The lines weren’t as long as they were when the Soaring Angel had been there, but they moved just as fast, and Marianne was at the front in no time. Butterflies grew in her stomach as she watched the person in front of her going through the security. There was more than just a detector there now; a pair of robotic guards was stopping to move a stick up and down by each person.
“Sorry about the hassle,” one of them said, “but we’ve got to be extra careful. There was a security breach earlier this morning. A Super got in.”
“Glad I wasn’t here, then,” said the Normal getting checked.
“She got away without hurting anyone,” said the robot guard. “But now we’ve got to be checking for Super gadgets as well. Okay, you’re clean.”
Marianne panicked. The pockets of her sweatpants were stuffed full of Super gadgets. She would never be able to get past the guards.
But they didn’t even check her. One of them looked at her face, and she saw the sensors inside its eyes whirring and clicking as it processed what it saw. Then it leaned back, pointed down the hall, and said, “You’ve been assigned to the upper level tonight, ma’am.”
“Where’s that?” she asked stupidly.
The robot guards looked at each other. “Marianne Averrige?”
“Yes. That's me. Um. Should I be worried?”
“You appear to be lost. We have been authorized to escort you to the upper level. Let’s use the elevator.”
Marianne followed them without arguing, her heart pounding. She had expected to sneak in stealthily, do some Super-status ninja work, and infiltrate whatever was infiltratable. She hadn’t expected to be welcomed in with open arms.
The elevator moved impressively fast, and the doors opened with a ding at the top floor. Marianne looked out at a long, dark hallway dimly lit by fluorescent lights.
“It’s the door on the end,” said one of the robot guards helpfully.
“Oh, thanks,” said Marianne. She stepped out tentatively, and the elevator doors whooshed shut behind her. She was alone.
She wondered what a Super would do in that situation. The Shark would probably summon the power of the nearby plumbing and tidal-wave the door down. The Soaring Angel and the Dust Devil would probably scamper all over the floor and walls, looking really awesome as they did so. Fantastic Man would probably lift his chin and stride confidently down to the door at the end.
Marianne lifted her chin, pushed her shoulders back, and strode confidently down to the door at the end.
She lifted her hand to knock. Her knuckle barely tapped the door once, and then a voice boomed out around her. “Enter,” it intoned dramatically, and then, “Oh shoot, I timed that wrong, didn’t I? No, wait—turn the mike off!”
Marianne tried the handle. “It’s locked,” she announced.
“What, it’s locked too? Quick—open it!” There was a scurrying sound on the other side of the door, and then the person with the microphone boomed, “Now you may enter.”
The door creaked ominously as Marianne opened it. The room beyond was pitch black. The only light came from the open doorway behind her, and all that did was fill every corner with shadows. Then there was a scurrying sound behind her, and the door slammed shut. She couldn’t see a thing.
“So,” said the ominous voice somewhere in front of her.
“Before we begin,” interrupted Marianne, “can I just say that I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you oiled that door?”
YOU ARE READING
The Normals
HumorMarianne Averrige is not like other superheroes. Her costume isn't made of flashy skintight spandex. Her hair doesn't flow in waves of glorious curls. And her powers... well... they kind of don't exist. To tell the truth, Marianne isn't even really...
