Buddy couldn't fly

At the sound of the door opening, Annie stopped drawing with her colored markers and looked up.

When she saw Lynn and John walk in side by side, the little girl's eyes instantly lit up.

"Director Lynn! John!"

Annie called out cheerfully and ran over, holding up her drawing as though showing off a treasure.

John stopped and reached out to take the slightly crumpled sheet of drawing paper.

The golden retriever in the picture had rather odd proportions, with a big head and a small body, but the pair of golden wings on its back had been drawn with great care. A ring of yellow marker surrounded it to represent a glowing halo.

"Buddy can't fly."

John pointed out the fact quite objectively, but then he remembered what Lynn had just said in the office.

He looked down at Annie's big, expectant eyes and softened his tone a little. "But the coloring is good. If Buddy had wings, this is probably what he'd look like."

Annie smiled happily at the praise, a faint ball of warm light rising from her palm out of habit.

Just then, Tommy slowly emerged from the direction of the restroom, clutching his stomach, his face a little pale.

Seeing him, Reggie immediately looked up from his picture book and grinned as he teased him. "Tommy, just how much barbecue did you eat yesterday? I ran a hundred laps today, and that still wasn't as many as your trips to the toilet."

Embarrassed and annoyed, Tommy flushed bright red and instinctively tried to use his telekinesis to flip the book out of Reggie's hands.

But before he could concentrate, John turned to look at him.

John wasn't angry. He simply said in a level tone, "Reggie, don't make fun of a sick teammate. Tommy, go lie down on the couch for a while."

Those words worked better than any of Vought International's rules and regulations.

Reggie immediately shut his mouth and obediently lowered his head to resume reading his picture book.

Like an obedient little soldier, Tommy dutifully went over to the soft leather couch in the corner and lay down, even pulling a blanket over his stomach himself.

Lynn walked over to the water dispenser, filled a cup with warm water, and set it on the low table beside Tommy.

"Have some water. If you really feel unwell, you can skip this afternoon's physical training class and rest here."

Lynn reached out and felt Tommy's forehead. His temperature was normal; he had no fever.

"I'm fine, Director."

Tommy hurriedly spoke in a quiet voice, afraid that he would be kicked out of the Vanguard Camp team if he seemed too useless.

No one in this building wanted to go back to those cold individual isolation rooms.

Just as everyone was getting along comfortably, the activity room door was pushed open again.

Two researchers in white coats wheeled in a medical cart. A row of cold syringes and blood collection tubes lay on its stainless steel tray, reflecting a harsh glare in the sunlight.

The activity room instantly fell silent at the sight of them.

The light in Annie's hand abruptly went out, and her small body involuntarily shrank back behind John.

Reggie put down his book too, staring at the cart with a face full of tension.

Tommy went so far as to bury half his face in the blanket on the couch.

For these children who had grown up in Vought's laboratories, white coats and syringes were the deepest shadows of their childhood.

Every blood draw meant cold pain and all sorts of unknown tests.

"Director Lynn."

The lead researcher adjusted his glasses and said in a businesslike tone, "Under the medical department's regulations, today is the Vanguard Camp members' weekly routine blood sampling and compound concentration assessment."

As he spoke, he picked up a syringe and walked toward Reggie, who was closest to him.

"Wait."

Lynn turned and calmly stepped between the researchers and the children.

The gentleness he had shown the children vanished from his face, replaced by the coldness and authority of an executive.

"This is the Vanguard Camp's lounge, not your sterile laboratory in Area C."

Lynn glanced at the cold medical cart. "Wheel those things out."

The researcher froze, stopping awkwardly. "But Director, this is a mandatory order from above. If we don't collect the data on time, the medical department won't be able to produce this week's physical strain report. If the president's office asks..."

"That's a problem for your medical department to worry about, not them."

Lynn's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable force. "I submitted a memorandum to the board last month. The Vanguard Camp's living quarters and activity room are absolute safe zones. No one can force them to do anything they don't like here, and that includes waving syringes around."

The researcher wanted to say more, but suddenly felt an icy gaze settle on him.

He turned his head stiffly and saw John standing beside Lynn.

The blond boy who always wore a sunny smile in front of television cameras was now staring at his neck with an utterly emotionless gaze.

No heat vision lit up, nor did he make any move.

Yet the researcher had the distinct feeling that if he dared take one more step forward with that syringe, his head would definitely part company with his neck.

That sense of pressure, rooted in biological instinct, instantly made his scalp prickle.

"U-understood, Director Lynn."

The researcher swallowed, cold sweat sliding down his forehead.

He hurriedly tugged at the assistant behind him and wheeled the medical cart out of the activity room as though fleeing.

The automatic door closed again.

The children let out long sighs of relief.

Annie's tense shoulders relaxed, and her gaze toward Lynn was filled with deep reliance and a sense of safety.

Reggie also let out a long breath and plopped down on the floor mat.

"It's all right now." Lynn turned and smiled at the children. "Go on playing. As long as you're in this room, no one can lay a hand on you without permission."

John looked at Lynn's straight-backed figure, then at the children, who had regained their liveliness.

The words Lynn had said in the office surfaced in his mind.

A real shield.

John walked back to the table, picked up a box of Annie's colored crayons, pulled out a blue one, and began idly coloring on a blank sheet of drawing paper.

He felt that Lynn was right. In this world, using his strength to protect what belonged to him and watching others look at him with such unreserved trust really was far more interesting than simply snapping people's necks.

The sunlight warmed the activity room floor.

Lynn sat down in a nearby armchair, casually picked up a fairy-tale book someone had left behind, and began leafing through it.