—but he himself could never not see it. In fact, it felt more important than he could even describe, and he hardly even knew why.

Kira broke away and began talking to her parents, and Jamie and Eric walked over to the stage, sitting on the edge of it and holding hands while they talked. Sam remained at the table, taking another bite of his pizza before his eyes ventured upwards—landing on James, who was standing right across from him, giving him a deep look of intrigue.

“What…?” Sam mumbled after swallowing his food.

James’s eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of his mouth cracking into something that might have been a smirk.

“You don’t think you’re one of those people, huh…?” he muttered softly, glimpsing over at the stage and making a subtle sideways nod at it.

Sam stared at him, making a mild shake of the head. It took him a moment to realize what he was talking about; his entire conversation with James earlier treaded into a territory that it never had before, regarding people with superhuman abilities. And—after everything that had just transpired here—James must have noticed Sam’s magic tricks, from the flicks of the wrist to the wild dancing lights. They were simple illusions to everyone else—but it seemed James couldn’t be fooled in the same way, especially not after the conversation the two of them had shared just a short while ago.

Sam fell silent, totally lost for words. He couldn’t know what to say, a spark of nervousness igniting inside.

And James—as if reading his mind once again—simply widened his smirk, pressing a finger to his lips and giving him a wink.

Then, the repairman meandered around the table with his plate of food, collecting a soda can from it before he walked off toward the edge of the stage.

Sam turned his head, watching as James ventured over to the stage and sat on the corner of it, popping his soda can open and taking a swig before he began to finish his pizza.

After a moment of ogling him, Sam faced forward again, absentmindedly gazing into the double-doors afar. It seemed James would keep his secret, and that was good news, especially since he had no possible way of explaining his abilities to anyone else in Arkadia. He could only imagine the kind of panic that might erupt if he ever tried.

Sam sighed, pondering on it all as he stared into the open doorway across from him, as well as the darkened hallway beyond it.

The routines of Arkadia, which he knew so very well, were only tolerable to him because they came with safety and the periodic freedom to perform, to make the kids happy and to temporarily lose himself to his passion.

But, if the Arkadians were going to try to take that away from him, then perhaps he really would be better off leaving here someday.

It was always a possibility, something he sometimes even longed for, but he never knew for sure if he could leave it all behind—every familiar face, friends and enemies alike, the mess hall, classes, lab, bedroom, and gym—it was all that life had ever been, and he couldn’t imagine any other.

Sam’s dark, translucent eyes remained lost in the shadowy hallway across the room.

That hallway, there—the one almost never used—it led directly to the operations room for the doorway of the bunker, the exit, the only real path of escape from Arkadia.

If he ever did plan to leave, then—someday—he might just find himself walking out those double-doors for good.

Sam let out a thoughtful cloud of breath—and then, something else clicked in his mind, something that made him straighten up, pushing off of the table and squinting strangely at the darkened hall.

The double-doors stood open, and the outer hallway was perfectly in his sight.

But—when James had returned to the gym from that hallway—Sam was certain that he had closed those doors behind him. He remembered hearing them close then, the sound of it echoing across the room just after his last song was over.

Katie was finishing her food and still sitting on the far bleachers, and the boys were now running up and down the gym, throwing dodgeballs at one another. Kira stood near the stage, speaking with her parents, and James, Eric, and Jamie were all seated on the stage and eating. Nobody else had noticed a thing.

But Sam leaned on the table again, narrowing his eyes astutely at the dark hallway and the open double-doors, seeing that the doors were both propped open with their respective door stoppers.

Who set up the door stoppers? Sam was certain he hadn’t seen anyone go over there to—

BAN—BOOOOOOOM.

A wicked explosion shook the world—every metal wall and every inch of the gym floor—blinding light—piercing sound—Sam launched back off his feet—bashing into something—and a raging fire blasted into the room amidst a cavalcade of debris, rock and metal shooting across the gym and smashing into Kira’s parents—splattering them against the far wall.

A horrendous scream came out of Kira’s mouth—men flooding into the room—emerging from the smoke—all in black armor with guns drawn—the two security guards raising their weapons in alarm.

Instantly—insanely—and with no warning at all—everything became chaos—and the longtime security of Arkadia was suddenly and violently gone.

Gunfire broke across the scene—shredding through the security guards and tearing them apart like tissue paper. The children were screaming—wailing in absolute terror—more deafening gunshots—blinding muzzle flashes brightening the dimly-lit gym—

And—Sam now lay unconscious behind the side of the stage, the world having faded black around him.