Finally, he settled on the latest issue from TIPS magazine. From 1985. Although seriously outdated and being a government owned rag, it still had interesting articles on detecting threats, both small-time and national, and keeping the homeland safe. Clarke soon lost himself in an article on the importance of border patrols until the doctor finally showed back up.

“He’s stable,” the doctor announced to Clarke. “I don’t know how you did it, but you likely saved his life.”

“Glorious,” Clarke said flatly. He stood, throwing the magazine on the table. “I’ll be going now.”

“Hold on,” the doctor said. She held a hand out and stood in his way. “I still have questions, but first, I need to ask for your help.”

“What makes you think I can do anything to help?” Clarke asked. “I’m filthy and I don’t have a medical license.”

The doctor leaned in and spoke in a whisper. “Because I know who you are Richard Clarke.”

Clarke’s eyes shot open. It was rare for people to figure out who he was unless he toppled a building with his bare hands or walked through a firefight unscathed. He would often have to change his appearance when forced to use his powers in public to avert a catastrophe. This woman was able to figure out his identity without ever seeing a hint of his ability.

He returned the doctor’s tone and volume. “If you know who I am, then you know what I can do to you when you’re standing this close to me.”

“I do,” the doctor said, grinning. “I also know you won’t do anything to me. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’ve gotten in my way. Twice now if you include asking me to stay earlier.”

“Yes, but only because I’m desperate.”

The doctor extended her hand. “I’m Doctor Hall. You can call me Chloe though.”

Clarke stared at her for a moment before taking her hand in his. He sterilized it as he extended to save her the trouble. “Doctor Hall,” he nodded.

Hall rolled her eyes at him, but gestured that he follow. They both walked out to the parking lot and around the side of the building. The grass was either stripped or dead in the adjacent field, but what caught Clarke’s attention was the generator linked up to the building. It was beaten and battered, but still hummed. Barely.

“That’s our backup generator,” Hall explained. “The main power lines were cut earlier this week by gangs trying to terrorize everyone. They also attacked our generator here because we wouldn’t give in and pay them to go away.”