Chapter 7 #2
“I’m not Superman, if that’s what you’re asking. I can be hurt. I just heal faster than most.” He shifts in his seat. “My weaknesses can be sustained assault, overwhelming force, plus some other factors I’m not at liberty to say. I’m not technically invincible, just very, very hard to kill.”
“And of course,” Rachel adds smoothly, “Vanguard won’t be operating alone for much longer. Global Dynamix is committed to expanding our protective capabilities.”
Vanguard’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Interesting.
“You mean Paragon?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
Rachel’s smile falters for just a moment. “I’m not at liberty to discuss unannounced initiatives.”
You brought it up! I want to say, but I keep it inside. Besides, she didn’t deny it. And Vanguard is very carefully not looking at anyone.
“What about your head?” I go on, and he meets my eyes with raised brows. “A bullet to the brain would kill anyone. Wouldn’t that kill you?”
Rachel clears her throat sharply. “I think that’s getting into security-sensitive territory—”
“It’s fine, Rachel.” Vanguard holds up a hand, his eyes never leaving mine.
“She’s asking a fair question.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, close enough that I catch that scent again.
Sandalwood and cedar, an outdoorsy smell that stands out on a city boy.
“The suit has defenses. Forcefield tech built into the collar. Activates to protect vulnerable areas. And my reflexes are fast enough to dodge most things before they become a problem.”
“Most things.”
“Most things.” His gaze holds mine. “I try not to test the exceptions.”
There’s a weight to the way he says it, like the golden boy has spent some late nights wondering exactly how breakable he really is.
I like that. Maybe that makes me a sadist.
“Of course, none of this takes away from the fact that he’s indestructible and invincible,” Rachel says sternly.
Even though he just admitted he isn’t.
“Right. Chalk it up to semantics,” I concede. Then, I go for the big one. “What about poisons? Can you survive being poisoned?”
He blinks at me, and Rachel speaks up again. “That’s classified, Ms. Baxter,” she says sharply, in a tone that tells me to watch myself or I’ll lose the interview. Fine.
“What about your suit?” I pivot back to him. “It’s not just for branding, I assume.”
“It’s not.” He relaxes slightly, back on safer ground.
“It’s heat-resistant and friction-resistant, which is important when you’re flying at high speeds.
You don’t want anything to snag. Then, of course, the forcefield I mentioned.
Comms integration. It’s basically tactical gear that also happens to look good on a poster or an action figure. A multi-purpose uniform.”
“Do you ever take it off?”
The words come out before I can stop them, and I realize a beat too late how that sounds. Rachel coughs loudly. Jason suddenly finds his tablet very interesting.
Vanguard just grins, another real one, sharp and surprised and dangerously charming.
“I happen to get naked when I take a shower and do other things, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Bloody hell, Mia. Get a grip.
“I wasn’t, but thank you. Moving on,” I say, looking down at my notes to hide the flush creeping up my neck. “Your gloves. You took them off when you came in. Are those part of the tactical gear as well?”
“They are.” He flexes his fingers, and I try not to stare at the size of his hands. “Enhanced grip, heat-resistant. I wear them almost everywhere. Old soldier habit—you never know when you’re going to need to grab something on fire.”
“Or someone.”
“Or someone,” he agrees, and there’s a strain in his voice that makes me wonder how many burning people he’s pulled from wreckage over the years. How many he couldn’t reach in time. What does that do to a man? All that pressure to be the savior.
I push forward. “Let’s talk about your background. You were military before Global Dynamix, yes? Green Beret, then Delta Force. Decorated. Classified operations. What made you leave?”
I swear, the temperature in the room drops a few degrees. Rachel shifts in her seat. Jason’s stylus hovers frozen over his tablet.
Vanguard’s expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes shutters. “I was offered an opportunity to serve my country in a different capacity. I took it.”
“That’s the press release answer.”
“It’s the true answer.”
“But not the whole truth.”
“Is it ever?” He tilts his head, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “You seem very interested in what’s underneath the surface, Ms. Baxter.”
“That’s my job. Thoughtful, nuanced journalism, according to Rachel over there.”
Rachel frowns at me while Vanguard flashes me a ghost of a smile. “Right.”
Rachel clears her throat. “Perhaps we could steer the conversation toward Vanguard’s humanitarian work? The disaster relief efforts, the—”
“In a moment.” I keep my eyes on him. “You joined the Global Dynamix program in 2034. That was during the Dark Decade. The worst of it.”
“I’m aware of the timeline.”
“The program was developed under a government that was using military force against its own citizens. Protesters were being labeled domestic terrorists. People were disappearing into detention centers.” I pause. “Did that give you any reservations about participating?”
The silence stretches. Rachel looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm. Jason has stopped pretending to take notes entirely.
Vanguard leans back in his chair, and for a long moment, I think he’s going to shut me down entirely, give me the corporate non-answer and move on. Instead, he does something unexpected.
He laughs, a short, humorless sound.
“You really don’t pull punches, do you?”
“I warned you at the gala.”
“You did.” He runs a hand through his hair, disrupting the careful styling, and suddenly he looks less like a propaganda poster and more like a soldier with PTSD. “The honest answer is that I wasn’t thinking about much when I joined the program. I wasn’t thinking about much of anything except…”
He stops, swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
“Except?” I prompt, gentler than I intended.
“Except that I’d just lost someone, and I wanted to be useful.
To matter. To do something that might actually help people instead of—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening.
“The program offered me a chance to be more than what I was. I took it. Whether that was the right choice…” He shrugs, looking momentarily helpless. “I ask myself that sometimes.”
Rachel jumps in before I can follow up. “And he’s done incredible work since. The lives saved, the disasters averted—Vanguard has been instrumental in America’s recovery. He’s a symbol of hope for millions.”
“I didn’t ask about millions,” I say to her dismissively while I hold his gaze. “I asked about him.”
Something passes between us, a current of understanding, maybe, like he sees something in me he shouldn’t. The masks we wear…
“Next question,” Vanguard says quietly.
He wants a break. I give him one.
“Your senses. You mentioned they’re enhanced. Just how enhanced are we talking?”
He seems relieved at the change of subject. “Enhanced enough that I can hear your heartbeat from across this table.”
I freeze. Oh, that’s just bloody fantastic. He can probably hear it hammering right now like a goddamn drum.
“That must be overwhelming,” I manage to say. “All that sensory input.”
“It was at first. I had to learn to filter, though it took a lot of practice. I learned to focus on what matters, learned to recognize sounds of danger, calls for help, and tune out the rest.” His eyes crinkle slightly at the corners.
“For example, right now, I’m choosing not to listen to the conversation happening the floor below us about someone named Gerald’s divorce proceedings. ”
I can’t help but smile. “Poor Gerald.”
“His wife is apparently taking the boat.”
“Tragic.”
We’re both grinning now, and I’m acutely aware Rachel and Jason are watching this exchange with growing alarm. Two people who are supposed to be adversaries, journalist and subject, suddenly slipping into something that looks dangerously like rapport.
But I can’t afford to let myself get complacent.
I force myself back on track. “What about your hearing range? If someone called for help from across the city…”
“If they were within certain parameters, I’d hear them. If they were loud enough, or if I was listening for it.” His face falls. “That’s the hard part: knowing that, somewhere out there, someone’s always calling for help, and I can’t hear everything at once or be everywhere at once.”
For now. I think of Project Prometheus.
“How do you choose then? When there are multiple emergencies, multiple people in danger, how do you decide who to save?”
“I don’t.” His voice is flat. “The algorithm does.”
I blink. “Algorithm?”
Rachel makes a warning noise, but Vanguard waves her off. “There’s a complex system in place. Monitors emergency channels, calculates severity, proximity, likelihood of civilian casualties, and so on. It prioritizes, and I respond to whatever is at the top of the list.”
“So you don’t choose at all. The system chooses for you.”
That’s one thing I didn’t expect to hear. If this article actually does run, this will be quite the scoop.
“The system optimizes. I execute.” He says it like he’s reciting something he’s been told a thousand times, like he’s trying to convince himself it’s true. “It’s more efficient that way. Removes human bias from the equation.”
“Removes human judgment too.”
“Same thing, according to some people.”
“But not according to you.”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. The tension in his shoulders says everything.
“I think,” Rachel announces loudly, “that we should take a short break. Vanguard has another engagement in—”
“I don’t, actually.” He doesn’t look at her, instead keeping his blue eyes on me. “My schedule’s clear until three.”
“There are still parameters we need to discuss—”