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    BKWildenberg
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
This story contains a brief depiction of assault, comic-book violence, and graphic language. 

The Syndicate - 17. Chapter 17 - Ronnie

Ronnie's first week at the Syndicate flew by. The days began early, with orientation classes designed to teach him the overall structure of the Syndicate, as well as the major rules and regulations. It turned out that an international crime-fighting organization had a lot of red tape to navigate in daily operations. Generally speaking, it was the job of Syndicate Support to know the guidelines inside and out, but all new trainees were given a crash course. The classes were dense and pretty dull most of the time, but Ronnie did his best to get through them. He got the impression that Taran was a stickler for the rules, and he didn't want to let him down. Orientation was also the one part of the day that Ronnie felt he actually managed to be successful at.

After morning classes, it was lunchtime. For the first time in his life, Ronnie had a group of friends to eat with. Maya, Taran, and Lydia joined him, and through their conversations, he learned more about what a Syndicate hero's life was like. Taran and Maya had recently been on a mission at a museum that had not gone according to plan, and someone managed to steal the jewels they were meant to investigate. Maya and Lydia had spent the last few days in the research library searching for clues, but no new information had come up regarding the Jewels of Katar, or who could have been behind the burglary. Ronnie noticed that the mission's shortcomings had put a cloud over Taran's mood. It appeared he was unaccustomed to field operations not going his way, and the mysterious jewel thief left him distracted. Taran was back to himself a few days later, smiling and doing his best to help Ronnie.

It turned out Ronnie needed all the help he could get. Every day after lunch, he went with Taran to the small training room for meditation exercises. And every day, he had ended up exhausted and dizzy, nearly retching up his meal as his vision spun around him. No matter how hard he tried, his powers fought against his focus, leaving him mentally and physically drained.

Taran had been there every day to make sure Ronnie got through it. Keeping him steady on the walk back to the locker room, trying to keep his spirits up when Ronnie got frustrated after yet another incomplete exercise. Taran repeatedly stressed that everything was perfectly normal, that it often took a long while for trainees to lock onto their power sources. Ronnie had once asked Taran how long it had taken him but didn't get an answer. He had a feeling he didn't want to know.

It was Friday, Ronnie's fifth consecutive day of being in the training room. He sat in his spot at the center of the room, already prepared for the worst.

"Today's the day, I can feel it," Taran told him. His dark eyes sparkled in the light of the room. "You're so close. Just keep in mind all that you've learned this week."

Ronnie closed his eyes and began to meditate. After a few breaths, the tingling in his fingers began, and he could feel the soft glow of the light. In his mind, he saw the light flow once again around his fingers. With a bit of prodding, it formed into a small sphere in his palm. This part had gotten easier over the week. He was able to push the construct with his mind, and it rolled smoothly across the surface of his hand. It thrummed with energy, and its shape was more stable than ever before.

"Don't forget to breathe," Taran's voice called out. It seemed so far away.

Ronnie slowly took a breath.

Inhale.

He continued to focus on the energy in his hand, imagining it sinking slowly into his palm. He felt its warmth under his skin.

Exhale.

The green glow of energy began to fade in and out in time with his breathing. He pushed the sphere with his mind, and it rolled around under the skin of his palm. It appeared to snag on something at the base of his wrist.

A new development. Ronnie turned his focus to the snag, which shimmered with a faint silver light in his mind. It reminded him of a thin, delicate root. A tendril that responded every so slightly when Ronnie pushed his thoughts against it. He nudged the energy globe onto the thread, which began to wrap around it.

He shifted his focus further down his arm, and the ball continued to follow the shiny silver thread. The power traveled up his forearm, weaving back and forth as it matched the path of the pale tendril, pulling in some of the energy of the thread as it advanced. The tendril's route meandered, Ronnie felt a whisper of it passing through bone and muscle. Like a spool of thread come undone inside him, it was tangled and messy, but always progressing further towards his core.

The power sphere was soon at his shoulder. Ronnie could feel the energy radiating at the base of his neck. The shimmering thread was growing wider and becoming more challenging to travel along. With another breath, Ronnie pushed his focus harder against the sphere. It slowly rolled across his shoulder and along his collarbone. The energy had grown brighter and more intense. It felt heavy in his throat, and the heat from the orb was starting to become painful, like a match held against his skin. The sphere had grown to be the size of a fist, resting just below his adam's apple.

Ronnie's focus slipped ever so slightly. From far away, he could feel the sweat on his forehead. He sensed his hands resting on his knees, how they were starting to shake from the effort. In his momentary lapse, the sphere of energy began to fight back against his efforts, like it wanted to retreat back down the tendril's path. It knocked violently back and forth, nearly impossible to hold on to. Ronnie's heartbeat was pounding in his ears. He could feel his grip on the images starting to slide away, unsure of how much longer he would be able to hold them together.

"You got this, Ronnie. You're almost there!" He heard Taran's voice again. Why was it muffled and so far away? Ronnie pushed it aside as the sphere continued to buck under his focus, trying anything to escape his hold. With a final breath, Ronnie forced the energy down from his throat with as much effort as he could muster. It rolled with a shudder down his chest, before sinking into his sternum.

The vision in Ronnie's mind exploded with a violent green light as the ball of energy fit into space deep within his chest. Every nerve ending was on fire as the shimmering silver tendrils grew from his chest and snaked along his entire body. One strand branched out into two, which quickly split again into four. Over and over until the impossibly thin fibers embedded themselves deep into his muscles and bones. Ronnie felt them everywhere, stretching to his fingers and toes, and even behind his eyes. A network of pathways had grown from the concentration of energy that was now socketed behind his ribcage. Its light grew in intensity once more, then pulsed and raced down each newly created path.

Ronnie's eyes shot open as a wave of energy burst out of his body from all sides, ripping the floor mats up and flinging them outward. The wave radiated like a ripple in a pond until it slammed against the walls of the small room. The windows on Ronnie's left were blown out, and he heard the mirrors on the far wall shatter. Glass shards rained down onto the floor. Then there was silence.

Ronnie's vision suddenly spun, and he slumped over onto his side. He gasped for air and clutched at his chest, which felt like it was on fire. Ronnie wiped the sweat from his eyes and tried to sit back up. He was hit with the realization that he was the only person in the room. Taran was nowhere to be seen.

"Taran?! Anybody?!" He called out. Surely there had to be a camera or something in the room. He tried to locate one but found nothing but broken glass and dust.

The door to the room opened slightly. Ronnie sighed with relief when Taran peeked his head in.

"Ronnie, you doing ok?"

"Oh, thank God. I thought I hurt you."

"No, I'm alright! I ducked behind the door when I saw you were really struggling." He looked around the room and inspected the damage. "Which appears to have been the right move."

"Taran, I'm so, so sorry! I thought I was controlling it!"

"You didn't do anything wrong! I had a feeling this might happen." Taran swept his arm over the ground, and a gust of wind picked up. It carried all the debris: glass, dust, and plaster to the other side of the room. He sat down next to Ronnie again. "That burst of energy. You did it! You found your focal point."

Ronnie nodded and put his hand on his chest. "Right here," he said, still trying to catch his breath.

"Tell me about it. What does it feel like?"

Ronnie explained the sphere of energy in his chest and the branching network of pathways. "What does all that mean exactly?" he asked Taran.

"Think of it as a mental shortcut. Before this, your mind was blocking you from realizing your full potential as a self-preservation tactic. You could get outbursts of power during times of stress or danger -- like that night in the alley-- before your powers went dormant again. They were mentally locked down, but now that the door's unlocked, it should be a little easier to have control over your powers. The more you practice, the stronger that connection will be."

"And this is the same for everyone?"

Taran nodded. "For most of us who developed powers naturally, yes. But mentally, we all visualize it a little differently, and it's a pretty personal thing. My focal point is right here, in a spot behind my eyes." He put two fingers on his left temple. "During my exercise, it was like hundreds of tiny mirrors radiated from that spot and scattered into the sky, blown around by the winds.

"I think that makes sense. Your power doesn't come from within you, you manipulate what's already there."

"Exactly! And once I managed to focus all of those mirrors back to me, they began to orbit around me in a giant ring. I accidentally sent a tornado down the hallway." Ronnie gasped, and Taran laughed before continuing. "Like I said, it happens a lot around here. Best just to avoid this room when a new person is here."

Ronnie was still breathing heavily, but he could feel his heart rate start to return to normal. He was absolutely exhausted like he had just done a mile on a full sprint. "What more is there to do today?"

Taran laughed. "That's all for today. For both of us, actually. I made sure to clear my schedule, because there's really no way of knowing how long this exercise will take, but I knew this was the day you did it!" He looked at his watch, "You managed to complete it in about four hours.

"What?!" Ronnie was shocked. This was the hardest day yet, but he had no idea that he had been out of it for so long. No wonder he felt so drained. "That's crazy!"

"Yeah, time really flies, doesn't it?" Taran smiled, and Ronnie couldn't help but do the same. Finally, after a week of failure and frustration, a better day.

Ronnie was absolutely elated and realized he didn't want the feeling to go away just yet. "So… what are you going to do with the rest of your night?" he asked.

"Honestly? I hadn't given it much thought. It's been forever since I've had a night off, though."

Ronnie got to his feet, a little wobbly at first. As he managed to stand and stretch out his sore muscles, he suddenly believed he had been sitting on the floor for four hours. He reached out a hand to Taran and pulled him up off the mat.

"Well, that settles it. We're going out tonight!"

Copyright © 2020 BKWildenberg; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Finally, not just one but two breakthroughs, one with his power and learning how to control it and the other with his relationship with Taran. "Is this a date?" You bet it is and these two getting together will be good for both of them. I'll bet that when he finds out about it, Taran's father will be totally pissed off because there goes his last hope for a grandchild. On the other hand, there are many, many children out there in the real world who need parents even though they would have no mysterious powers they still would have the powere of love.

Mister Will

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