Aadita's Diary

The Scribblers are coming.

That should be exciting. The highlight of the school. Most of them are celebrating. The celebrity visit.

It reminds me of the Royal Wedding. Our entire street was decked out in Union Jacks - they'd painted the pavement red, blue and white. And my parents insisted we stay inside and watch old videos. They sent a letter to my school making sure I was exempt from celebrating "that joke", as they called it. And the teachers didn't understand, and the other kids thought I was weird.

It's like that now. The rest of them are getting the welcome banners ready. And I'm sure this is the beginning of the end.

I love this school. But it started when Rupert Campbell arrived. He wouldn't talk to anyone, he was so grumpy all the time. But then he talked to me. I have no idea why he trusted me, but he filled me in.

Six classes. One for each Scribbler.

Six tutors. Each with powers suspiciously similar to the Scribblers'. Each one teaching classes with similar powers.

I can use my powers to affect people's minds. So can every other kid in my class. I'm the top of my class. Everyone knows it. I've been allowed to choose a nickname - I'm Back-up. I've been allowed in the underground corridors far more often than anyone else. They're not just teaching me. They're preparing me.

I think that's why Rupert came to me first. But it's not just us - there's Beth too. She's been such a good friend to me at this place. I had to tell her. Rupert agreed. So that's us. Three of us against the conspiracy.

We've got our eyes on a few others. There's Zhou, the Chinese kid. I'm not allowed to see him. They say it's because of my powers, but I think he knows something, and it could compromise them all.

There's Rhian and Mike. I had them down as sheep, like the rest of them. Rhian didn't speak, Mike's Mr Popular. But since we learned the Scribblers are coming, Mike's stuck to her like glue. She's talking more than ever. And no-one believes me, but one night, I saw Mike down in the underground corridors - and he had her teddy bear with her. That's earth-shattering.

Everyone knows there's something up with that bear. It's not just a comfort blanket. I heard her talking once. I imagined she'd sound like a simpleton, but she's hard. She's confident and knows exactly what she's doing. Why would someone like that still cling to a bear like it's part of her?

Rupert thinks the bear does something to her powers. Boosts them, or something. Beth reckons there's a machine inside the bear that hides her - from people like Finesse.

I think they're both wrong. I think there's information in that bear. Maps? Stats? Letters? Something. Hidden in that stuffing is something incredibly valuable. And I think Mike knows what it is.

Whatever happens when the Scribblers come, I don't think the school will ever be the same again. Rupert doesn't think there'll even be a school. He can't wait - he's got a whole life waiting for him back home. Beth's torn, but she's got her friends and family too.

I don't think I could bear it without this place. I can't go back now. Not after this. I know what I'd do.

We'd go underground. Me, Rupert and Beth. Zhou if we can get him. Maybe Mike and Rhian. Six of us. Top of each class - the number one students. Whatever this place is, it's not just a school. They're preparing for something. Good or evil? In any case, they need us. Which means we have to cut loose.

This will be my last diary entry. I'm leaving the book here in case anyone finds it. Read through the old entries, and you'll learn everything you need to know about the school. Its pupils. Its teachers.

And its name. The name no-one even says out loud; the name that's removed from official documents.

The Monastery.

Messenger Chat Transcripts

Transcript 1

WARNING: Transcripts of all conversations are saved. They will only be read with permission from the headmaster.

ON-LINE: Abros, Contra

CONTRA
Morning, sweetheart!

ABROS
Literally never call me that again.

CONTRA
Lol!

ABROS
No, don't do that either.

CONTRA
You're no fun. Still fancy that drink tonight?

ABROS
Dying for it. Glass inisisted I finish all the kids' psych reports before knocking off.

CONTRA
Funny, she's not hassled me about 'em.

ABROS
Bet she leaves your class until last. The stressful ones.

CONTRA
Aw, they're alright. Apart from Kelly Robinson, the cow. She keeps attending my classes in the wrong order.

ABROS
Time-travellers for you. I take it Rhian's still not speaking?

CONTRA
Only to Mike. I can't work it out.

ABROS
Any clues in what she says to him?

CONTRA
He says it's just kids' stuff. Relationships and fears and that.

ABROS
Do you think he's told her he's gay?

CONTRA
Bet he has. Has he come out to you?

ABROS
No. I've tried giving him subtle chances.

CONTRA
You're not camp enough. Turn up in a tiara next week.

ABROS
I hate camp.

CONTRA
You love me.

ABROS
Shut up.

CONTRA
The thing I don't understand is, Rhian knows her way around this place.

ABROS
So?

CONTRA
No-one knows their way around this place! She's the only pupil I know who's never gotten lost in the underground corridors. And she doesn't talk, so she isn't asking anyone for directions. How does she do it?

ABROS
And she's still not using her powers in class?

CONTRA
That's if she has powers at all. We're only taking the headmaster's word for it, because He Must Be Obeyed.

ABROS
He can read these messages, you know.

CONTRA
Let 'im. Hello, sir. Hope all is well. Let's meet up for a chat some time. Oh, no, I forgot - you don't do chatting, do you.

ABROS
Mate, seriously. Bit of professionalism.

CONTRA
That's why he wants Rhian here. Find the only human being in the country more antisocial than he is.

ABROS
Hang on. Mike uses this messenger all the time. I've seen him.

CONTRA
Okay. Does that help?

ABROS
Well - who would he be talking to?

CONTRA
He's got loads of mates! Could be anyone.

ABROS
Yes, but there's a chance he's talking to Rhian, isn't there?

CONTRA
Suppose.

ABROS
Work it out! We could ask the headmaster for logs.

CONTRA
Veto! You can't go prying into the kids' messages.

ABROS
We'll ask the kids first, then. We'll ask if it's a problem. That way, maybe Rhian will finally talk, if only to stop us getting the logs.

CONVERSATION ENDS

*

From: Contra

FAO: The Headmaster

As discussed, I officially request the chat log from the account of Rhian Lewis - from her conversation with Mike Scale last Wednesday. I have spoken to both of them, and neither had any objection to the logs being seen, as long as they aren't read by anyone other than you, Abros and I.

Hopefully, this will give further insight into the mind of our quietest pupil.

Also, I officially request the chat log between Abros and me from our conversation last Friday. Please ignore comments regarding the headmaster in this log, which were typed by a mysterious figure while I went to get some crisps.

*

Transcript 2

WARNING: Transcripts of all conversations are saved. They will only be read with permission from the headmaster.

ON-LINE: Rhian, Death Quote

DEATH QUOTE
You're online! You're never online.

RHIAN
I'm online a lot. I hide.

DEATH QUOTE
I'm glad you're here, though. How was class?

RHIAN
I learnt a lot. It made me happy. How was yours?

DEATH QUOTE
Good. Abros said my writing is a lot better. He said it was because of my diary, but I think it's because I'm online all the time.

RHIAN
It's because you're good at getting better.

DEATH QUOTE
Thanks. I was distracted in class, though. You know Daniel Fisher?

RHIAN
I do. He heals people when he sings.

DEATH QUOTE
Yeah, him. I want him so much I could cry.

RHIAN
He is very handsome. You should talk to him.

DEATH QUOTE
No way. But I sit behind him sometimes, and it's brilliant.

RHIAN
He would be very lucky to have you.

DEATH QUOTE
He's too cool. I couldn't talk to him.

RHIAN
I could give you Teddy for luck.

DEATH QUOTE
No way! I mean, no way am I talking to Dan Fisher with a teddy bear, but seriously - you'd give me your bear?

RHIAN
Teddy is important. If you had him, you would be important.

DEATH QUOTE
Doubt it. I'd feel stupid, and I'd accidentally say something about his mother and break her leg with my stupid spell powers.

RHIAN
Alright. However, whenever you feel you need Teddy, you must ask.

DEATH QUOTE
That's an honour. Who else would you give Teddy to?

RHIAN
Only those I trust.

DEATH QUOTE
Anyone else in the school?

RHIAN
Never.

DEATH QUOTE
Anyone else in the world?

RHIAN
Chronal of the Scribblers.

DEATH QUOTE
Wow, I'm in an exclusive club, then.

RHIAN
He is coming.

DEATH QUOTE
Sorry? Chronal?

RHIAN
One day, he is coming to the school, with the rest of the Scribblers. We will see who he trusts.

DEATH QUOTE
Cool. Visit from the Scribblers!

RHIAN
It will not be a good day. But we will be safe.

DEATH QUOTE
Right.

RHIAN
And I will give him Teddy.

CONVERSATION ENDS

Zhou's Diary

Hello, diary.

I’m getting rid of my old diaries, because they’re embarrassing. This is a reset – a reboot, they call it in comics.

It’s a good time to reset my diary, because I’ve moved out of the group home, and now I’m living in my new school.

Okay, now it’s backstory time. My name is Zhou Xizhang. People in the group home used to call me John, because it was easier to pronounce, but my tutor Umbra says my real name is important. I asked her why she didn’t use her real name, and she said that Umbra is her real name. She lies, I’m certain.

I wish Mr Taylor was my tutor. He has been very kind since I’ve come to the school. He’s much older than everyone else who teaches here, and he makes me feel safe. I’m not allowed to see him when he’s teaching his class, because he has a student called Aadita who might be dangerous to me.

Aadita can change people’s brains. She can reset minds to an earlier point – she could make Mr Taylor have the memories and thoughts he had when he was five years old, for example. They don’t want Aadita to see me, in case she makes me remember the things I’ve forgotten.

I think it’d be nice to remember some things. I wish I could remember my parents. Apparently, I’m from Fujian, which is part of China. I don’t remember Fujian – apparently, the winters are warmer there. Which sounds nice.

I was taken from there to come and work in the UK. I don’t remember this either. Umbra says I’m better off not remembering, because it was probably horrible.

My earliest memory is when I was a brick. Then I stopped being a brick, and people were worried about me, and made sure I was okay. I was outside a house, and when the police checked the house, they found there were lots of people working there from other countries.

I must have run away, and then became a brick, and then forgot everything. Now when I become things, I don’t forget as many things. It’s hard to keep everything, though. Umbra is helping me. She can’t become objects like I can – she can become other people. But she says it’s the same for her – she has to remember who she really is, or she’ll stay as the other people forever.

I’m enjoying the school. The other students are nice, and I like most of the teachers. I wish Mr Taylor was my tutor instead of Umbra, but otherwise I love it here. I was allowed to keep all of my comics.

Mr Taylor wants to adopt me, but he thinks he’s too old.

Enrolment Interview

From: Aporia

FAO: The Headmaster

Here’s the transcript of the interview with Rupert Campbell, as requested. I’ll note my comments at the end.

*

Present: Rebecca Glass (deputy headteacher / tutor, manipulation), Aporia (tutor, perception), Ernest Taylor (tutor, the mind), Rupert Campbell (potential applicant).

Glass: The tape is now recording. I will be chairing this meeting, which is to interview Rupert Campbell to assess suitability for enrolment at [REMOVED]. Interview will be held with Aporia. She would be Rupert’s tutor upon enrolment.

Aporia: Hi, Rupert. I’m Aporia – sorry, Ms Glass, I can’t do the official talk.

Glass: Continue.

Rupert: Guys, to be honest, I don’t really want to come here. It’s my mum, she thinks I need special training, but this isn’t like a proper school, is it?

Glass: If I may? You’d continue to be tutored in academic subjects – that’s a legal requirement. But the emphasis is certainly on mastering your powers, yes.

Rupert: My powers are fine.

Aporia: May I ask what they are?

Rupert: Um, yeah, I suppose. My mum’ll tell you if I don’t. I can create illusions – like mirages? That’s what my mates call me – Mirage. But I can use them properly. I don’t need training.

Aporia: Training isn’t to use them properly, it’s to use them better. I would teach you how to use them more efficiently and stuff.

Rupert: Aren’t all powers different?

Aporia: To an extent, but here at [REMOVED], we specialise in specific sub-sets of powers. My speciality is perception, so I’d be teaching you.

Rupert: You have my powers, then?

Aporia: Not quite. I can make it so people doubt I’m really there. Tricky to do on purpose – for years, I’d just do it by accident. Got a phone call once – my mate upset I hadn’t been to her birthday party. I was standing right next to her when she phoned!

Taylor: Look, if I may ... It’s not really up to you, Campbell. I’m very sorry about that. Our job is to decide whether you’re suitable, but you’re still a minor.

Rupert: I know how this place works, sir. Obviously. You find kids to recruit, only you don’t choose everyone. I heard about these twins – something-or-other Garcia? You let in the girl, and not the boy. Why?

Taylor: We have limited space ...

Rupert: I think it’s because he was incredibly strong, and she could turn into animals. I don’t think you’re really trying to help these kids. And I think the only reason you’re letting me in is because I’m [REMOVED]’s son.

Glass: Sorry, Rupert. We don’t want you to feel unwelcome. You are a good fit for the school, and we really would take the best care of you. You’re right – we haven’t done much to ease your mind. If you like, Aporia can take you to see the rest of the building, and you can talk to some of the students here. You’ll find they’re all perfectly happy.

Rupert: Who’s doing something to me? I’m stuck.

Glass: Sorry, that’s me. I can stop you using your powers – keep them under lock.

Rupert: Then stop it.

Glass: I’ll stop when you stop trying to use them.

Taylor: Right, let’s get to it. The official questions.

Aporia: Oh, sorry, yes. I was meant to ask those, wasn’t I? Okay, how’s your school performance?

Rupert: Impeccable. Do you really need to ask? Straight As in my mock GCSEs. The best education money can buy.

Aporia: Right, yes. How many friends do you have?

Rupert: Are these really official questions? Okay, fine. Um, loads – the other guys in my dorm, we’re really close. My girlfriend, and her mates. I’m in a band with a few guys in town.

Aporia: Okay, good. We really push the social side in this place, so that’s a big help.

Rupert: Except I’d be leaving them all to come here.

Aporia: Last question – who knows about your powers?

Rupert: My mum, my girlfriend, the band, two of the guys in the dorm ... um, my cousins and maybe their friends. Probably loads of people they’ve told. It’s not a secret.

Taylor: That’s great. That’s all we need, isn’t it?

Glass: Thank you, Rupert. You’ll be shown around the school in a moment, but you’ve been a big help.

*

Comments: He seems like a nice kid, but I’m still really unsure. He’s got loads of friends, which we could use as our excuse not to admit him. We could say we’re afraid his education would be compromised by the move.

Problem is, there’s no way in the world [REMOVED] would accept that. I don’t think she cares about his academic education. She just wants him to maser his powers.

He’s a good match for my class, certainly. All I’ll say on a personal level is that I’d work hard to make sure he doesn’t turn out like his mother. Otherwise, I’ll be all professional, promise.

I’m sure you’ll speak to Ernest and Rebecca too, but they’re on opposite sides. Ernest sees no reason not to let him in, since his powers fit the bill. Rebecca reckons nobody should be allowed to buy their way in, not even [REMOVED]. She’s afraid it wouldn’t be long before we were just another private school, available to the highest bidder.

She also reckons that, the second we admit him, we’ll be overrun with Scribblers.

Alternate Vertigo 3

The room in which Dreamwave found herself was large and bright, but it also lacked windows. With its cream pillars and pale green walls, it was lavish but bland – it positively screamed “government chic”. It was warm, artificially heated. Dreamwave briefly wondered whether she was underground.

But she was already looking around. Her eye was caught by the enormous machine beside her. An enormous, ugly bank of computers, dark grey and chunky – straight out of the 80s. In front of the computers, wired into them, was a thick steel frame on a platform – and attached to the frame, by more wires, was a man in a postal superhero costume.

He wasn’t the room’s only occupant, however. A small cough drew her attention to the tiny man beside the machine. He wore a tatty grey suit which matched his hair.

“Good afternoon, Ms Dreamwave,” said the tiny man. “I’m Peter Copland, and I work for the government ...”

“Who’s that?” she asked indignantly, pointing to the man in the machine. She tried to hide her lack of confidence by standing as defiantly as possible. She wished the others were here.

“A lowly civil servant like myself,” said Copland. He turned towards the wired man. “You may leave now.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“This is Post-Man,” Copland said. “He can teleport. Not far - enough for the postal service, though.”

He patted the machine.

“But this beauty, the things she can do. She can use Post-Man’s powers better than he can. She can cover a broader area, and teleport other things to us.”

Out of his pocket, Copland pulled a yellow and orange duster. He exhaled on part of the ugly device and polished with the cloth. Post-Man had gone to stand at the side. He looked tired.

“You used this to bring me here,” said Dreamwave.

“She’s my pride and joy,” said Copland, as though he hadn’t heard. “She turns powers into computer data. Imagine that!”

“I assume I’m trapped, then?”

“What?” Copland finally turned back to look at her. “Good grief, no. We need a favour.”

The situation was so far out of Dreamwave’s normal depth, she had to keep herself from panicking as Copland explained the situation.

It seemed that, a matter of minutes ago, something had happened at a governmental science laboratory. Some of the Scribblers had been there, and now half the city was gone.

Yes, gone. But that was fine, because the remaining Scribblers were working on it. In the meantime, citizens were likely to panic, and they needed to be restrained until the problem could be fixed.

“That’s where you come in,” Copland explained. “This machine could extend all the way to Cardiff to collect you. But we don’t need to go that far – we only need to cover Dinas.”

“But it’s not that simple, is it?” said Dreamwave. “Post-Man only needed to teleport one person. I’ll be sending half a city to sleep.” She frowned. “Not to mention that I’ll need to keep them all dreaming in that time. REM sleep is all I can offer – I’ll have to create an entire alternate reality for these people.”

“It might take a lot out of you,” agreed Copland. “But you’ll be handsomely rewarded. I note your team’s been trying to access government grants?”

Dreamwave didn’t like this one bit. That sounded like bribery. And how could she be sure Copland really was a civil servant?

Well. One way, to be precise.

Dreamwave concentrated, trying to send Copland to sleep.

He chuckled. “I’m afraid Barbara won’t let you do that.”

“Who the hell is Barbara?”

Copland nodded at the machine. “Named after my wife.”

“She must be touched.”

“She’s dead.”

Copland polished part of the frame for a few moments.

“As a safety measure, powers are cancelled out around her. Just to be on the safe side.” He revealed an ID card from a dusty pocket on his jacked. “Here’s all you need.”

It was genuine, she could see that. Learning to recognise genuine governmental ID was a prerequisite to access their grants – no point funding superheroes otherwise.

She saw that she’d been handed something else along with the card. A cheque. A life-changing sum of money.

“What do I do?” she asked.

She was led to the frame, and wired in like Post-Man had been. As she leaned back, she felt ... bigger. Her powers were extending where they couldn’t before. It felt invasive, yet ordinary, like donating blood.

Dreamwave had never been able to sense people with her powers – that wasn't how they worked. She had to be able to see someone to send them to sleep. But she could feel the machine doing the work for her – channelling her powers into the populace.

Straight into REM sleep. Dream sleep.

And the dreams – those she could sense. She could feel them all, and when she wanted, she could look into them. An entire city full of dreams made her powerful. The machine made her more powerful still.

Dreamwave quickly started the job of building an alternate world for these thousands of people to live. In spite of her misgivings, this was fun.

Alternate Vertigo 2

Dreamwave couldn’t wait to get out of her costume. Three missions in a row, without a chance to shower.

Walking down Coleman Street, struggling with a pile of documents, she turned a few heads – but most of the locals were used to her and the others by now.

She reached the door to number 85, and scowled at the smell of damp from within. Struggling to hold her papers in one hand, she found her keys and unlocked it.

“I’m back,” she called, dumping the papers on the floor, next to an unopened Yellow Pages.

The house was a state. No carpets, a temperamental boiler, and a hole in the floor of the bathroom. But still, it was a base of operations – the first official headquarters of Alternate Vertigo.

In the living room, all of the furniture that came with the house had been pushed to one side, to make room for a large desk, covered in mountains of paperwork. Behind the desk, Insight was on the phone.

“Look, we really need those forms processed as soon as you can,” she was saying. “We’re depending on that grant. We could lose the house if it doesn’t go through and – look, I’ll call you back.”

Putting the phone down, Insight sighed deeply. She stood up.

“Claire. Thank God you’re back. Worst day ever.”

She clambered over the desk and hugged Dreamwave tightly.

“Is Eric back yet?”

“Upstairs in the shower. Got there before I got a chance, the bastard.” She ran a hand through her short brown hair. “I haven’t felt clean since we moved here, you know.”

“We’ll get there,” Dreamwave reassured. “It’s already looking better than it did. Thanks to you.”

“You’re right. I’m brilliant.”

“Anyway, important stuff!” Dreamwave announced, skipping back into the hall to collect a few papers. “We didn’t manage to stop Latent –“

“Who was Latent again?”

“Illusionist – the one with the warehouse full of documents?”

“Right.”

Dreamwave showed her the first of the papers.

“We managed to salvage some of them.” She flicked through the pages. “This one’s really dodgy.”

Insight’s eyes widened as she saw the information within.

“That’s not right. How did she get this?”

“No idea,” said Dreamwave, biting her lip. “This is really toxic stuff. I’m not sure if it’s all accurate –“

“We can check that.” Insight took the folder.

Trapeze walked in, a towel around his waist.

“Shower’s free,” he chirped.

“No time for that,” said Insight. “The woman in the warehouse had a document full of information on Wraith of the Scribblers.”

“You’re joking!”

Insight passed him the folder as she searched a plain black book for a phone number.

“She had a few pages on Chronal too,” said Dreamwave. “She might have escaped with more. Not much on the other Scribblers, except one thing.”

She took a sheet of paper from her selection.

“This one’s about Amity. No details, no information at all, except for one snippet. Her real name.”

Insight nearly dropped her book.

“No!”

Trapeze looked horrified.

“We’ve got to assume, then, that she knows everything. Her real name means she could get to her family, her educational history. Maybe she could use that to find out the rest of the Scribblers’ identities.”

“That’s assuming she doesn’t already know,” muttered Insight. She was dialling a number.

Then she stopped.

“Six seconds, front door!”

Dreamwave jumped to the side to let Trapeze pass.

Six second later, the door opened, revealing an eight-foot man with blades attached to his colourful suit.

The man lashed at Trapeze, grazing his arm. Instantly, Trapeze jumped into the air. He bounced off the ceiling, kicking the man with all his strength.

“Left leg!” called Insight.

Trapeze landed, and punched the stranger’s left leg hard, just as it was about to kick out.

Dreamwave joined him, and soon, the stranger was fast asleep.

*

“Any chance of more warning next time?” asked Trapeze.

“I’m working on it,” said Insight.

“It’s just that it’d be really handy if you could tell us stuff a day in advance.”

They were standing in the spare room. The giant stranger was sleeping on the bed, Dreamwave kneeling at his side.

“Okay,” she said. “I can see things. Just normal dream stuff, though. He’s sitting an exam. Naked.”

Insight shuddered. “Can you guide him along?”

“Of course,” said Dreamwave. “Are we thinking Latent?”

“Must be,” said Trapeze. “No-one else would have a reason to assassinate us, right? No-one else really cares who we are.”

“That’s because we’re called Alternate Vertigo,” mumbled Insight.

“Hey!” protested Trapeze. “That’s a great name.”

“It’s the worst name ever,” said Insight. “As I said at the time.”

“This is because it doesn’t reflect your powers, isn’t it?” he replied. “Dreamwave creates alternate realities, I can fly – would you like it more if we were Alternate Vertigo Foresight?”

“Good God, no.”

“He’s responding,” Dreamwave cut in. “He definitely knows her. He ... I think he hates her. Or resents her.”

“Not a loyal henchman, then,” said Trapeze.

“Hired help, then?” said Insight. “Try working out how much money he’s got. If he’s living in squalor, maybe he accepted money from her.”

“I’ll have him drive home,” said Dreamwave. “See what it looks like when he gets there.” She paused. “Actually, no need. Judging by his car, he’s not exactly strapped for cash.”

“Yeah,” said Trapeze. “But how much can you tell from someone’s car?”

“It includes his shopping,” Dreamwave explained. “This man lives in luxury.”

“So either it’s blackmail,” reasoned Insight, “Or it’s money, and Latent is hideously rich.”

Dreamwave stood.

“So far, then. We’ve got a probably-rich supervillain with loads of extremely well-sourced secrets on the Scribblers. And she knows we’ve got her paperwork, and she knows where we live, and she either wants us dead, or she just wants her paper back. Anything I’ve missed?”

“She knew we were coming,” said Trapeze. “Whoever tipped us off, she found out about it. She was clearing out that building when we got there.”

Dreamwave was about to say something else, but she didn’t get the chance, because without warning, she vanished.

Alternate Vertigo

Fred was nervous. He was in a dark warehouse, surrounded by his fellow soldiers, waiting.

“Soldiers”. That’s what Latent had called them. But Fred knew what they really were. Hired help, protecting the secrets of a costumed stranger. They weren’t soldiers. They were goons.

Exceptionally well-paid goons, mark you. Fred wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the money. Most of these terrorists had organisations to train the brain-dead in basic skills. This “Latent” clearly had bigger secrets to protect.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. Yes, there she was – dressed in black with a red pattern. Well, logo – branding was clearly essential to these people. She was shovelling documents from the large, dusty filing cabinets in the back of the otherwise empty space into a black car with darkened windows.

Like so many super-powered terrorists, Latent clearly wanted people to know she was enigmatic.

It was dawning on Fred why intelligence was such a wasted commodity for goons.

The stupid could just stand in wait without a care in the world. But he could see the truth. Latent was clearing out files. This was a secret warehouse, and someone had found out about it.

Beside him, Bob was sleeping.

"Bob!" he hissed, giving him a nudge. "Wake up!"

Bob didn't wake up. He remained firmly asleep, but outstretched his arms.

Fred looked around, alarmed. Others were beginning to notice.

By now, Bob was miming - holding his arms as though he was fishing. Suddenly, it was as though he'd caught a fish - he was pulling back, spinning the imaginary reel.

"Bob, seriously." He nudged, and shook, and even slapped his fellow goon - but nothing would bring him around.

Oh, God. This was a superhero thing, wasn't it?

At great speed, something flew from one end of the warehouse to the other. Fred tried to follow its path, in time to see it kick three of the men to the ground. The flier landed on the ground and looked up.

Fred didn't recognise him, but the costume said it all. Purple and silver lycra showing off the muscle underneath, covering every inch of the stranger, apart from his dreadlocks. The soldiers were turning to face him, but he was up again - flying like a trapeze artist, spinning and kicking and taking people down with astonishing speed.

Bob was no longer the only sleeping agent. Four others were standing on the spot, performing various mimes. One was dancing, two were running on the spot, and the fourth was trying to swat a fly.

The flier was ignoring them, focusing on the strongest of the men first.

Right, thought Fred. He's probably not responsible for the sleepers. That must be someone else. So let's find them.

Fred ran for the far end of the warehouse, where a ladder allowed access to the upper walkways. He climbed with speed, looking around as he did so.

Yes. There she was. A blue and purple costume, and a strangely-shaped helmet. She was staring intently at the sleeping goons.

As silently as possible, Fred made his way towards her. He reached for his truncheon. This had to be quick. One leap, and -

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!"

Oh, of course, it was his birthday. And where better to spend it than this luxurious hotel, with his wife and children?

The evening was a blur. Cake and champagne, swimming in the pool, a great chat with some Australian tourists. Wonderful.

At the end of the evening, Stephen gave him his present - a DVD box set - with a hand-made card. On the front was an illustration based on a photo of Fred from his time in Iraq. It nearly broke his heart.

Lisa had left her gift at school, so in the meantime, she'd bought him a horrible singing fish from one of the tourist shops. They laughed long and hard at that, until Esme insisted that such a crime against batteries must be stopped at all costs.

After the kids had gone to bed, Fred sat with Esme in the moonlight, enjoying the warmth.

"I love you, Esme," he said.

"Good," said Esme. "But listen. You've done some bad things, Fred."

"Hmm?" He thought about it. Yes, he had, hadn't he? A distant memory now. Yes ... those girls from abroad. Those lorries. Had that really been him? It didn't feel like it.

"Yes, you remember," Esme went on. "That's why I've made an exception for you. I only give people nice dreams, you see -"

"What are you talking about?"

"It's a matter of principle. So you're here on holiday with a loving family." Suddenly, her face was different. Hard. "You don't have a loving family, Fred. And right now, you won't believe me, but when you'll wake up, the loss will hurt, and that'll stay with you."

Fred was on his feet.

"Who are you? What have you done to Esme?"

"You're going to prison, Fred," she said. "Do spend that time thinking about the best way to get all this back, won't you?"

Fred was shaking his head violently. "No, no, this isn't right, this-"

He was in the warehouse. The woman in blue and purple looking down at him. Around him, he could see dozens of his fellow men - all flat on the floor. Asleep? Out cold?

"Sorry you had to miss the fun," called a deeper voice - the flier. "We won while you snoozed."

"Who are you?" asked Fred. He could barely speak. The hotel still felt so vivid.

"We're Alternate Vertigo," said the man. "Give our regards to your cellmates."

Mike's Diary

My name is Mike. This is my book. I was given it by a man. The man’s name is Abros and he is my teacher.

I’m not very good at writing I don’t think but Abros thinks it will be good for me. There are things I can’t talk about and Abros said I should write them down instead.

I don’t know what to write so I’ll talk about me.

I am fourteen years old. I am from Cardiff. I lived there with my dad and sister. I didn’t like it there. My dad hates me. I didn’t like school either. I didn’t have friends.

I have a magic power. I hate it. If I say someone’s name they die. Two people and a cat have died because I said their names. I didn’t mean to kill them. After I killed a policeman, I was sent to see a special policeman who said he could help me.

Now I am in a different school which is not really a school. Everyone here has magic powers but most people have better powers than me. Abros can use magic words to make spells. If he says “protect” it makes invisible shields. If he says “flight” it makes him fly.

But Abros told me he accidentally killed someone too. He said a bad word and killed a man. The man was a murderer so I don’t think it is as bad. But Abros said he was really upset about it and that he had to learn it was not his fault because he didn’t mean to kill him.

Abros is teaching me to use my magic power. If I name someone I kill them. But if I describe them or use a nickname it hurts them. He is teaching me to work out how to describe people so I can use my power to fight. That's why he gave me my book. I need to be a better writer.

Also when I'm writing it means I can use people's names and describe them and it doesn't hurt them.

Everyone is nicer to me in this school. There are no bullies. Sometimes people eat with me at lunch and we watch films together.

My best friend is called Rhian. She is fourteen like me. She says she can travel through time. She has a teddy bear which she takes everywhere with her but nobody knows why. She doesn’t talk to anyone else. She only talks to me. Her teacher is Contra and he asks me about her a lot. They think she's stupid but she is the cleverest person I've ever met. She calls me Death Quote.

I like this place and I like Rhian. I like Abros and Contra. But I am still sad because I miss my sister and even though Abros says I didn’t really kill her I think I did.

A Letter From The Post-Man

Hi, Caitlin!

Sorry I have to e-mail you – if you’re under 16, they don’t let you use the phones after 6 o’ clock. I have literally no idea why that is.

Anyway, I owe you the whole story, so here it is.

Last day of term, when I had to go to Mr Pearce’s office, there was this woman with him. Rebecca Glass, she’s called, and she’d been called in because of my “special needs”, so I obviously thought she was, like, Director of Weird Stumpy Arms at some hospital. She asked if I was happy at school, and whether I’d want to move. I wasn’t impressed, so I was like, “It’s just my left arm, dude”. She called me Elizabeth too, so I was sulky.

But it turns out it wasn’t another arm thing – it was the Other Thing. I didn’t like that – I’d only told you and mum about the Other Thing, and now Random Lady knew about it! And was talking about it in front of Mr Pearce!

But it turns out (these four words will be the beginning of a lot of paragraphs in this e-mail) that Mr Pearce has this understanding with the Secret Place I’m at, where he keeps an eye on people, and lets them know about people like me. Remember Phil Cray from the year above? He’s here too.

So, first thing’s first – my Awesome Super Powers. I’d kind-of worked it out, but Ms Glass explained the full story. I have the ability to manipulate powers. You know Finesse, the Scribbler? Her power’s similar, apparently. But the way mine works is, I can boost people’s powers. Any powers. Remember when I said I was thinking happy thoughts when you won the 1500 metres in the summer? Turns out those happy thoughts probably made you run faster. Sorry about that. But that’s how Mr Pearce noticed me.

Powers are like muscles, right. The more you use them, the better and stronger they get. And if you don’t use them, they weaken. So right now, I can nearly double people’s powers. But if I practice, they reckon it’ll be a lot more than that. And that’s cool for running and stuff, but it’s even better for other superheroes.

This place is, like, a school for teen superheroes. I assumed it was that government thing at first, but they’re not associated with the government at all – they’re an independent thing. It’s not really a training programme, even though some of us get trained – it’s more like Hogwarts for super-powered people. Ms Glass is my tutor, and there’s eight kids in the class. There are five other tutors, and most of their classes are bigger.

The headmaster is awesome and/or weird. No-one’s seen his face, and he dresses like a villain IMO. The first-years tell scary stories about him, like he’s really Mr Sintaro or something. It is lame. But he’s always been really nice when I’ve seen him – I think he comes to our class more than the others. We reckon he and Ms Glass have a Thing.

So, sorry about the vagueness of this message. There’s confidential stuff I can’t say, but it’s mostly boring. You know – the address and stuff.

Missing you loads. Get bitten by something radioactive so you can come too!

Love,
Beth

Scribblers: Vignettes

So, I thought I'd just write a series of these, as they occur to me. If I remember to actually do them they'll mostly be about just small moments in the Scribblers' lives, done in prose rather than script. The tone in each will probably differ wildly, but there we are. Other people should feel free to add to these.

It was a friendship forged almost out of necessity, really. Her mother was Allergic to animals and so wouldn't have them in the house; therefore the first time Shift ever absorbed the genetic sequence of another creature it was both accidental and a squirrel in a complicated anecdote involving the playground antics of Year Nines. Fortunately, no one else was around when the shock of suddenly having the excess DNA caused Shift to spontaneously transform both body and mind and scamper wildly up the nearest tree to tremble and think about acorns except Finesse, so the biggest headache was averted right there. Unfortunately, Finesse's own powers were still unrefined at the time, and she required physical contact to activate them. Saving Shift, therefore, became an entertainingly complicated ordeal in which Finesse had to rather hurriedly refine her tree-climbing powers, and ultimately both were only saved by the pile of gym mats Finesse had wisely thought to place beneath the tree.

Ultimately both learned the fine details of their powers, but the friendship stuck anyway. Shift was somehow immune to the usual tinnitus people developed after listening to Finesse's opinion on something, while Finesse's ears seemed somehow permanently attuned to the uniquely quiet wavelengths of Shift's voice. It was a working system.

Also they were united by their theory that the school was being run by a terrorist cell posing as the Deputy Heads, a theory that was erroneously dismissed until its tragic conclusion a few years later. Conjoined smugness makes a wonderful glue for friendship.