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“Sometimes, son,” my father said, prying my fingers free, “you have to help the heroes along.”
People adapt. That’s what we do.
after ten years of living in perpetual gloom, you got used to it.
Idiot, I thought. You have a purpose. Women interfere with things like a purpose.
The Reckoners, they were the heroes. Not what my father had imagined—no Epic powers, no flashy costumes. They didn’t stand for truth, the American ideal, or any such nonsense. They just killed. One by one. Their
Other people get excited by sporting events or action films, but I don’t have time for prefabricated thrills.
She was younger than I’d originally thought, probably eighteen or nineteen, but something in those eyes made her seem much older.
was time to hand the Reckoners my résumé.
thing about handguns is that they’re blasted difficult to aim.
rifle is elegant. It’s an extension of your will. Take aim, squeeze the trigger, make things happen.
He studied me, eyes searching my own, as if looking for something.
There was something in this man’s eyes, something I didn’t expect to see. A hatred of Steelheart nearly as deep as my own. It was manifest in the way he said the Epic’s name, the way his lips turned down, the way his eyes narrowed and seemed to burn as he spoke the word.
Her expression was so frigid you could have used it to liquid-cool a high-fire-rate stationary gun barrel. Or maybe some drinks. Chill drinks—that was a better metaphor.
hahaha
Un homme téméraire.
People tend to want to sleep when everyone else sleeps, so we settle into
Of course, there are a minority who don’t like to do as told, even when it comes to something simple. I was one of those. Being up all night means being awake when everyone else is sleeping. It’s quieter, more private.
“Weren’t you listening?” Megan asked softly. “This is what he does. It’s what he has built his life around. He studies them.”
Epics had a distinct, even incredible, lack of morals or conscience. That bothered some people, on a philosophical level. Theorists, scholars. They wondered at the sheer inhumanity many Epics manifested. Did the Epics kill because Calamity chose—for whatever reason—only terrible people to gain powers? Or did they kill because such amazing power twisted a person, made them irresponsible?
I frowned. What did he mean? Of course it was. Who wouldn’t want a smoke grenade when offered one? Megan actually showed the faintest of smiles. She understood.
I don’t get you, girl, I thought. She carried explosives in her shirt and was an excellent shot, but she was worried about procedures when she got a chance to kill an Epic? And as soon as she caught me looking at her, her expression grew cold and aloof once again. Had I done something to offend her?
She’d shown emotion during our fight with Fortuity. Passion, anger, annoyance. The second two toward me, but it had been something. And then, for a few moments after he fell…there had been a connection. Satisfaction, and appreciation of me that had come out when she’d spoken on my behalf to Prof. Now that was gone. What did it mean?
I kept my room messy, intentionally. It actually itched at me, as I liked things neat. I’d found that sloppiness put people off guard.
That was what they called people, subject. Steelheart didn’t bother with any kind of silly pretense that his empire was a republic or a representative government. He didn’t call people citizens or comrades. They were subjects of his empire. That was that.
In a way he didn’t need Enforcement. They were like a homicidal dictator’s version of valet parking attendants.
We hadn’t been friends; I didn’t really have those, but I’d looked up to him.
Repaire des fantômes.”
“Y’all intend to see him bleed again, and all that. Very dedicated and familial of you. But I’m telling you, that ain’t enough. You’ve got passion to kill, but you need to find passion to live. At least that’s what I think.”
“The work we do,” Prof said, “is not about living. Our job is killing. We’ll leave the regular people to live their lives, to find joy in them, to enjoy the sunrises and the snowfalls. Our job is to get them there.”
state-sanctioned kinds of criminals.
I’d love to see her smile again, I thought,
“Probably because he’s fragile. He isn’t said to have any immortality powers. So he stays hidden.
souds similar to a guy from mistborn..todo. compar mistborn an this book characters
It was bizarre to see them as people. A part of me was actually disappointed. My gods were regular humans who squabbled, laughed, got on one another’s nerves, and—in Abraham’s case—snored when they slept. Loudly.
You’ve already built neural pathways, and so you have to kind of hotwire your brain to figure out what mental muscles to flex. I’ve always wondered if we gave a tensor to a child, if they’d be able to incorporate using it better, more naturally, as just another kind of ‘limb’ to practice with.”
Moral considerations had stopped bothering me years ago. Who had time for morals in a world like this?
“That’s not it,” she said, staring at me coolly. Sparks, but her eyes were beautiful. “There’s something deeper about it that bothers you, and you need to get over it. It’s a weakness.”
“It does,” I said. “Because it’s not who I am. I’m not smart, I’m just persistent.
I’m totally not a nerd though. I still know the truth at
They looked so dangerous, like alligators. Really fast alligators wearing black. Ninja alligators. I decided not to use that one on Megan.
isn’t enough to have godly powers, to be functionally immortal, to be able to bend the elements to your will and soar through the skies. It isn’t enough unless you can use it to make others follow you. In a way, the Epics would be nothing without the regular people. They need someone to dominate; they need some way to show off their powers.”
Don’t just act because you can; act because it’s the right thing to do. If you keep that in mind, you’ll be all right.”
Why do I even care? I thought, looking up at the ceiling. Other than that first day, she’s never shown me anything other than coldness and the occasional bit of disdain.
Yet…there was something about her. More than the fact that she was beautiful, more than the fact that she carried tiny grenades in her top—which I still thought was awesome, by the way. There had been girls at the Factory. But, like everyone else, they were complacent. They’d just call it living their lives, but they were afraid. Afraid of Enforcement, afraid that an Epic would kill them. Megan didn’t seem afraid of anything, ever. She didn’t play games with men, fluttering her eyes, saying things she didn’t mean. She did what needed to be done, and she was very good at it. I found that
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I’d said the sensation felt like an unbalanced washing machine filled with a hundred epileptic chimpanzees. Pretty proud of that one.
For the first time in my life, I found myself nearly as worried about what I might end up doing as I was about what someone might do to me. It was an uncomfortable situation. What we were doing was, basically, terrorism.
That image worked. I could forget everything else when I thought of it. I didn’t have all the answers, but at least I had a goal.
But since then you’ve acted like I was a gorilla at your buffet.”
“You’re a very special person, David.” “Yeah, I take a specialness pill each morning.
“I didn’t think it was, but I need you to talk to me. Say something.” Because I think you’re hotter than hell and I can’t understand what went wrong.
For some reason, I was realizing, when things got really, really tense I found it easier to relax.
hadn’t been my “improvising” that had set her against me. It had been my intentions. My
