Anarchy | Book Two, The Genesis Series

Ten

After suggesting the idea to Director Callan, the man had readily obliged, and The Outlook-the compound's only outdoor training area-had been born. Within a week, a few flat, padded sparring platforms had swiftly been constructed around the small plateau outside the man's office. A jumbled barrier of crooked trees, whitened by the snow, lined the wintry forest spiderwebbing around that portion of Glacier Peak like crevices in an old sidewalk.

He drew in a breath, his nostrils taking in the distinctive and refreshing scent of the terpenes in the hardened resin coating the tree bark.

Ah. No hyper-advanced technology. No colorless, whitened walls. Just the majestic, outside world.

A world that had changed so much in an instant.

Just a couple of years ago, he'd been walking the halls of Grayfield High, harboring goals of enlisting in the army-or the marines, he could never decide-and eventually being promoted to the rank of a Brigadier General or higher.

The guy that wanted all that had perished in the Genodium explosion. He couldn't help but feel as if a different person had emerged from it.

That person was The Guardian. The 'Man On A Mission' as the media had entitled him. A beacon of morality and willpower. Now he had a bigger calling than being a mere soldier. He'd been gifted with strength. The strength to protect those that couldn't protect themselves.

He'd been given the chance to make a difference.

He sure as hell wasn't going to waste it.

He'd gone from watching old boxing matches for fun to launching old, battered cars across football fields when he was feeling bored. Memories of him carrying his new, Genesis-commissioned jeep over his head for a mile after it had run out of gas surfaced within his sea of thought.

His abilities had only improved over the years, too. A stark contrast when he'd first obtained his powers, he'd gone from struggling to lift a mid-sized sedan over his head for a few seconds to being capable of bench pressing a miniature bus-a little over five tons-for over ten reps.

His old man always used to be in his ear saying that the only constant was change. Though Kai had tuned him out then, it'd recently become strikingly clear just how true the quote was.

Ceasing his musings, Kai adjusted the material of the form-fitting, sleeveless muscle shirt he donned as he assessed everyone's progress.

Amber and Leo were currently in the midst of a full contact sparring match on the other end of the platform-in which the latter seemed to have gained the upper hand at last. Eliza was launching her throwing knives at the various makeshift targets she'd bolted to the trees a few weeks prior. Off to the wayside, Adam was practicing manipulating and shaping objects with his telekinetic abilities.

Kai smiled, pleased to see his teammates grinding and putting in the work.

He frowned when he realized Dylo wasn't among them.

He hadn't seen the babbling blond since the meeting the night before. The speedster had been "uncharacteristically nonverbal" as Adam had put it. Even when Kai had gone up to his room to fill him in on the morning's training regimen, he was nowhere to be found.

Kai wagered that Dylo would be back to normal by the end of the day, though. Having known him for over half of his life, he'd gotten quite accustomed to his fleet-footed friend letting his emotions get the better of him.

"Okay," Kai panted, his eyes glued to the grounded tree he'd just severed as he rubbed the back of his neck. His chest heaved. "I think that's enough sparring for today."