Chapter 6
Hustling her way into the lair’s infirmary, Sam's only focus was on finding Maxwell. She ignored the shift from the dimly-lit metal corridors of the hangar to the bright and freshly sterilized medical area. She passed the empty check-in desk at the front of the corridor and glanced into many of the branching hallways within. Most were dark and void of activity, but one hallway, farthest from the check-in desk, appeared to glow with white fluorescent lights. Sam walked over and peeked in, looking down a row of separated hospital beds tucked away behind individual translucent curtains. At the foot of one of the beds, sitting just outside its private barrier of fabric, she could see a pair of boots and pieces of a ripped-up uniform. Taking it as a sign of her friend’s presence, Sam rushed in.
As she pushed open the curtains surrounding the bed, she saw Maxwell lying comfortably under clean white sheets. He had a half-empty blood bag connected to his forearm. Despite his condition, he was casually playing on his phone and listening to music. Maxwell raised his head to properly look at her, but before he could say a word, Sam closed the gap between them with a strong hug that lasted for almost a minute. As they embraced, Maxwell could feel Sam’s racing heart begin to slow until she finally let go.
“You okay, buddy?” Sam asked. Her eyes darted from Maxwell’s face to where the sheets were covering his right leg. “Your leg’s not gone, is it?”
“See for yourself,” said Maxwell. Lifting up his blankets, he revealed that his pants had been cut open. Where there was once a shard of green crystal lodged in his leg there was now a clean stitch. Both his legs were still able to move, regardless of all the extra bruises and cuts Maxwell had acquired from the mission. “So, how did the meeting go? And did you get the name of your mystery girl?” Maxwell asked as he propped himself up, smiling.
“Well... I’m still alive. So I guess it went better than expected,” Sam said as she started to rub the back of her neck. “And no, let’s just say a lot of shit happened.”
“You’re looking really sweaty. Are you sure you’re okay?” Maxwell said as his tone grew worried.
Without hesitating, Sam took off her beret and started to wipe the sweat off her forehead. “Y-yeah, I just need a shower,” she reassured him. Maxwell, on the other hand, could see through her feigned cheerfulness as her tired eyes began to dilate and dart from one side to the other.
A faint shadow began to grow closer in Sam’s peripheral, heading towards them. With a panicked squeal, Sam spun around only to realize it was another fellow henchman. A masked henchman dressed in a turquoise nurse’s outfit had come to check on Maxwell with a tablet and water bottle in hand. “Let’s just save the talk for later,” Sam whispered to Maxwell.
“You here to pick him up?” asked the henchman in a voice filtered by the organization’s typical mask.
“Yeah, uh, how did you know?”
“Guy’s been begging to leave ever since he got here. Said he doesn’t wanna sleep here overnight,” the henchman answered as he began to unhook the IV. “And to be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t either.”
“You sure about this?” Sam said as she looked to Maxwell.
“He’s all yours, already confirmed the discharge against medical advice,” the henchman affirmed as he tapped away on his tablet. “Just uh, be sure he drinks a lot of water,” he added as he tossed the water bottle to Sam.
As the henchman walked away, Maxwell carefully got out of bed and stood up, and although Sam was still worried about his condition, Maxwell assured her that he could still walk, albeit with a slight hitch in his step.
Sam made sure to match her walking pace with his on their way to the locker bay. The two of them quickly showered and got dressed in their casual, non-threatening civilian attire. Maxwell, still bogged down by the paranoia clinging to him, maintained a death grip on the stolen ring as he transferred it from his uniform to jeans’ pockets. He planned to only let it go if he encountered another life-threatening situation. On their way out of the showers and lockers, the two of them passed by Dropzone 1’s open hall, cordoned off by a fence-like barrier and wet floor signs. A lone henchman was cleaning the floor with a mop, stained dark red. Guess it happened again, Maxwell thought.
At the entrance to the underground parking lot, a red-vested valet henchman stood at attention. Maxwell grabbed his wallet, took out an ID card and car keys, and handed them to the valet. The henchman hurried a lengthy way down the underground parking lot with both items in hand bringing Sam and Maxwell’s car up to the curb in no less than a handful of minutes. It used to be a simple black sedan, but with all the scratches and dents over it, there was no way of telling at just a glimpse. With its singular blue replacement door, it looked like it hardly had any reason to still be functional. The motor sounded like a horse at death’s door, and a random assortment of forgotten trinkets, mystery items, and plain old trash was scattered about on the floor of the backseat. With the ignition still running and the valet out of the driver’s seat and returning to his post, Sam made a quick attempt to nudge Maxwell around to the passenger seat.
“You’re in no condition. I’m driving El Vochito tonight,” Sam said to Maxwell. Maxwell wanted to argue, even if his friend was in the right. He begrudgingly shuffled into the passenger seat. Once they were both in, Sam drove her and Maxwell out of the tunnel that led to the forest road; it was the road that they had been initially brought in from. Maxwell eyed the blue portable toilet outside of the entrance as they left. Sure enough, it appeared inconspicuous in plain, unobscured view; it looked identical to the first time he saw it not too long ago.
“Wanna listen to ‘Wicked Waltz’ again?” asked Sam with a disk in hand.
Maxwell took a long sip of water before he answered. “Nah, too hyper. Switch to the smooth jazz channel or something.” He then shuffled in place and reached for the ring in his pocket. “And we can talk about this thing later,” Maxwell added as he opened the glove compartment in front of him and placed the ring gently inside. Finally, he leaned back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. Dispirited, Sam tossed the disk into the backseat and turned on the radio.
Ten minutes passed as Sam drove through the forest along earthy roads and unmarked dirt pathways making her way onto the main road. Sam estimated that it would take half an hour for them to reach LA and another hour just to traverse through the city and its overwhelming traffic to their home. We’re probably not gonna get home until after midnight, she thought. At the first stoplight out of the forest, Sam looked over to a half-asleep Maxwell.
“Okay, you gotta explain how your psychic powers work to me: clearly,” Sam said in a light voice, at last breaking the silence between them. “I saw you doing some crazy shit on the ride back from the museum.”
Maxwell, whose calm expression immediately began to furrow, sighed, and turned the music volume down to a murmur. “It’s telepathy. I used my powers to mess with their memories a bit and just... hoped for the best,” he said.
“So, you saw into the future, you changed the future by messing with some guy's head, and you made it so that we wouldn’t be on the boss’ chopping block?” Sam said, quickly glancing over to Maxwell.
Maxwell groaned. “Sam, you’re getting words mixed up again. My powers have nothing to do with seeing into the future.”
“Then freakin’ explain, man!”
“Telepathy is mind-reading. Precognition is like that fake fortune-teller crap; it's seeing into the future."
“Ohh…”
“Make sense?”
“Then how did you get the ring out of that locked case at the museum? Pretty sure you can’t mind-read that shit. Or… can you?’”
Maxwell suddenly raised his voice. “Look, I hate that I barely know what all of this is either, and you know that. Now can we please stop talking about this already?!” The sudden burst of rage shocked Sam and even himself.
“Jeez, man, sorry for being worried about my best friend,” Sam said, taken aback by it all.
The remainder of the drive back into LA was punctuated by an even more awkward quietness. At each turn and at each stoplight, Maxwell wanted to say something; he wanted to apologize. Each time, however, he was too worried about finding the right words to say anything. Sam, even with just a few stray, passing looks at Maxwell, could see remorse and melancholy written all over his tired face.
“You still wanna hear my full story?” Sam asked. Maxwell nodded. The arduously slow traffic in the city allowed Sam ample time to tell Maxwell everything about her experience in Gravitus’ lair while leaving some gruesome details up to the imagination.
“Great, I indirectly killed a guy,” Maxwell said as he slapped himself on the cheek. “Well, a ‘bad guy,’ but still…”
“Come on Max, you had no clue it’d end up like that,” Sam retorted. “Besides, we both know the risks of the henchman lifestyle, and he probably knew too.”
Maxwell turned to look at the window. “Yeah…”
“And you gotta admit, we'd rather be doing this than working at a lame cash register until we croak, right?”
“Unfortunately.” Right on cue with the mention of death, silence returned once again. Maxwell looked back at Sam who was once again quite focused on the road. “Okay, before the mood goes sour a second time, you wanted to talk about Ms. C, right?”
Sam’s back straightened and her eyes lit up. As requested, Sam went into greater detail on her interactions with Ms. J and Ms. C. “I mean, I know Ms. J’s under a lot of pressure and all, it’s just weird that I’m, like, the only one that gets publicly lashed out at by her. Oh, also, I think I made Ms. C smile?! And I never see her smile.”
The more and more Sam spoke about her co-workers in such earnest delight, the warmer Maxwell felt. Soon enough, the guilt of speaking up faded off of him. “I’m sorry. About earlier, I mean,” Maxwell said.
Their car came to a rest at another red light. Sam leaned over to Maxwell and gave him an obnoxious kiss on the cheek, prompting him to retort with a disgusted groan. “You are forgiven,” Sam said in a fake posh accent.
“You know I hate that, right?”
“I know, but teasing you is just too much fun,” Sam replied.
Chuckling in unison, both Sam and Maxwell could feel their empty stomachs growling. They decided to get something quick and filling on their way home. Ultimately, they decided to go to a favorite local Californian staple: Over-N-Under Burger.
Towering palm trees and street lamps surrounded the restaurant like a hidden, fenced-off island. In the middle of it, a newly-established white concrete sanctuary with red-and-yellow trimmings stood firm. In the vast surrounding emptiness of the parking lot, Sam took the opportunity to park as close as she could to the entrance; the car came to rest only a skip away from the front door. The red-and-white checkered interior of the fast-food joint was pristine; it was almost dream-like. It was the cleanest and emptiest Sam and Maxwell had ever seen a restaurant of its kind, no doubt.
A cashier rushed around the corner. “I’m comin- oh my gosh, Maxwell?” A woman’s brisk yet hoarse voice rang out from over the counter. As Maxwell looked in front of him, he saw a plump, pink-skinned cashier wearing a red polo shirt uniform come into view. Her sunflower-blonde bangs framed her green eyes and big smile while the rest of her hair was tied in a bun behind her uniform cap. He recognized her almost immediately but had almost forgotten her name: Beth. “I haven’t seen you since graduation! How’s life been treating you?” Beth asked as she leaned over on the counter.
“Well, I got a new job and it’s been… anything but boring lately,” Maxwell said as he pretended to chuckle.
“Cool! I’ve just been taking whatever I can get until the next good theatre gig pops up.” Beth peeked over her register to better see Sam behind him who was still looking at the menu above them. “So, who’s your big lady friend?”
“This is Sam. She’s my friend, roommate, co-worker, and the bane of my existence all wrapped in one.”
Overhearing them, Sam looked back down and gave a casual ‘sup’ to Beth. Immediately following, Sam wrapped her arms around Maxwell’s stomach and lifted him off his feet with ease. “Why don’t you be truthful and tell her I’m your BFF!” Sam yelled out with a smug grin stretching from ear to ear.
Maxwell let out an instinctual panicked yelp as he was being picked up. “Dammit, let me go!” he cried out, more in annoyance than anger.
Beth made an effort to not laugh but failed miserably. In an attempt to save a little bit of face in front of Maxwell, she put her hands over her mouth as she continued to giggle. “So, Sam, what exactly are you to Maxwell? Are you two, like, dat-”
Before Beth could finish, Sam snorted and desperately tried to hold her laughter in. She knew what a tricky direction the conversation was going to get itself into if it continued.
“Oh! Shit, I’m asking about personal relationship stuff again, I’m so sorry!” Beth said as she covered her face in growing embarrassment.
“You’re fine, Beth,” Maxwell said as he rolled his eyes at Sam.
A grating, loud voice yelled out from the fry cook station behind Beth, “Take the damn order already, Beth, it’s closing time!”
“Sorry, boss!” Beth yelled behind her as she took her hands off her face. “Well, crap, I lost track of time. Guess you guys are our last customers for tonight.” The duo looked at each other in surprise and then at their phones to confirm. Sure enough, both of their phones displayed that it was two minutes past 1:00 a.m.
“Whatcha getting? The usual?” Maxwell asked Sam.
“Screw that, I’m starving. Go crazy with your order like I am,” Sam offered as she took out her credit card. “My treat!”
Sam and Maxwell’s usual order was two burgers each and an order of fries to share. They considered doubling their order then committed to tripling it. It became a total of six double-decker burgers, four animal-style orders of fries, and fountain drinks for each of them; all of it was well over their usual budget.
Beth took the order as quickly as she could and the rest of her co-workers began working on the duo’s meals. While Sam walked to the side to grab their fountain drinks, Beth tugged on the back of Maxwell’s shirt to grab his attention.
“Hold up one second,” Beth said as she ripped a piece of receipt paper and scribbled on it with a pen. “It was great to see you again. Let’s hang out soon, yeah?” she whispered. Maxwell took the piece of paper and realized that it was her phone number as well as her social media tag.
“We’ll keep in touch,” Maxwell said as he waved back to Beth. The duo made their way back outside with their food atop two trays which were decorated with Over-N-Under’s company logo: a burger with the company’s anagram in the center. The O and U represented winking eyes while the lowercase N in the middle served as a frowning mouth.
“I should have asked for her number, too,” Sam teased once they were outside and out of earshot.
“Are you actually being earnest or are you joking again?” asked Maxwell.
“No, no, I’m serious this time! I like her. She's cute in a ditzy sorta way.”
The dark midnight sky was in full effect. Sam and Maxwell found themselves a table in the restaurant's patio area. Between the warm breeze in the air and the glow of the orange lights from the surrounding buildings, it was a picturesque late-night atmosphere. As they began to take their first bites into their warm and savory burgers, Sam asked Maxwell, “But, uh, does she know that she’s barking up the wrong tree with you?”
Maxwell paused mid-bite. “I’m sure she remembers. It’s only been, like, a year,” he replied.
“Yeah, but did you ever tell her directly?”
“Well, um, hmm…” Maxwell paused in thought. “I’m pretty sure Beth’s seen me kiss a dude, like once?”
“Has she seen you drinking at a party before?”
“We’ve met up at a few, yeah.”
“Then that’s an absolute yes,” Sam answered as she sighed. “I guess what I’m saying is: set the record straight with her next time you hang out with her.”
Maxwell grunted in acknowledgment as he continued eating.
“You are gonna hang out with her, right? You’re not gonna go shy and forget?” She said, making air-quotes.
“Yeah, you don’t have to worry this time. I’ve just been avoiding her because of… you know… our jobs.”
“But what about all that time in-between graduating and this new gig?” she added, finished licking her fingers clean of residual burger sauce drippings.
“...Okay, now that’s my bad. Won’t happen again.”
“Good, good.”
Maxwell took a sip of his soda and looked between the burger in his hand and the rest of the food on his tray. In a matter of minutes, both of them had finished two burgers each and a total of three orders of fries together in the matter of minutes of them sitting down and chatting. “You realize that we’ve basically been stress eating this whole time, right?”
“Yep! But at least I’m not proud of it,” said Sam, unwrapping another burger.
The sound of a small but powerful engine echoed down the streets. A tall and wide-shouldered figure riding on a red moped quickly turned a corner into the restaurant’s parking lot; his tires screeched as he did it. He parked next to the duo’s car and hopped off, quickly deploying the kickstand. As he ran towards the entrance, the man took off his helmet revealing his chiseled face and warm brown skin.
“Yo, can you guys watch my stuff for a minute?” the husky-sounding young man asked while fixing his short blue-black hair with his hands.
“Sure!” Sam called out as she gave the man a thumbs up. The man was fortunate enough that the doors weren’t locked quite yet allowing him to rush inside. Sam looked over to where his moped was, and on the back and sides of it were square black carrying bags stacked on top of one another. “He a delivery guy? I didn’t think they took orders this late.”
“Huh?” Maxwell said, having been oblivious to everything but the man.
The two of them heard the faint sounds of the manager yelling at the man to leave. After a minute-long yelling match between the manager and the man, along with a few bangs on the wall, the man was forced to leave. The manager was tailing right behind him to lock the doors. The man hung his head in defeat as he slowly walked back to his moped, checking his phone with one hand and stuffing the other in his pocket like a toddler.
“Uh-oh. Poor guy,” Maxwell said while grabbing more cheese-and-grilled-onion-covered fries with a fork.
“I saw the way you looked at him,” Sam said.
“Huh?” Maxwell feigned confusion in an attempt to hide the gleam in his eyes.
“Go talk to him. Hell, offer him an extra burger or something.”
“Dude, I can’t. My heart’s already racing just thinking about it,” Maxwell said as he looked Sam dead in her eyes. “Like, what if I’m not his type?”
“What’s there to lose? This place is literally empty, and If he says no, it’s all good. You probably won’t ever see him again,” Sam clarified. “But you gotta make a choice right now. He’s getting back on his bike.”
Maxwell took several deep breaths, nodded at Sam, and hobbled his way over to the mystery man. He moved as fast as his injured leg would allow but tried to play it cool as he caught up to the man preparing his moped.
“Hi there. Um, you still... hungry?” Maxwell said awkwardly avoiding all eye contact.
“Excuse me?” The man looked up, not startled but genuinely taken aback.
Sam yelled over, “We can share some extra food if you’re hungry!”
Without saying another word, Maxwell began to walk back towards the patio area, glancing backward and waving for the man to follow. Maxwell sat down in his original booth seat and the man plopped down right next to him. Minding his personal space, Maxwell scooted the farthest he could from him without looking embarrassed.
After the briefest of awkward silences, Sam broke the tension. “Name’s Sam and he’s Maxwell. He wanted to ask if you wanted to share some food. We got plenty,” Sam said as Maxwell handed the man a burger.
“Hey thanks! I’m Aiden, by the way,” he said.
“Aiden, huh?” Maxwell said curiously.
“Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot. I know I don’t look like an ‘Aiden,’ but that’s from my dad’s side.”
“Oh, no, I wasn’t commenting abou-”
Interjecting, Sam pointed grandiosely to the moped to grab Aiden’s attention. “So, Aiden, what’s with all the bags? I figure you’re not a delivery guy,”
“Well, I’m a freelance cameraman. Sometimes I take random small gigs, too. You know how it is.” Aiden answered as he took a bite of his burger.
“We kinda just freelance, too! But, uh, we just got back from hiking in the mountains.”
“Worked up an appetite for something a bit fried and fatty, huh? I get it.”
Disclosing anything about their true occupations was on a need-to-know basis. Aiden was not one of them. So instead, the three chatted about the mundane: movies, music, TV, video games, online gossip, and everything in-between. They liked punk and metal music; he liked punk and metal music. They liked schlocky horror films; he liked schlocky horror films, and so on. Their likes and interests were very close to being similar or just overlapping with one another. “How come we’ve never met you?” Sam jokingly asked. The commonality was so much so that all three of them shared a few laughs about it.
“Nice pants, by the way,” Maxwell awkwardly said as he side-eyed Aiden. Aiden wore obnoxious yellow tartan pants that fit tight around his long and toned legs. The low-neckline shirt he wore showed off just how built his upper body was - especially his pecs. His face was strong-looking with light stubble but still soft enough that he didn’t seem too obtuse. The more Maxwell covertly examined him, the more attracted he became in his mind’s eye. “I-I meant shoes!” he said, trying to save face.
“Oh shit, thanks! The shoes are Vams and I got the pants from Q-Nimbus,” Aiden replied. “But yeah, guess this means I owe you one for the food,”
“It’s nothin-” Maxwell tried to say before being gently kicked in the shin by Sam, snapping him back into reality. “I mean, yeah, man! S-sure!”
Sensing that the conversation was dying down, Sam got out of her seat and grabbed her tray. “Hey, lemme throw away some of this trash.” She awkwardly circled behind Maxwell and tapped him on his shoulders, signaling him to seal the deal with Aiden. Once the two young men were alone at the table, Maxwell put down his burger, contemplating what to say next.
“Uh, should we have told her about the trash bin right behind her seat?”
“No, she knows.”
“Then why is she-”
"I'm trying to flirt with you and failing miserably if you haven't noticed," Maxwell said firmly, trying to focus on Aiden with mild success. “She’s just trying to be a good friend is all, and I’m really sorry if you’re not interested in m-”
“I noticed,” Aiden replied, scooting closer to Maxwell. “And I think it’s pretty cute.”
Maxwell’s pale face started to flush bright red. In an attempt to keep his cool, Maxwell grabbed his soda and started to sip it, breaking eye contact. “Wanna just meet up for lunch or something?” he meekly willed out.
“How about we just make it a dinner date? Sorta like this again?” Aiden added.
“Y-yeah!” Maxwell answered, surprised by another blunt response. He and Aiden quickly traded numbers while Sam kept a close eye on it all from behind them.
Aiden took the last bite of his burger and looked back at Maxwell. “Hit me up whenever you’re free, Maxwell,” he said as he stood up. On the way to his moped, he passed by Sam and thanked her for her generosity. He left as fast as he had ridden in. The sound of his moped echoed, crescendoing down the street until it blended in with the rest of the city’s ambiance.
“Look at you, Maxwell. Snagged a priceless ring, reconnected with a friend, and got a date with a cute boy all in the same night!” Sam said as she walked back to Maxwell, patting him on the back with pride in her eyes.
“Heh, yeah…” Maxwell said with a genuine smile.
“Take that, shyness!” Sam blurted out with her fists in the air.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna fucking pass out in the car now.” Maxwell dragged himself back into the car before Sam was finished throwing away the rest of their trash. She drove as slowly and smoothly as she could so that Maxwell could get at least a few minutes of rest in the car.
Sam drove through several blocks towards a distinctly retro-themed motel in the middle of the city. The neon sign in front boasted “Luxury Motels.'' There was not a single light coming from any of the rooms or a single car in the parking lot, minus their own. Sam parked and climbed out of the driver seat, waiting on the other side of the car to help Maxwell out. Before he was fully upright, he made a sudden lunge back inside, diving for the glove compartment. Sam briefly panicked before realizing Maxwell was digging for the stolen ring. In the blink of an eye, he transferred it back to his pocket and hopped out of the car, slamming the door. The duo made their way towards the building and walked up a small exterior flight of rusted-iron stairs, not unlike a forlorn fire escape, and opened the tucked-away door to room 206.
Flicking the light switch, a single amber bulb illuminated a spacious open living room and kitchen; it was spacious, at least, comparatively. The well-decorated motel-style apartment had been the duo's home since their time in college. Their rooms were just around the corner to their right, opposite one another, divided by the entrance to the single bathroom.
Maxwell, ever the introvert, welcomed the sight of their simple home, and after shutting the front door, he immediately turned the corner and stepped into his modestly-decorated room. The cool blue circular-design wallpaper was a welcome sight that calmed his emotions. Sam dwelt for the slightest of moments in the kitchen, referred to as such solely because it had the stove, refrigerator, and other such appliances. Otherwise, the only thing separating it from the rest of the living room was a solitary island counter. She all-too-quickly decided she was more fatigued than hungry for dessert, however, and turned face to go to her own room. It starkly contrasted Maxwell's with a red rectangular-designed wallpaper, warmer tones, and more clutter throughout. Before shutting the door to the day, Sam locked eyes with Maxwell who was doing the same.
“Oh, hey,” Maxwell started. “It’d probably be best to keep this in your safe until we figure out how to pawn it, right?” He stepped closer to Sam’s room and held out the stolen ring.
“Good call. I’ll take care of it.”
After Sam grabbed the ring, they gave each other their habitual, "Good night" wishes, stepped into their respective rooms, and closed the day's chapter tight.
The exhaustion from a day of stressful supervillainy had finally found its clutches on Sam who started to take off her clothes and throw them across her room. She made her way to the safe in her closet, dialed in the code, and gently placed the Ringmaster ring atop her other safeguarded possessions. It was a strange cherry atop the ice cream sundae of her social security card, birth certificate, and other valuable mementos.
Sam fell asleep almost instantaneously, but Maxwell, although equally exhausted, couldn’t quite fall asleep as easily. Thinking about all of the things Sam had said during their car ride, Maxwell grabbed a small box hiding amongst several similar boxes under a stack of shirts in one of his drawers. Maxwell ripped open the paperboard packaging allowing a medical autoinjector to fall onto his bedsheets. He tossed aside the packaging and the instruction manual having memorized it sometime before. “Take the cap off the pen, press the pen against the thigh until it makes a beep from the blood extraction, and then wait five minutes for the results.” Already changed into an undershirt and boxers, Maxwell braced his left thigh for a sharp pain, taking care to choose his undamaged leg, before stabbing it and following through with the instructions.
As Maxwell waited in bed, ignoring the pen at rest on his nightstand silently working, he made sure to add Beth and Aiden’s phone numbers to his personal phone. It was mainly some simple busywork so that Maxwell could ignore the pen for a bit. As soon as the device beeped, however, all of Maxwell’s attention turned back to it. He lunged to grab the pen, covering its minuscule speaker just enough to dampen the sound so that only he could hear what was to come.
“We’re sorry, your Superhuman Validation results are negative. Better luck next time in the next decade!” a digitized voice from the pen exclaimed. Dejected, Maxwell opened another drawer at the very bottom of his dresser. As he pulled it open, torn packaging and other failed testers rolled forward, the results of all his previous attempts waiting patiently for the next trash day when they could covertly be tossed out. He threw the newest pen and packaging in; all of the contents blending together.
Maxwell turned his lights off and sat on the side of his bed, staring at the cluttered wall in front of him in balanced darkness and stillness. Eventually, he fell asleep as a full day of henching came to a close.