text: [Themes: sci-fi]
  
  Gloves wrap around your throat as you awaken frantically. A masked man dressed completely in black stands above you, holding a long, incredibly thin blade in his hands. He lunges towards you, the blade stabbing straight for your throat.
  
  > hit the blade away from your throat
  You hit the blade, knocking it out of the path to your throat. You realize the blade is actually a syringe, and in your panic you assumed it was a knife. The masked man grunts in surprise as his jab is deflected, before he begins squeezing your throat, leaning in and staring at you seemingly now trying to choke you out rather than inject whatever foul substance he had into your neck.
  
  > grab the syringe
  You grab the syringe and yank it out of his hands, quickly stabbing it into his chin. You push the plunger down as he lets out a gasp, before collapsing on top of you. You roll to your side slightly, freeing your legs enough to force him off. He collapses to the ground, but another masked man appears, grabbing you. You elbow him as hard as you can in the stomach, but he jabs a syringe into your neck.
  
  > Lose consciousness
  You open your eyes, and immediately bright white lights blind you. You wince, as the lights are dimmed. You find yourself tied to a chair in a small, empty room. A large, tall man wearing combat armor stands in front of you, with a shaved head and a badly burned and blistered face, carrying a folder.
  
  "Mia Min-Taylor. Born the 12th of April, 2000. Attended some shit-hole public school, another shit-hole public school. Pretty bland," the man says, reading from a sheet in the folder. "Pretty bland, that is, until a few weeks ago. What happened in New York, on the 19th of May?"
  
  You stare at the man, who gives a slight smile.
  
  "Eat shit," you reply.
  
  The man bursts into laughter.
  
  "I really, really like you. A one eyed, one armed cripple teen girl attacked in her sleep, yet she still takes out one of my men. Wakes up to find someone like me staring at her as she's tied in a chair, tells him to eat shit. That's a badass, if you ask me."
  
  "Who are you?"
  
  "Ex-Sergeant Danny Doyle, SAS. Now, what happened in New York, on the 19th of May?"
  
  "My parents died," you say bitterly.
  
  "There's more to it than that. The famous superhero, the vigilante, the beloved Crimson Cape, showed up to stop a bank heist of around 320'000'000 dollars. That's a lot of money, isn't it?"
  
  "Fuck you."
  
  "You swear too much for a young girl. Do you know how the Crimson Cape stopped the robbery? He beat up the robbers, went to the getaway van, yanked the driver out and threw a manhole cover through their getaway van to disable it. Unfortunately, it detonated the explosives the group had made for getting into the vault. It exploded, leading to three casualties and two wounded. The next day, their deaths were a sidebar to a celebration for the Crimson Cape's work. That's the problem with Super-Heroes, isn't it? They're great symbols and look good in the news, but they're not effective. Do you know what the best part is? Police Officers were less than a minute away from surrounding the bank, which almost certainly wouldn't have led to the detonation of their explosives."
  
  You stare at the man, wondering where he's going.
  
  "Three casualties, two wounded. Kevin Min, killed by shrapnel on scene. Alan Taylor, died from blood loss from shrapnel hours later. Jack Min-Taylor, killed in the blast. Poor little Jack. Less than a year old. How young."
  
  "Don't talk about him, you prick!" you hiss, tears welling in your eyes.
  
  "OK, OK. Let's get onto the wounded. Kevin Daniels, lost two fingers and suffered from severe blood loss. He was the getaway driver. The only other person wounded was a Mia Min-Taylor, loss an eye, an arm and suffered from severe blood loss, though luckily she pulled through."
  
  "Stop talking, you prick! Do whatever you're going to do and end this!"
  
  "I'm not here to kill you. I have a deal. You lost both your parents, a brother, an eye and a hand that day because of Superheroes, and the world didn't give a shit. Now, you're not normally the kind I'd extend this offer to. No latent abilities, no skills, no training. But vengeance is a powerful motivator, and you've got balls, so I think you'd be perfect. Join me. I'm running a... school, I suppose. An academy. A training course. I'm training men to rise up against an unfair system. We bring down assholes like the Crimson Cape who ruin lives and don't look back. To take from the assholes who have more money than they could spend in a thousand years. Men who are willing to fight for a better world rather than to preserve the status quo. I want you. Now, you'll risk your life. There is no going back once you agree. You might die. You'll probably die, actually. But it'll all be worth it."
  
  You stare at the man, contemplating his offer.
  
  "Oh, I almost forgot. If you do join, I can give you a new hand and eye. We have a lot of resources that could make your life infinitely better."
  
  > Agree
  "Fine," you say.
  
  "Fantastic. I think you'll fit right in. Welcome to Prometheus Academy. Now, time for a nap."
  
  Sgt Doyle strides forward, jabbing a syringe into your neck.
  
  > Lose consciousness
  You awaken for the second time, and find yourself lying on a gurney. Once again, the lights are blindingly, twice as much now. You shut your eye, although you quickly realize the light is still blinding. You raise your hands, and quickly block your eyes.
  
  Wait...
  
  You look at your hands. Attached to the stump of your left arm, seemingly melded into the flesh, is a black, metal hand. You touch it with your right hand, and actually feel through it. You close it into a fist, and look up. A pair of doctors stand above you.
  
  "Your new "hand" has been wired into your nervous system. It was an expensive procedure for an unproven candidate, but Doyle was very insistent. He must see something into you. It has heat and pressure plates built into it, it's a good few times stronger than the average human hand, although it's not as fast. Your eye, however, is something else. I doubt you understand any tech terms, so all you need to know is it's basically a camera that can see in thermal imaging, night-vision and you can see normally. If there's any problems, report it to one of the guards," one of them says.
  
  You stand and look down. You flex your hand a few more times, almost crying. You continue to flex it as you look around the room with your new eye, flicking through thermal to night-vision and back to normal. It's an incredible sensation, seeing the world in such a new light. Your return of normal vision and depth perception is amazing, the night-vision is incredibly painful thanks to the bright lights, and the thermal shows the doctors above you as colored blobs. You grin, tears almost falling from your non-mechanical eye.
  
  "What happens now?" you ask.
  
  "No questions. We're not supposed to talk to you. Head down to the end of the hall. Someone will be there to guide you."
  
  You nod and stand, marveling at the sight around you. You continue to flex your new hand as you walk, before you arrive at the door. A man wearing combat armor stands there with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder.
  
  "Kid, follow me," he says, leading you along a hallway.
  
  You arrive at a large pair of double doors, which the guard pushes open, revealing what looks like a high school changing room.
  
  "Alright, here's the changing room. Get changed, and leave your clothes outside the door."
  
  "Sure," you say, walking in and closing the door.
  
  You quickly get changed into a pair of white shorts and a shirt. Bland, boring clothes, but they'll do. Finally, there's a knock on the door.
  
  "Alright, all candidates, follow me to the main hall!"
  
  > go outside and follow the man
  You open the door, and immediately notice that the hallway is packed with dozens of kids, all between fourteen to eighteen years old, wearing the same white shirt and shorts. You follow the man who showed you to your room along the hallway.
  
  You enter a large hall. where a dozen men in amor and holding assault rifles stand at the edges of the hall. There's dozens of kids, some gagged, and others with their hands bound in magnetic metal handcuffs that imprison their entire hands. Some look eager to be here, others look absolutely terrified. You look to the top of the stage, where you see Sergeant Doyle standing alongside several other kids. There's a tall, gaunt man with a sunken face wearing a doctor's coat and a dirty white shirt, a man in a dark leather trench coat with sunglasses, a man wearing a white suit, a woman wearing a purple and black superhero costume, another in a red and gold one and a third dressed completely in black and silver. The man in the suit strides up to the stage, looking out at you all.
  
  "My name is Victor DeVont. I represent a lot of very successful business interests, most of which has risen up from the bottom. You're all here because you have either achieved great things at this age or because you were born with great abilities. Your potential was going to be wasted, though. So we gave you a chance for greatness. We're here to train you as killers, as mercenaries, as soldiers, as henchmen, as crime lords, as rebels, as the people fighting for the greater good no matter how badly the world vilifies them, and over the next year, that's what we'll make you into. Welcome to the Prometheus Academy."
  
  "What's in it for you?" someone asks.
  
  Mr DeVont smiles.
  
  "You're clever, I'll give you that. Never trust anyone. That's your first lesson here. There's plenty of reasons we do this. The groups funding this experiment need manpower. They'll be watching, picking out candidates to hire once this is over. Now, let me introduce you to the teachers?" Mr DeVont says.
  
  Mr DeVont smiles, and begins walking across the stage.
  
  "This is Sergeant Doyle, Ex-SAS."
  
  "Pleasure to see you all, men. Best of luck in the upcoming trials," Doyle says.
  
  "Next we have Doctor Frank Griffith. He'll be in charge of teaching medical care and first aid, as well as looking after your health and working on your cybernetic upgrades, bio-augmentation and the administering of super-soldier serums."
  
  The doctor stares at you all with cold, dead eyes, and nods slowly.
  
  "Next, we have Dead Eye, who will be in charge of solo missions, Void, who will be in charge of Flight Training, Four, who will be in charge of Elemental powers, and the Shattered Mask, who will be in charge of Strength, Speed and Agility training."
  
  Mr DeVont then stops, staring out at the crowd.
  
  "Now, you're each going to be given a schedule depending on your abilities. Some of you, the Supers, will have their work cut out for them. Those unfortunate enough to not be born with powers for the most part have some training in military backgrounds. A few of you are pet projects picked up by some of the instructors on missions. I'm going to split you up into groups and give you each a teacher to guide you through the facility."
  
  Mr DeVont begins to list out names, before assembling you into groups. Eventually, you hear your name called in Dead Eye's group. Dead Eye hops off the stage and lets out a whistle as kids begin to assemble around him. You see the short, skinny kid who's into tech walk over to him, and follow hastily. Dead Eye looks at you all, and takes out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a long drag.
  
  "Alright, let's go. First, I'll take you to the DNA Scanner."
  
  "Why?"
  
  "It'll see your likelihood to have dormant powers," he says. "Follow me."
  
  > An Hour Later...
  You watch as a syringe sucks blood from your arm as a doctor looks at a monitor.
  
  "Huh. No dormant powers showing up. You are related to Saito Benkei. That's interesting. It's not helpful, but it's something to mention at parties."
  
  Shit. That's unhelpful.
  
  "Other than that, you're in reasonable health. No diseases, no serious health conditions, your nervous system hasn't been fried by it's new wiring. You're good. Move along."
  
  The needle is removed from your arm, and you stand. Dead Eye waits outside with the rest of the students. None of them have been found to contain any worthwhile dormant powers. One of them, Abigail, has enlargedadrenaline glands, but it's far from enough to elevate her to "Super-Human" status. Other than that you're all perfectly normal.
  
  "I'm sorry to say if any of you have plans to work in the industry, you're going to have to work hard or be disappointed. At best, you'll struggle to take on the Supers. At worst, you'll be one of the countless goons torn apart to slow down whatever Noun Man they send after you until one of our super-powered heavy hitters can show up. Still, as you can see, most kids here are in the same boat, and we didn't bring you here to have an army of cheap goons we could've hired at the docks. For some of the lucky bastards here, their training will involve learning how to do spins as they fly or learning how to control their powers. But, for all their powers, supers are still human. Supers get proud and stupid. They fuck up. That's when you guys strike."
  
  Dead Eye stops, drawing a knife from his boot, and begins to pick his nails as he leans against the wall. Finally, he continues talking.
  
  "There's a few paths you can go down. You're nothing but fresh clay to mou=ld, raw steel to shape, so there's going to be a lot of choices in your careers. Some of you will learn teamwork, tactics, training and end up in a unit, a small task force. Some of you will find your place among a world of lies and deceit, in covert espionage so intense that Cold War CIA would shit themselves if placed in one of our ops. Some of you, those who are especially talented, will find that with a gun, a sword or whatever weird weapon the special snowflakes of the group pick, you can do enough damage to seriously fuck up a super-humans day. If you're especially stupid, you might go down the path of ascension. Not all super-humans are born. A lot of them are the product of experiments and accidents. Whether you decide to pump your body full of super-soldier serum, replace half your body with tech or just let the mad docs do whatever the fuck they want to you, you might find yourself more powerful than you thought possible. Remember, though, for every famous super-human to be created from a normal, you've got a hundred poor fucks who end up blind, infertile and with a tumor bigger than a second head."
  
  The Doctor from earlier at the stage arrives, his face as hard as stone, revealing no emotions.
  
  "Ah, Doctor Happy. What's the story? How are you?"
  
  "Do we have any super-human specimen here?" he asks in a dull, emotionless tone.
  
  "No, they're all good."
  
  "It is a true pity Mr DeVont did not think to let me oversee the medical exams personally. I would have been much more... thorough."
  
  "A 40% casualty rate for a simple medical check up is hardly a good thing, doctor."
  
  "My last round of medical exams only had a 13% casualty rate, and the cost of hiring replacements was offset by the profits from selling their organs and teeth. We even got a weeks worth of dog feed."
  
  "Does the human element mean anything to you?" Dead-Eye asks.
  
  The Doctor turns around and works off without another word.
  
  "Hey, kids. Word of advice. Stay the fuck away from him. Now, let's split you guys into your dorms."
  
  > head to the dormitory
  You sit on a bunk bed in a large dormitory. Three other bunk beds are in the room, all shared by your new room mates. So far, you've gathered all their names, though you know nothing about them.
  
  First, there's Luc, a kid big enough to crush cars into cubes with his bare hands. His arm seems wider than your waist, though he's not exactly bad looking. Then there's Seamus, a long-haired boy fidgeting with his fingers, who in five minutes had the time to complain about the room, tell an off-color, vaguely racist joke and recount three different stories. You don't think you've seen him with his lips shut for more than three seconds. Standing in the corner is Shada, a youngish girl with a long scar across her forehead, another on her cheek and a large burn from her bottom lip down along her throat. She looks terrifying, but she seems friendly enough and quite excited. When you asked her what she was excited about, she said the prospect of "Killing and cutting and shooting and stabbing people", so maybe friendly wasn't an accurate descriptor. Finally there's Jesus, a boy who has a bionic eye just like yours. He seems vaguely creepy and hasn't talked much, but you doubt it's fair to judge a book by it's cover. Seamus, continuing to talk, seemingly refuting all you know about biology by not stopping to take a breath, slowly draws the others into a conversation. Soon, he turns to you.
  
  "Hey! Cyborg girl! Are you planning on joining in the conversation or are you just going to sit there?" he asks.
  
  > talk to the group
  "Alright, yeah," you say, standing up.
  
  "How'd you lose your eye?" Jesus asks, the gears in his eye socket whirling as his bionic eye focuses on yours.
  
  "Shrapnel from an explosion."
  
  "How were you in an explosion?" he asks.
  
  You sigh, remembering it. There was blood everywhere. You had no idea what was going on, you were just confused. Your parents just lay there, bleeding. And Jack... you don't want to remember Jack.
  
  "It... it was caused by a Super during a bank robbery. How'd you lose your eye?" you reply.
  
  "Stabbing," Jesus replies.
  
  "How did you end up in this place?" Luc asks, his French accent heavy and his words almost incomprehensible.
  
  "I did jobs for the a couple guys in my area. I ended up gunning down a few assholes, and that got someone's attention," Jesus says. "You?"
  
  "I was at the top of my class in the military academy," Luc replies. "I had to drop out due to my... kidney not working. The doctor here gave me a new kidney in exchange for joining up here."
  
  "Alright, I'll talk next," Seamus says cheerfully. "I ran drugs in Dublin. I was damn good at it, too. Well, good at the actual running. I might've picked up a few bad habits, like sampling the goods. Ran up a few debts, which that suit, DeVont, is paying off in exchange for me joining up. What's your story, off-brand Bollywood Scarface?"
  
  "Was that supposed to offend me?" Shada smiles.
  
  There's a loud knock on the door.
  
  "Lunch! Everyone into the canteen!" a voice screams.
  
  "Alright, let's bounce," you say.
  
  > leave the room
  You walk out of the dorm, and follow the guard as he walks along the hallway. You reach a large, open canteen with two dozen lunch tables with benches. Guards line railing above, holding assault rifles. You walk over to the counter of the canteen, grabbing a tray. You move along the line, watching with confusion as a woman puts food on the trays. The woman puts burgers on some trays, while dumping noodles on others, and finally pouring a grey, dull looking paste onto some of the trays. You move forward, and have the grey paste dumped onto your tray.
  
  "Can I have a burger?" you ask hopefully
  
  "No."
  
  "Why not?"
  
  "We've been told to give out the food at random, alternating between noodles, burgers and nutrition paste."
  
  "Why?"
  
  "It encourages a competitive nature among the students. Stealing lunches or beating the shit out of people who got nicer lunches encourages a Darwinian atmosphere. Survival of the fittest."
  
  You turn from the counter and get a glance at the other students of the academy. Most look normal, crowding around tables and being social, although off to the side you spot the supers, either by themselves or in small groups of two or three. Apparently, being so incredibly abnormal as super-humans are does not make you a social creature. There's stark contrast between the supers. Most look perfectly normal, but one's skin seems to be a living, breathing rock, another has completely red eyes, a third is a hulking creature bigger than any human has any right to be. They hardly look like friendly people.
  
  You look down at your food, which looks like someone ate tofu and grey food coloring and puked it up. You look around to see if there's a more viable source of food, and spot several chances. There's a large pile of delicious burgers calling to you from behind the lunch lady, and you think you could easily slide over the very end of the counter when she's serving food and snatch a few, although the guards on the railings above give you pause.
  
  If you're feeling slightly more aggressive, there's plenty of kids weaker than you around who fortune has shined on. All you need to do is make a few threats and they'll probably give up their food.
  
  > sneak past the counter and steal a few burgers
  You walk over to the counter and lean against in nonchalantly, scanning the room. The lunch lady is serving food, the guards are busy watching the students size each other up, ready to step in and stop any fights that take place. You quickly jump the counter, grabbing three of the burgers and quickly sliding back over the counter. The lunch lady continues serving food obliviously, the guards don't seem to have spotted you, and the few other "students" here who saw it don't seem to be eager to rat you out. You smile, and walk with your meal to find somewhere to sit.
  
  > sit with your room mates
  You sit down at your room mates' table, and look around. Seamus currently has the rest of the group embroiled in a story.
  
  "So there I was, a backpack full of coke and weed slung over my shoulder and three Gardai trying to do the whole intimidation thing. I thought I was proper fucked, but then they start asking me weird questions, like what hobbies did I do with my brother? After a couple minutes, I realize they don't know shit about anything going on with me, and they're looking for my brother. I spin some tall tale about him sleeping in the basement of the local sports hall, and they let me just go on my way."
  
  "That looks like a nice burger, Mia. Luck of the draw, I suppose?" Shada asks.
  
  "Yeah, something like that," you reply.
  
  You begin devouring your burger, tearing chunks of it and swallowing without chewing. Seamus continues telling stories, most of which you assume are bullshit. Luc stays quiet for the most part. Seamus and Jesus make various boasts about their skills, and Shada gives vague hints about her back story in Lebanon. You stay quiet, noticing how little you've accomplished compared to the others who've all had successful, if short, criminal careers and/or harsh training.
  
  After about a half hour, the guards begin rounding various groups of children up and giving them their schedules, before sending them off to various parts of the academy. You hear a nearby guard calling out a list of names.
  
  "...John Tanoy, Mia Min-Taylor, Jonathan White, Parker Zhao, here's your schedules."
  
  The guard hands you a schedule, and thankfully you find yourself in the same group as your room mates. You look at your schedule, wincing at some of the classes. "Counter Espionage", "Sharpshooting Training", "Rare Metal Study", "Drugs: Recreational, Combat and Enhancing", "Anti-Super-Human Combat", and much more. There's definitely a varied amount of classes, and you can learn anything from basic Math, Chemistry, Biology and other normal subjects to "Advanced Blade Combat" and "The Removal of Valued Organs from a Living Subject".
  
  You scroll down your list, and find that your first subject is "Small Arms Training". That'll be interesting.
  
  > head to "Small Arms Training"
  You look down the barrel of your rifle.
  
  "Line up your shots!" Doyle shouts. "Take a deep breath, and hold it. Don't flinch in anticipation of the recoil. There's not any fancy sights or tech on these babies."
  
  You fire, the rifle kicking in your arm suddenly. You watch as the bullet thuds into the farthest ring of the bullseye. You watch the other students' shots. There's a huge discrepancy between the best of the students, who hit bullseyes or close, and untrained students, many of which don't even hit the bullseye.
  
  "Alright, we're wasting our time if we think we're going to be getting bullseyes on day one. I want a once over for everything we did today. You should all have at least three clips of ammo left. I'm giving you all thirty seconds to unload as many rounds into that target as you can. Whoever gets the most shots in the middle five rings doesn't have to do fifty push ups. Got it?"
  
  "Yes, sir!" you all bark back.