Free Super Powereds: Year 3 by Drew Hayes

established you’ve never bartended before, how do you know all that? Heavy drinker?”
    “I very rarely ever imbibe alcohol. I read a bartender’s bible last night in preparation for this interview.”
    “Right. So, photographic memory then.”
    “Yes, sir.” Chad knew the proper term was eidetic, but he was aware enough of social conventions to at least not correct a potential employer mid-interview.
    “That could come in handy,” Roger admitted. “And I guess there’s no doubting your dexterity. Organization, I suppose we can delay for now. You’re clearly strong, so I guess there’s no worry about you being able to haul beer from the back. Now, this might be a dumb question, however, I know not all of you HCP kids are fighters, so I still need to ask. We keep bouncers here, good ones, but occasionally a customer will get rowdy with my staff. Are you able to handle yourself until the bouncers get to you?”
    Chad found it surprisingly difficult to suppress his urge to smile.
    *              *              *
    There were a lot of things Angela liked about her job. The tips were great, getting to take drinks with customers was fun, and the late hours never conflicted with her training. She even liked how the mandatory outfits made her feel sexy, even if the plaid half-shirt didn’t always insulate her from the AC, and the tiny Daisy Duke shorts had a tendency to ride up her ass by the end of the night. The only thing she hadn’t really liked was how boring all the men she worked with were. Sure, they were muscular, and some of them were even good-looking, but all of them were so invariably weak of gumption. That was fine, she supposed. The world didn’t need a glut of conquerors tearing it apart, but she found she couldn’t enjoy the company of regular folks. Maybe it was the HCP’s fault for surrounding her with elite competitors. More likely it was her grandfather’s fault, but then again, she found the trade-off for what he’d taught her to be more than worth it. No, the simple truth was that Angela was a warrior, and the only men she’d ever found appealing had been like her.
    “You’re here early,” said a shorter girl with bright red hair and a set of dimples framing her smile. “You don’t usually show up until right before your shift.”
    “And a hello to you too, Cora,” Angela replied. “I’m here to congratulate my friend when his interview is done. He’s going to take over one of the bartending spots.”
    “Oh wow, that’s great. Are you sure he’ll get it though? Roger is really picky about his bartenders.”
    Angela answered her question with a smile that would set the hearts of foolish men on fire and fill the souls of wiser ones with a sense of inescapable dread.
    “Trust me. As of today, Chad works here.”
     

10.
     
    The once neat and tidy apartment that Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport shared at the back of Melbrook was now cluttered with boxes stuffed to their brims, full of files and papers. These, at least, were organized carefully, many labeled with the date of first review, and of any subsequent reviews that occurred afterward. The files and pages were similarly marked. Each bore an identical number, all in the same handwriting.
    Mr. Numbers made a few motions with his pen and stuffed yet another file into a box that currently bore no date. He reached for the next one, only to discover that nothing remained undated. His joints crackled as he rose, lifting the box and writing numbers on it, then selecting a new, unmarked one from the pile. Off went the lid, and out came the first file. He’d been at this all summer, and a little bit before, thus far filling and emptying the room twice. The others were doing their own investigations; however, this was the part that only he could execute. Lander had dozens of security systems, safeguards on top of safeguards, which made it an incredibly safe place to be. The downside was that, when something did