“Power. A power that works. Position, with a place to belong. A world of your own, if you want it. Endless wealth. Name it, or name several.”

Teacher’s men were arming themselves with ray guns.

“That kind of generosity makes me suspicious.”

“Tell me, William. Did you trigger with other parahumans nearby? Did they have a role in things?”

“In most circles, it’s rude to ask about triggers.”

“I did. The PRT called those with powers having to do with powers trumps. The nullifiers, the people who choose their own powers, the power granters. I’m a granter.”

“Sure. I was a Ward, for the record. Briefly Protectorate.”

“And you know the kinds of events that lead to certain triggers. A need to get away leads to movers. Physical injury leads to brutes. The involvement of powers leads to the complicated trump classification. I think you’re a trump.”

“You’ve read my files. You already know.”

The gate that was hooked up to generators was being powered. Electricity crackled, arcing inside the gateway until it looked like the ‘door’ of the arch was a solid pane of crackling energy.

“This gets us past defenses,” Teacher said. “And it carries us laterally, not just to the same point in space in a different reality. Follow.”

Then he strode forward, into the electricity. William could see him flinch at the touch of electricity, the burning of clothes.

Not perfect. Worse, if that broke his concentration, augmented as it was…

Better that it happen now than later.

He marched forward, his strides long. His hands pushed his sweat-damp hair out of his eyes and against his scalp.

Lightning kissed him, and then licked across his arm, up to his sleeve. The arm burned, and the sleeve was set on fire. Another shock made his body go stiff, and he felt one of the things slip out of his hold. His back.

He staggered through what felt like a very long tunnel, collapsing to his knees. Teacher’s minions were fanning out along the length of a hallway very similar to the one they had just left.

“What is this?” he asked.

Teacher pressed his finger to his lips.

William did what he could to suppress the back pain. Harder, now that it had been reapplied.

Together, they walked down a corridor. They reached a door where two guards already slumped down against the ground.

One of Teacher’s minions hurried to the electric keypad, attaching something to it, then dialing.

The door cracked open.

“Good, we’re clear,” Teacher said. “We can talk normally.”

One room, with a comprehensive medical array. A young man lay on the table, bandages heavy around his lower face, a machine managing his feeding, hydration, and breathing. A catheter tube extended from beneath the blanket.

“Valefor. You’re playing with fire, Teacher.”