Reformed

  Reformed

  Supervillain Rehabilitation Project #1

  H. L. Burke

  For information about H. L. Burke’s latest novels, to sign up for the author’s monthly newsletter, or to contact the writer, go to

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  Copyright © 2020 H. L. Burke

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by K. M. Carroll

  Cover layout by Jennifer Hudzinski

  Copyright © 2020 H. L. Burke

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9798632121101

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Copyright Page

  To the Marines. Thanks for letting me borrow my husband on occasion. | —Heidi

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight | Three Months Later

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ABOUT H. L. Burke

  Also by H. L. Burke

  To the Marines. Thanks for letting me borrow my husband on occasion.

  —Heidi

  Chapter One

  If Prism had possessed a secondary superhero ability, it would’ve been Powerpoint. Her presentation to the committee on Super-Abled Affairs had hit all the right points. She’d thrown in graphs that outlined the expense of incarcerating supervillains: the special facilities that had to be not only maintained but redesigned every time a new villain with a previously unseen power came onto the scene; the consistent threat of breakouts; the networking said villains did within said prisons leading to villain team-ups that were even harder to put down than a single villain incident. She’d brought in statistics from reputable polls pointing out the public dissatisfaction over repeated attacks from the same villain who had been defeated months before, breaking out to rampage again. She’d even thrown in a joke, though from the look on Cosmic and Shepherd’s faces, that hadn’t gone over as well.

  The conclusion was obvious: supervillain rehabilitation was the financially sound, politically viable, truly pragmatic choice.

  Now if only the committee agreed with her.

  As she sat in the lobby on the third floor of the headquarters for the Department of Super-Abled, affectionately called DOSA, she knew in her heart her presentation had been spot on. Her brother, Aiden—professionally known as Counsel—had patiently sat through enough rehearsals to be sure of it. Still, with time ticking on and the conference room doors remaining closed, doubt gripped her.

  To distract herself from it, she turned to people watching. Guessing which individuals walking through DOSA offices were super-abled (usually called sables) or normies had always been a favorite game for her and Aiden. Sometimes it was easy to tell, as certain abilities left physical markers. Strength related powers tended to create bulky physiques. Shifters often brought some of their non-human traits along with them when they returned to human form (she’d gone to school with one who had sported a tail.).

  Usually the game was further simplified by the fact that many sables sported questionable fashion. However, outside the committee, the people on this particular floor wore business professional attire—making Prism regret her choice to come in uniform, even if her uniform was a fairly subtle pair of cream suede leggings, a light blue bomber jacket, and reasonably comfortable boots. She’d have blended in fine in most situations—even with the metallic blue tips on her short, blonde hair. It wasn’t her fault that DOSA employees stuck to a strict dress code.

  The door to the committee room popped open, and an older man with a hardened physique and dark skin that contrasted starkly with the white of his beard emerged. A few feathers stuck out from his hair, sparse enough that if she hadn’t known that he was a shifter, she might’ve dismissed them as a fashion choice. He gave her a fatherly smile.

  “We’ve reached our conclusion, Lucia,” he said, his voice deep with a slight southern drawl.

  With a tinge of displeasure, Prism rose. Usually it was considered a professional courtesy to address another sable by their hero-handle. Even though it was rare for sables to maintain an actual secret identity, the public still adored the flashy monikers, and no sable worth their salt would enter the business without choosing an appropriate handle that spoke to their abilities, fighting style, or mission statement.

  Knowing Talon meant well, however, she brushed it off. He was one of the original founders of DOSA, taking heroes from vigilantes and covert agents the government didn’t acknowledge and would disown if a mission went south to an organized and protected wing of the government that officially worked alongside military, law enforcement, and other first responders. It wouldn’t be respectful to correct him. Especially not when he saw her as the daughter of his deceased best friend, not just another sable.

  She stood and crossed to him. “You’re not going to give me at least a hint?” She pulled her demure face. If he wanted to be personable rather than professional, she could play it that way.

  “And ruin the surprise?” He held the door for her.

  Sweat beaded beneath the collar of her jacket as she entered the room filled with DOSA’s top sable agents.

  Easy, she assured herself. Talon wouldn’t tease if it were bad news. He’s not a jackass.

  Talon pulled out a chair for her before stepping around the table to join his three peers on the other side.

  She settled into it, her gaze flitting quickly to each committee member in turn. The top sables had been chosen based on their range of abilities, experience, and how good they looked in a photoshoot. Talon’s involvement had been a given, due to his influence in starting the department, but as a talented shifter and a stately African American gentleman with more gravitas in a single feather than most sables possessed in their whole being, he simply looked the part. Beside him sat Shepherd, a gray-haired woman whose wrinkles and slight form tempted people to underestimate her. She was one of the few sables with a far-seeing ability, useful in surveillance but also in politics. It was good to know what your rivals were doing. She also had a persuasion secondary ability which made her dangerous in a debate. Like Talon, she had chosen to attend the meeting in a smart suit, even wearing a tie though she sported a knee-length skirt and heels beneath the table.

  The younger two committee members, the Adjudicator and Cosmic, had chosen to attend in their uniforms: Korean American Cosmic in a white leather jumpsuit with her starburst insignia over her heart and the Adjudicator in a black hooded cape with a mask obscuring all but his stubbled chin.

  The Adjudicator was one of the few sables who still maintained a secret identity—badly, but at least he tried. Though reportedly a normie with no superpowers, his fighting prowess and access to cutting-edge technology made him a force to be reckoned with—not to the extent of Cosmic, who could fly and shoot blasts of energy from her hands, but Prism still wouldn’t have wanted to get on his bad side.

  “Congratulations, Prism,” Shepherd said, once Talon had settled. Her voice had a hypnotic hum to it, easy on the ears even whe
n she wasn’t using her powers. “After a spirited discussion, the committee has voted three to one in favor of approving your project.”

  Cosmic’s nose wrinkled.

  Prism flushed. She could guess who that one was.

  “I would like to state, once more, for the official record, that after the failure of the first program, less than six years ago, this resurrection of the SVR is premature, no matter what face value changes we’ve made to excuse it.” Cosmic tapped her manicured nails against the tabletop.

  “Already noted, Cosmic,” Shepherd said dryly. “However, I will also note that I have been looking for a way to reinstate the program for some time. We simply needed the right leader, and Prism,” Shepherd focused on Prism once more. Prism sat a little straighter. “If the passion you showed in your presentation today is any indicator, you are the perfect evangelist for this project.”

  “I won’t let you down!” Prism gasped.

  “I’m sure you won’t.” Shepherd nodded towards the Adjudicator who stood, drawing an electronic tablet from somewhere beneath the table.

  “As Shepherd said, she had been exploring the possibilities of this program, or one like it, for some time, and asked me to do a threat evaluation,” the hooded hero said in a husky voice. “I’ve made a list of precautions that should be taken to ensure the greatest chance at success.”

  The muscles in Prism’s back tightened. Great. Just what she needed, having her hand held by bureaucrats wanting to cover their backsides.

  “Of course, it is all just suggestions,” Talon put in. “And I will be there to consult if you need advice.”

  “I would be glad for that.” And she wasn’t lying. She respected Talon and would’ve been an idiot not to want his help. Of course, there was one last piece that had to snap in place for this to work. “As for who we will work with first, the subject for rehabilitation—” She clenched and unclenched her hands, resisting the urge to use her powers to avoid scrutiny.

  “Oh, yes, of course. That will take a lot of consideration,” Shepherd said. “We’ve already discussed it at some length.”

  “We’ve put together a slate of potential candidates.” The Adjudicator pushed the tablet across the table towards her.

  Prism took it, hoping that the choice she’d already made would be an option. It would be an easy way to avoid a debate.

  “As you can see,” the Adjudicator continued, smug satisfaction on the exposed half of his face, “we have a large variety of supervillains ranging from the ...”

  Prism tuned him out as she flipped through the files. Buzzkill, Red Rogue, the Fascinator ... all recent headlines who had popped up and been put down just as quickly. Not bad options for eventual rehabilitation. Especially the Fascinator—wow, that girl had a great sense of style for a petty thief. Where did she get those hats?

  “I’m sure you’ll need some time to decide.” Shepherd’s voice and the scraping of chairs being pushed back from the table snapped Prism’s head up from the screen.

  “I want Fade,” she blurted out before the committee could excuse themselves.

  Four sets of eyes stared at her... well, three sets and one pair of tinted lenses. Who did Adjudictor think he was fooling? Every gossip rag in the country knew he was the attorney general’s son.

  She swallowed. “My father worked with him in the original program, and he was his star pupil—”

  “Until he relapsed and sank the whole project.” Shepherd’s jaw clenched. “That man is the reason it was canceled. The public relations mess he caused—”

  “I know the first SVR Project was mishandled, but that was because no one took the lead after my father’s death!” Words rushed out of Prism. She needed this win. “Fade is the perfect candidate. He has a history of working with heroes and a skill set we could actually use. He’s the only matter-manipulator currently registered with DOSA, on either side of the law. His incarceration has to be costing us millions of dollars annually, and he’s already been held for five years—”

  “Because he’s responsible for thirty deaths!” The Adjudicator snatched the tablet away from her as if afraid she’d infect it somehow.

  Prism’s hands tightened into fists beneath the table. She didn’t like to think about that, but she’d had to. Her brain had chewed over it endlessly, through many sleepless nights. “I’ve read over the case dozens of times. The official charges were manslaughter. Fade was a thief and a spy for hire, not a mass murderer. Releasing that gas on purpose does not fit any of his previous behavior. If it was an accident, albeit a tragic one, then he is far more redeemable than some of these other options who I know for a fact have been convicted of premeditated murder.”

  The four committee members exchanged meaningful glances. Talon let out a long breath.

  “You see, Prism,” Shepherd’s tone grew awkwardly motherly, “What you don’t know—”

  “Shepherd!” the Adjudicator barked. “She doesn’t have the clearance.”

  Prism blinked. She had been under the impression that Fade’s conviction was public record.

  The room fell quiet.

  Finally Talon stood. “I think we can read her in on this one. Lucia, will you walk with me?”

  Prism nodded and followed Talon out of the committee room into a smaller room off the side. She glanced around. It seemed like a normal break room, a coffee pot, a basket of creamers, table and chairs. Talon approached the coffee pot and filled two paper cups. He returned with these and passed one to Prism. She glanced down at it. It had an unctuous consistency, as if it had been sitting over the heat for a while, and she very much preferred her coffee with cream, but she murmured a thank you and took a sip.

  “Your request touched a nerve.” Talon addressed her, still focused on his coffee. “Fade’s relapse was a great embarrassment to DOSA as a whole and the SVR Project specifically.”

  “Which is why rehabilitating him would have so much impact,” she burst out.

  Talon held up his hand. “You don’t know the whole story, Luce.”

  Prism hung her head. “He ... he meant a lot to my father.”

  Pity creased Talon’s face, and Prism internally winced. She hadn’t meant to guilt trip the older man with memories of a long dead friend. Still, she needed to have Fade in her program. It would honor her dad’s memory.

  “Did you ever meet Fade?” Talon took a sugar packet from the coffee bar and emptied it into his cup.

  “No. Dad kept me away from his professional life.” She shifted from foot to foot. “Said he’d accept it if I chose hero work eventually but wanted me to finish school before I made the final call.” At the time she’d resented that, even though she’d always known it was out of love. “Still, he talked about Fade, about how proud he was of the strides he made, leaving his life of crime and becoming a bonafide hero. One slip up shouldn’t ruin years of work.”

  “Trust me, your father wasn’t the only one invested in Fade’s redemption,” Talon said. “I think that’s why it hit us especially hard when—” He shook his head. “The official report went with Fade’s assertion that the deaths were an accident, but the evidence heavily suggests otherwise. There were too many fail-safes, too many things that would’ve had to have gone wrong simultaneously, for the lab’s safety systems to malfunction to that degree.”

  A knot formed in Prism’s stomach. It had taken her a long time to come to terms with the idea that her father’s first and favorite pupil could be responsible, even inadvertently, for so many deaths. To hear that it might’ve been intentional—

  “But then why does the official record not say that?”

  “A few reasons.” Talon selected a wooden stirring stick and sloshed it around his coffee. “Primarily DOSA wanted to save face. The public, and the press, demanded justice. A lot of high level people feared for their careers. Getting the public to accept a watered down version of the truth made it easier to handle. Secondly, executing sables is problematic. Too many of them are too hard to kill. Cosmi
c is nearly indestructible. Fade might be easier than someone like her to deal with, but still difficult to dispose of. Lethal injection isn’t quick enough to make up for his healing factor. His ability to shift out of solid form means that a firing squad is out of the question ... and as you mentioned he’s expensive to keep incarcerated, so even if rehabilitation wasn’t an option, we needed another way to handle him. We thought it would be easier for the public to swallow an unconventional punishment if we minimized his crime.” He tossed the stick into a waste basket.

  “But you did just incarcerate him, didn’t you?” She furrowed her brow.

  “Not exactly. As I said, we couldn’t kill him, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t—alter him slightly.”

  Cold crept through Prism. “What did you do to him?”

  Talon glanced around again before drawing a phone out of his pocket—but not the one she usually saw him use. No, that one had a distinct blue case, and this one was black and bulky. He tapped the screen. A red light radiated from it, projecting a grid onto his face.

  “Biometrics recognized,” an electronic voice announced. “What do you require, Talon?”

  “I need the file for prisoner 376, Greg Curran AKA Fade.” Lights flashed and the device beeped. Talon started to pass the phone to Prism but drew back when she reached for it. He held up a warning finger. “This doesn’t leave DOSA. I’m violating protocol to show you it at all.”

  “I promise I won’t say anything.” The phone felt strangely heavy in her hand. Her gaze flicked over the lines of text. Memory erasure. Neural pathways rewritten. Her breath abandoned her chest. “We ... you ... you erased his memories? All of them?”

  “That’s complicated.” Talon took his phone back. “The procedure was very targeted. We focused on allowing him to retain memories that are functionally necessary while erasing experiences. Essentially everything that led him to the point where he made that choice.” He took a long drink of coffee. “Call it the ultimate test of nature versus nurture. If Fade’s choices were a matter of who he is, his genetic predispositions, as it were, then we’ve done nothing, but if they were the direct result of his upbringing—which admittedly was not ideal—and other circumstance he met along the way, then he’s cured. He’s no longer the product of those things but a clean slate we can do with as we please. Perfect for re-education.”