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3

Kendall Conway (aka Skinwalker) came onto the hero scene in the early eighties after a devastating explosion (which he now knew was backfire from his manifesting powers) swallowed his home and killed his family. He'd been visiting from college at the time, and--left with nothing and no one after the blast and haunted by what had happened--he went into hiding. It hadn't been hard.

He'd woken up in the hospital with a different face, one he'd favored for years now. No one--not even his closest super powered friends--have seen his actual form. Hell, he could hardly remember the face and body he'd been born with. So, as a hero, he took the concept of "secret identity" to the pinnacle of its definition, and as he sat atop his desk and watched his new students shuffle into his classroom, the lynx was as he'd been since his birthed abilities split the ground and blew his house apart. Deep down he felt that if his real face was ever revealed, terrible things would ensue. No, he knew something terrible would happen: being blamed for the death of his mother, father, two brothers, grandparents. That's mostly why he was adamant on secrecy. And, without a doubt, he was the biggest mystery in the super hero world. All wanted to know the true Conway, see the true Conway, but none ever had.

None but one.

But, pushing his troubling past to the recesses of his mind, Conway put on his most dashing smile and prepared for the first foray into a battlefield he'd never anticipated to get the chance to enter: Academia. His powers manifesting and hurtling him into hiding (then heroism) had put thoughts of a teaching career on standby, but when Raymond (aka Atlas) had retired and taken on a political level job, Kendall was relieved with a second wind and a second chance at something besides hero work. Unlike Raymond, however, he retained his alias and the intrigue surrounding it. He could never stop being Skinwalker. He could never let his guard down.

Two more students shuffled in. Conway widened his smile. He recognized these fellows.

A big day lay ahead.

~*~

Rhy and Seth crept into the lecture hall like children sneaking downstairs at Christmas time to catch a glimpse of the man in red. Of course, when the other students began to cock eyebrows and whisper to neighbors, the two did their best to look as nonchalant as possible. When Seth tripped and nearly brought Rhy down with him, though, they just hurried to find a seat before making fools of themselves in front of their classmates and icon/professor.

The room was rather small for a lecture hall; pitched, of course. The entrance sat behind the top row, and then the room descended, five more consecutive rows of bar-like student seating filling up the room until they hit the bottom floor: the professor's domain of worn, oaken desk and green, old-style flip chalkboard. There was probably enough seating for sixty or more, but Rhy recalled that the class limit had been capped at thirty. He'd been surprised at that, but he'd been more delighted at getting a seat in the special class without having to fight for it or beg for placement from the department chair. Still, after counting 22 heads (including his own and Seth's) he was surprised to find that many of the students had chosen to sit further up in the hall, as if they were terrified of the man sitting statuesque on the edge of his desk and watching them all with interest and a smile. He couldn't keep his tail from wagging, even though he still felt clammy and a pressure was building in his skull. He felt a headache coming on. A doozy. But the sight of the hero before him eased the pressure a bit.

Doctor Conway sported a black pair of loafers and khaki pants, red button-up, and a charcoal-grey suit jacket that curved with his hero's physique and reminded Rhy of humble Clark Kent working his day job at the Daily Planet. Minus the glasses, though. The shaggy-furred lynx appraised Rhy and Seth, chuckling a little, as the two made their way to the front row. His tufted ears flicked as their chairs scooted against the wood floors. Seth waved at the hero nervously, and Rhy followed his example, albeit more confident and less jittery.

"At last," Conway said, soft, deep voice filling the room. He clapped his thick paws together and nodded at the two, his golden eyes narrowing but remaining kind. "Some brave souls willing to get close to this zoo's proverbial fence and predator." Rhy's muzzle widened into a goofy grin. Seth just coughed and looked around anxiously. "About time," Conway said. He then checked a wrist watch hidden beneath his jacket sleeve and glanced around the upper portions of the room. "Alright, boys and girls, bring it in. I know this room is big and we all love the back and its magnificent vantage points, but--since this class is so small--the first two rows are all we're going to need. Come, come, now."

There were some grumbles, but everyone filled into the first two rows without much cynicism or attitude. Conway's presence saw to that. Ex-hero or not, you don't give a super any lip. He slipped elegantly from his desk and grabbed a stack of papers, turned toward his class, and frowned. He tapped the papers with a claw, his brow furrowed. "This is the syllabus for the class. I know everyone's dying to have one, so I'll pass it out." He padded noiselessly to Seth and handed him the syllabi. The leopard choked on a "thanks" and fumbled to hand the stack to Rhy. The wolf took one, mouthed "calm down" to his cohort, and handed the rest to his other neighbor, a raccoon girl with violet hair. "Now this is also on our class webpage," Conway said. "But, just remember, some wonderful trees died so you could know what the hell's going to go on in here. So, be courteous, and don't lose it."

The lynx then took attendance after some more students came in late. He shook his head when three didn't show up at all. Then after asking how everyone was and being pleasant and casual, skimming over the syllabus with as much interest as he could muster, the good doctor stood. He flipped his chalkboard over and bellowed to the four winds what was written there, "POP-QUIIIIIIIIZ!"

There was much to do about groaning all over the room. "Oh my God, what," Rhy heard the raccoon grunt. He and Seth, however, simply giggled. This was going to be fun.

"Alright, alright," Doctor Conway chided. He rolled his great, golden eyes. "Come on, this is going to be easy. I promise." He strode into the middle of his lecture space and crossed his arms, looking more scholarly than he had since the class began. Every eye was on him. "In Hero History 101, we will be going over the rise of super heroism and villainy since its beginnings in our country, focusing mainly on the 1940's to the current date. We're going to analyze the great battles that have taken place between good and evil, the influences and advantages of super-powered beings working with governments in times of war and disaster and the ensuing outcomes." The doctor shrugged, his tufted ears waggling. "To sum it up, I'm going to take you down a long, twisting road of mystery and intrigue, blood and drama, death and destruction and everything in between. By the time this semester is over, you'll have learned heroes inside and out; villains, too." He then looked around. "Sound good?"

"YES," Seth squealed, his paws clenched beneath his chin. His eyes darted nervously around the room after his outbreak. Rhy just shook his head, and then he nodded at the doctor. Excitement had built in his chest cavity; both making it hard to breathe and making him want to screech along with Seth.

"Good," Conway chuckled. He pointed at Seth and winked. "I like your enthusiasm."

Seth swooned. Rhy saw it. He was kind of envious.

"Now," Conway continued, directing his attention to the entire class again. "Before we strike out on that wondrous, heroic-highway, I want to see how much you already know. Since we're going to be focusing on specific heroes and villains throughout history, I want to see how knowledgeable you are when it comes to my kind. I want to see if you can put a name to the faces or recognize them at all. That's what this pop-quiz is all about. And..." He held out his arms, striking a Moses-like pose upon splitting the Red sea. "It's interactive!"

And then Doctor Conway wasn't Doctor Conway.

Rhy blinked and missed it, but Seth caught the change mid-shift and nearly shit his pants. The rest of the class, having just witnessed their first live act from a super, gasped. A couple of girls screamed. The change was just that instantaneous, but Seth had seen it. He couldn't believe it, but he'd actually seen it.

When Conway stretched out his arms, Seth had instinctively wanted to follow his hands outward. Instead, he kept his eyes on Conway's torso. At first there was nothing, and then a force rippled across his body so quickly that the eye would easily overlook it, much like an intense full-body shiver. It branched out from his middle, and as it went the doctor's entire being seemed to flip inside out. At one point, it was as if there was nothing there but a glimmering silhouette reflecting light, but then it solidified and the ripple bounded back toward Conway's navel and he was another being. This all happened within 300 milliseconds.

The room was humming with tension and excitement, and Conway (now a dapper tabby cat in a tuxedo with an obsidian-black cane) tried to calm everyone with waves of his paws and an admonished half-grin. Rhy was silent, staring wide eyed, his mouth an expressive "O" shape. Seth just cackled.

"Easy, easy, now!" Conway tried to no avail. Then, with his snaking tail coiling around his feet and green, swallowing eyes seeming to glow, he cracked the end of his cane against the floor. Hard. The sound banged and recoiled painfully through the room. Everyone shut their traps. "Goodness," he sighed peevishly, staring about. "Note to self: Don't surprise the students like that. I thought you'd react much better. Oh well."

Seth jabbed Rhy in the ribs with an elbow. "THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER."

Rhy could only nod. He hadn't recovered from his fish-mouth to say anything.

"This is how the quiz is going to work," Cat-Conway said. He held up a paw, all of his white-gloved fingers extended. "There will be just five questions. For each one, I'm going to shift into either a hero or villain from (reasonably) your lifetimes, and maybe a more iconic hero or bad guy from the past you should recognize. I want the individual's name (Hero/Villain moniker or actual, if you wish), a brief summary of their powers or abilities, and..." His dainty fingers tapped against his jet-sleek chin. "Hell, something important, or crippling, they accomplished, for all of the ones I have in store have done spectacular or terrible things. Alright?"

Everyone was still shell-shocked from the doctor's transformation, but the sound of rustling paper and clicking pens and pencils soon filled the lecture hall.

Seth groaned and looked around, chest heaving, as he remembered he'd just brought a granola bar to class. Oh, and water. "I...I didn't..."

Rhy, thankful that he'd thought ahead, yanked out the extra pencil and notebook he'd brought and handed to the grateful leopard. "Oh, dude," Seth said with a breath of relief, patting his chest softly and grinning amorously at the wolf. "You're my hero."

"Shut up," Rhy chuckled, blushing.

Conway cleared his throat as everyone settled, and then he leaned casually on his cane. "Everyone set? Good! Here (or I am, more so) question number one."

He sashayed about, turning full-circle here and there and letting everyone get a good look at his well-dressed, feline form. He waited a few minutes for everyone to attempt their answer. Rhy got the hero right off the bat; Seth was just as quick in recognizing. Magus the Archmage was, after all, one of the most powerful and popular supers alive today. Easy-peasy.

"Alright," Magus-Conway said. "Here comes number two."

Rhy caught the shimmering effect of the shift this time and was even more awestruck than before. But, when a slim tabby cat suddenly triples in size and gains two hundred pounds of muscle, it's hard _not_to be awestruck.

The hulk of a wolverine Conway had become, clad in a tight, full-body, black spandex suit lumbered closer to the front row. All-in-all he was about ten feet tall, shoulders wide and vascular and striated; his chest jutted out like a rock shelf, core hard like iron. The lynx's pleasant, rumbling voice remained the same and didn't seem to fit the brutish, grizzly maw it came out of. His black leather boots, each about as big as Rhy's chest, thudded like a bass drum beat with each step. He flexed his tree trunk arms and popped his neck as if the change had made him stiff. Rhy glanced at the raccoon chick next to him and noticed she'd gone pale. He glanced at Seth, and the leopard had taken on the infamous fish-mouth look.

Rhy quickly jotted down his answer. He was overwhelmed. He'd only expected to see one hero today, but now he was getting much more than he bargained for. And that was just dandy. Keep'em coming, Doc Conway, he mused.

And Doc Conway did, of course.

After the monstrous wolverine, the doctor became a mare with the battle armor of a Valkyrie; her dark fur glistened like oil and her eyes blazed blue fire. Then there was someone everyone should have recognized...or Rhy thought everyone should: a beefy German shepherd in black and vermillion battle-gear, his cape coiling down his back as he gave a glittering, photogenic smile. The wolf heard students chuckling as they set eyes on the Atlas lookalike as if to say goodness, I thought these were going to be difficult. He wondered if they noticed the small differentiation in the big "A" symbol across the dog's chest that turned the letter into an "M" instead, the ink-black eyes. Seth had seen it, without a doubt. Rhy heard the leopard growl under his breath.

Then there was the final question and final transformation.

"Here we go everyone," Conway said, still the shepherd. "Last one, and it's a doozy."

Ripple, flicker, and Conway was an athletic grey wolf dressed in tribal attire. Stitched cloth pants were tucked into a pair of tall, leather moccasin-like boots with chord wrapped around and around their upper portions. The wolf's well-defined chest and torso were bear except for a cloth, like a Mexican serape, draped across his broad shoulders and running down his back, nearly touching the floor. His sleek brown hair was pulled back and braided, a decorative headband encircling his brow like a patterned crown with a few feathers jutting out here and there. A necklace hung around his neck and rested in the crevice between his pecs, the charm a little totem figure.

Rhy gasped. He couldn't help himself. He recognized the hero because the tribal wolf was his hero. This guy was, to him, what Atlas was to Seth. He looked around giddily, somewhat expectantly, and saw only blank stares and confusion from the other students, even Seth. He immediately frowned. He couldn't believe no one knew who...

"Alright! Pencils down," Wolf-Conway said. Rhy blinked and he was in his lynx form again. "I saw some interesting looks with that last one. I told you it would be a toughy. Now!" He clapped his paws, his tufted ears flicking. "Pass those in. And, don't worry, I'm going to tally the points of however many you got correct and give them as extra credit. No big deal if you got them all wrong." He coughed. The sound of it was strict. "But you shouldn't have. Alright! Hurry along and we'll go over the answers!"

After a shuffle-spree the quizzes were in. Conway stacked them neatly on his desk, perusing through a few, until he pulled one out. He grinned at the quiz, and then he grinned at the student who'd answered all of the questions correct. More than correct, even. The answers were top-notch.

"Rhykard Dean..."

Rhy reflexively froze and stared fretfully at Conway, suddenly horrified that he'd gotten all of the questions wrong somehow (even though he knew that was impossible).

"Y...yes? Yes, sir?"

Conway smiled warmly. "How about taking us through the answers, hmm? If you would be so kind?"

"O...okay." The wolf ran a paw through his hair nervously then cleared his throat. "Number one, of course, was Magus the Archmage (his real name's Dante Beryl), a hero; his powers are arcane class, potent spells that he's collected and mastered since he was a child, I believe. He single-handedly put an end to the Death Gate syndicate in 1987, a group of necromancers who were trying to open a portal to a chaos realm in Venice Beach, saving the world more or less."

"Good! Continue."

Rhy took a breath. "Number two was the villain, Black Golem; his real name is Terrance Fletch. He has powers of terramancy (ironic given that his name is Terrance, haha), meaning that he can manipulate any materials that stem from the earth. He caused a 10.0 magnitude earthquake in Aspen Colorado in December of 1992 that would have swallowed the city if the super-team, Weaver's Ring, hadn't used their own terramancy powers to contain the quake. That's how Richter Falls was made, after the energy coalesced and tore a 20 mile deep and two mile wide hole in the ground and left the Colorado River draining into it."

"Continue."

"Three was Bell Brunhilda; she's, as far as I know, a neutral party; neither hero nor villain. Her powers reflect Nordic mythology, and she claims to retrieve the souls of worthy, fallen warriors and bring them to Valhalla. She's a brawler through and through, with super strength, speed, flight, invulnerability, and an enchanted sword called Giant's Tear. She helped to save the life of Polarity when he was near death after redirecting the asteroid of 1995. Polarity's team then inducted her, but she stays off on her own until she's really needed."

"And four?"

Rhy smirked at Seth, knowing his friend would want to answer this one, but the leopard just shrugged.

"Four, seemingly, appears to be Atlas. However, if you looked at the eyes and the differing symbol, you'd recognize him as Menoetius: Atlas's evil doppelganger." Seth beamed and Rhy continued. Conway looked pleased. "He has all of the powers of Atlas, but he lacks the moral integrity and sense of justice that Atlas has. Instead, he's just malevolent and destructive. He clashed with Atlas in 1976 and nearly killed him, but the evil twin's defeat made Atlas the popular hero that he is today."

"Bravo," Conway said, legitimately impressed. "You know your heroes and villains, Mr. Dean. It's my understanding that you wish to pursue a career in Super-crime Law Enforcement, correct?"

Rhy nodded bashfully.

"Well, you certainly have the knowledge required. Seems you're on the right track." Conway motioned for him to continue. "Number five, if you please. An individual not many can recall anymore, I'm afraid."

"Yeah," Rhy agreed. "Five is (was) the hero known as Totemic, and he's my biggest influence. Always has been."

~*~

"Mugen, how goes the shielding process?"

Mugen rolled his blue eyes and hissed as Bubo's voice, once again, screeched into his right ear via comlink. He'd gotten into the wolf kid's room without any trouble at all (he'd always been handy with a bobby pin), but once he was inside and setting up the tiny, cube-like M.E. shielding devices in the corners of the room, Bubo began to incessantly check up on him. The job, in reality, shouldn't have taken that long. Sneak in; shut door; stick cubes to wall; activate; rummage through the kid's shit just for kicks; play some X-Box; maybe have a snack; leave. Everything would be A-Okay. But no; Mugen didn't take into account his robotic partner's vexatious and calculating way of processing thoughts. Everything had to be perfect to the umpteenth degree.

Bubo made Mugen check the ionic batteries of the devices for a suitable charge; he calculated the exact and most accurate location for placement on the wall, to the millimeter, so the shield would be at its most potent state of absorption; he made Mugen activate, then deactivate, the cubes ten different times to be sure they were working correctly. Hell, the white wolf accidentally knocked one of the cubes askew a centimeter or two, and Bubo made him take five damn minutes to get the thing exactly as it had been before. Then, at last, he was done.

"Actually," Bubo puttered. "Cube S-12 is off its most potential alignment by .0024--"

"No. Fuck it. I'm done, Bub," Mugen huffed. His head was pounding from the robot's relentless perfectionism. His tail flicked angrily at his back. "Meet me in the Boss, and have some soothing music playing and some Advil in the glove compartment, otherwise I'm going to shoot you in the face."

"I do not have a structure similar to your physical definition of "face," Mugen. Your insinuation, and therefore your threat, has little meaning."

Mugen growled.

"But," the robot said hastily. "I understand your intended point. Would traditional Irish folk music and extra strength pain reliever be sufficient?"

"Yes, and I'm glad you understand."

"Do not forget to lock the door back."

"ALRIGHT," Mugen snapped. "I won't! Mugen out."

And the line was silent. It was such a treat.

Mugen backtracked through the dorm room to be sure he hadn't left anything behind or made any obvious disturbances. All in all, the two that lived here were just average college guys, but one had a serious, serious, (and somewhat creepy) obsession with Atlas the super dog. The white wolf looked around at all of the Atlas stuff and couldn't help but want to laugh. Couldn't help but want to tear the posters down and stomp on the action figures. But, he knew, that all guys weren't like him. He'd come from a terrible place. His past had made him who he was, but that didn't change the fact that his past was shit. These guys were from another generation, one where heroes were idolized and publicized and lifted higher than their powers alone could take them. To the wolf guy and his roommate, the supers were goddamn movie stars; popular folks with peculiar powers that set them above the rest and gave all of the folks in the ghettos and squalor something to aim for: perfection.

Bullshit.

Mugen plucked a stuffed Atlas from one of the guy's beds (pretty sure that it wasn't the wolf's) and stared into its void, button-black eyes. He'd seen those eyes many, many times during his childhood. They were dead and pitiless eyes, eyes that would just as soon watch you die than watch you do much else. They were the eyes of his bastard father; the eyes of his whore mother; the eyes of the perverted man who'd taken him in off of the street; the eyes of the vagabond he'd fought with for a scrap of rotten meat, who'd pulled a knife and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed him, just a boy. A starving boy.

Those black eyes were the eyes of the super who'd killed that vagabond, reduced him to ash with just a glance. Mugen had stared into those eyes, dying and begging for help, begging for a savior, for anyone. Anyone. He'd been hurting so badly. The pain was all he was.

And those eyes, those black eyes Mugen knew were filled with fire, turned away. The super had left him to perish in the streets. He only got a glance of the super's armor, their flowing cape of black and red-orange...no, vermillion. That's what it had been. Then the bloody Mugen had passed out.

If not for Bree, if not for Servo...he'd be dead.

"Mugen? I am awaiting your return with Celtic Women and Advil."

The white wolf snapped back like a taut rubber band. He'd been so lost in his memories that he hadn't noticed he'd been squeezing the shit out of the stuffed Atlas. His claws had punched holes in its chest and abdomen, and one of its eerier little eyes was hanging by a single thread. He sneered at the doll. He sneered at the Atlas' all over the room. He couldn't be in there anymore.

"I'm on my way. Oh, and Bub?"

"Yes, Mugen?"

He tossed the doll back onto the bed he'd plucked it from without even bothering to fix it back as it'd been. He didn't think he'd be able to do much with his hands. They were shaking. "Have a video channel open when I get there, please."

The robot chirped for a moment, like a bird in a tin can, as the wolf exited the room.

"And whom do you wish to contact?"

He locked then shut the door and didn't look back. "You know who."

"Very well," Bubo said. "I am detecting heightened stress patterns via increased heart rate and brainwave activity. Are you alright?"

Even though he was a robot, sometimes the little thing's concern (as inorganic as it sounded) touched the steely wolf.

"I'm fine, Bubo. I just..."

"Need to speak with her. I am aware." There was a pause and Mugen rolled his eyes. "The channel was successfully established. Servo is awaiting your arrival."

Mugen sighed, the weight in his stomach lessening dramatically. "Good."

"Do you require anything else, partner?"

Partner. Even a lifeless machine could get sentimental. Bree was a magician in her own way.

"Some tequila would be fantastic."

Bubo seemed to snuff austerely. "I am aware, but I would advise against combining alcohol with any medications, even simple pain reliever."

Mugen hit the stairs, grasping firmly onto the handrails. His bark of laughter echoed in the tight space. "You're such a joy, Bubo. A real, fucking, class act."

"I do try."

~*~

_ From atop the bell tower adjacent the student dormitories, a seemingly ordinary pigeon bobbed its head and cooed, ruffled its violet-grey feathers and shit a white runny stream down the copper shingles beneath its feet. Its empty eyes watched the white wolf exit the building and head through the backstreets of the campus. The wolf appeared shaken. His walk was a shuffle at best, and a stiff shuffle at that. Whatever the wolf had been doing was done, there was no mistaking that. But, still, something was coming no matter what precautions he'd laid out. The pigeon could feel the brittleness to the air, the pressure gathering in the fading sky and condensing, condensing. The sky hummed. The pigeon wobbled around and faced into the wind. It could smell the storm gathering. Soon, the lightning would strike._

_ "Boom," croaked the pigeon._

Then it spread its inglorious wings and fumbled through the air, landing on a window seal of the dormitories. It leaned its stupid head against the glass and saw a room--half ordinary and half decorated in the banners of a hero. It saw the things in the corners it wasn't supposed to see, the sugar cubes that pulsed with compressed energy. The pigeon stepped back a little and strained its tiny pigeon brain until every feather it was coated in stood straight out. The window rattled. The window quivered. The window raised two inches. The pigeon fell to its plump belly and scooted under into the room. It looked around.

_ "Boom," croaked the pigeon again. "Boom goes the dynamite."_