A Dirge for Derrick Cork: The Morning After

[Diya Behari]

First period had only been in session for two minutes when the intercom beeped throughout the school. Shanna’s first period history class hadn’t started yet. The students hardly noticed, taking advantage of the extra time to gossip or cram for a test or “check” their homework answers against a friend’s.

“Did you hear what happened last night?”

Shanna turned to her right to face the gossiping girl - it was one of the new girls and Shanna still hadn’t learned her name yet. She was about to answer when the intercom sounded.

“Good morning, Westbrook,” Mr. Herrera greeted the school, but he hardly sounded cheerful. “As several of you may have heard on the news, it is with a heavy heart that I inform you today that a tragedy struck our community.

"Former student Derrick Cork passed away last night in an accident.”

Shanna gasped. She hadn’t really thought about Cork for...well, weeks. Not since he’d gotten expelled - or quit, whichever it was. No football meant no need for her to deal with Cork. And now...

“Derrick was until quite recently a vibrant member of the Westbrook family,” Herrera continued. “Losing someone so young is always difficult, and surely the thoughts of every Westbrook student will be with his family and friends at this difficult time.

“A memorial service is being planned for Derrick for those students who wish to pay their respects. In the meantime, there will also be grief counselors available in the office for any student or staff member that wishes to speak with them.”

Mr. Herrera paused again to clear his throat. “I’d like to take thirty seconds of silence in Derrick’s memory now.”

“Thirty seconds more than Cork was ever silent,” some boy in the back of the class muttered. Shanna jerked around to see who it was, but there was a whole group in the back row giggling while Mr. Hendricks glared at them, respecting the silence even if some of his students weren’t.

The moment of silence was up before the giggles were. Mr. Herrera thanked the students quietly before clicking off the intercom.

Mr. Hendricks cleared his throat. “I know this news is difficult for some of you to hear. If you need to speak to the counselors, just let me know and I’ll write you a pass. Boys in the back row? You’ll be seeing me after class for your detention assignments.”

Shanna gathered up the books she’d just taken out a minute ago. Did she like Cork? Hell no. He was a pain in the ass. But he’d been a living pain in the ass. And he had been theirs.

Talking to those grief counselors didn’t sound like a terrible idea.

[Aglakti Hale]

Aglakti was sitting in first period math, going over his homework, making sure everything was in line for the "pop" quiz that was rumored to happen. As the speaker on the wall above the door crackled to life and Mr. Herrera's voice started to speak, the boy stopped shuffling through his papers respectfully and moved his eyes toward the lifeless box.

"Good morning Westbrook"... something about the tone of his voice, this wasn't a normal announcement. Something happened kids last night? Oh man, Ag wished he hadn't bailed early.

Derrick Cork... Who was that? A football player? Ag had a vague recollection of a rumor circulating about some fight with Roach and some arrests. It was a small school, everyone knew everything... or it was a giant game of Chinese telephone at least.

He frowned, watching the speaker as the announcement continued. Many of the other kids had gasped, a stack of books fell on the floor, somebody in the back of the room was crying.

As the call for thirty seconds of silence was made, the math class observed it for the most part save for a few that were trying to cry quietly. Ag cast his gaze back on his papers, they didn't seem important at the moment. He closed his eyes, observing the silence and then some. The boy hardly spoke a word for the rest of the math class. He hardly spoke for the rest of the school day in fact.

He didn't know Derrick Cork very well, but the knowledge that one so young had died before his prime was enough.

Later on he would build a fire for the guy, it was the proper thing to do.

[Lauren Lombardi]

Lauren went through her morning activities by rote.

Get out of bed. Morning snack. Check the weather. Put on her sweats. Run. Shower. Put on her uniform. Find somewhere isolated to eat breakfast. Go to class.

It wasn’t until she went to open her backpack that she realized she had brought her gym bag with her skates instead.

Back to the dorm.

A quiet, rational voice in her head kept urging her to wake up, to get off autopilot and pay attention to what she was doing, but she ignored it. She barely made it back to class in time and was staring at a notebook opened to a blank page when the announcement was made.

“… Derrick Cork passed away …”

Lauren’s head shot up and she focused a hostile glare at the speaker, as if it bore all the blame for what had happened last night. But it wasn’t the speaker’s fault. Derrick was gone and nothing she could bring to bear on the intercom would change that. She hung her head as the clocked ticked off the seconds of agonizing silence.

Shortly before the end of class, the note arrived, passed to Coach Kline from someone in the hallway. He looked it over and somberly carried it to Lauren. Scratched in pencil was a summons to appear in the counselor’s office later that morning. Lauren shoved it into her pocket. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but she didn’t need counseling. Other people deserved that time more, people who were closer to Derrick.

People who were right there when he...

If she wanted to talk, she had her parents. She could talk to them about anything. Usually.

Even after the bell announced the end of class, she sat staring at the same blank paper.

[Roach Copeland]

Roach didn't sleep the night before. Nor did he pay much attention to the announcement or the fact that Ms. Wilson came to visit him during lunch in hopes they could move to her office to just 'chat'.

Give me a break.

He had obliged, of course. He had already spoken with Herrera about the activities of the night -- Spoken, right. That was the diplomatic way of saying things -- and he had to wonder if the timing of Miss Wilson had to do with what was said in that office.

Herrera had continued to sprout lecture about rules to Roach. Roach continued to sprout rebukes about bullshit training. And it all had ended with Roach screaming over his shoulder... what had he screamed?

''You bullshit training wasn't 'nough for Cork. And it's goin' to kill me too one day''

A low blow.

And thus why Ms Wilson had ushered him into her office.

She cleared off the table in front of the couch of her office allowing him enough room to place his lunch tray down. Roach then flopped down, hunched over his meal, and lazily began picking at the meatloaf he had secretly come to enjoy.

Just eat. Can't talk with your mouth full.

"Mister Herrera and I had a talk," Wilson began with no pad of paper in sight. She let that statement linger in the air for a moment as she watched his expression. He just remained neutral, calmly chewing on the loaf that had already been chewed enough. "Roach, seeing that sort of --"

"He died. I'm fine."

And then he dropped his gaze and continued on with his meal. Silence followed for another moment, Roach feeling Miss Wilson's gaze on him the entire time.

"You didn't -- "

"Do anythin' wrong," he snapped, darting his stare back up at her. "We're allowed to patrol the sewers. We're 'llowed to go into Boomtown. The fuck difference does it make just cause I didn't check in at the gate? Maybe that's what I wanted to practice, think 'bout that? Maybe I wanted to see if we could get there without bein' hand held."

Roach tossed his fork down. It clattered on top of the plate before Roach leaned back in his seat, arms crossing defiantly.

Ms Wilson waited another second before just shaking her head. "I know. Roach, that isn't my place to say. Nor is it my place to judge --"

"Doin' that already --"

Ms. Wilson, in an unprecedented move, interrupted. "We've talked about that, Roach. People can't control their initial responses. It's not fair--"

"Yeah, well, maybe Cork just proved to us all that life ain't exactly fair, okay?" Roach snapped back at her, a hand raised to clench into a fist. The tray on the table was already in the process of shaking when Ms. Wilson reached out to gentle place a hand on top of his.

Roach blinked, his concentration faltering from the tray. The tension in his arm lessened after a second before he finally dropped it. He looked down at his feet, winced as his damn blinking couldn't seem to catch up with the rest of himself, and inhaled, trying to keep his nose dry.

"I got to see the future last night," Roach mumbled. He looked up, eyes locking onto Wilson. "I'm goin' to be that kid one day, ain't I?"

And for the next hour, regardless of her words of reassurance and subtle hints of 'another way', Roach just felt that the reality of his immortality was crumbling.

He had accepted his death so long ago that he had forgotten that he didn't want to die.

[Wyatt Wyborn]

What?

Late for class and still in the hallway, Wyatt shook his head as if he had just walked into a spiderweb. In incredible surround-sound he heard a collective gasp that crescendoed into a cacaphony of voices chattering, shouting, and weeping that flooded the hallways with audible confusion.

What?

It was one of those unreal moments. One of those times when your brain has to catch up with the facts and find a way to deal with them. Wyatt took a moment to process the announcement, and when he did, he tried to join in the collective shock and grief that he heard in the voices of his classmates. But he couldn't. The only thing that came to mind when he did that was, hypocrite.

He'd never liked Cork and Cork had never liked him. Cork was a dick. Now Cork was a dead dick.

A feeling of guilt came over him. He didn't know why and he didn't know how to deal with it.

He shrugged and tuned out the rest of the school and hurried down the hallway. He was already late for class.

[Eric Alpaith]

Eric woke up to a dull throbbing all over his body. This was a surprise to him, because yesterday he didn't do anything that would cause his body to ache all over. The answer to his questions came very quickly as he started to go into a coughing fit. As soon as he was able to move freely, he found a mirror to check something.

Just like he thought, he had a faint haze around him. The sight brought everything back all at once. He had this happen once before, just after Seattle. After the event with his father, his powers decided to go crazy and into overtime. It was a full three weeks before his powers stopped attacking him. Only this time he was there when someone died. The thought stopped him completely.

After a while he decided to try to get on with the day. Once he struggled through his mourning routine --only today he skipped running-- he managed to make it to class on time. The announcement just further decreased his mood, but going to the counselor wasn't a bad thing. It helped last time, even if it was just his mother that he talked to. On his way to the counselor he wondered if he would hide again.

Probably.

[Juan Alacran]

“Why pointless?” the counselor asked, head tilted inquisitively just so.

“Don’t be givin’ me the fake ‘I care’ crap.” Juan crosses his arms and sets his jaw. “I’m here cause they made me. I’m gonna be at the next one and the next one cause they decided I blew up at the cops cause I be so hurt an’ cryin’ inside. Please. Wasn’t like he was some kid on a street corner got hit in a drive-by, he was doin’ the costume thing in heavy gangbanger turf. And you be here cause you wanna make me toe the line like err’body else. But I ain’t gonna, cause it be pointless.”

“Juan, I know you don’t want to be here, but that doesn’t mean that maybe it isn’t for the best. And I’m not interested in faking anything or anything fake. I truly am interested in why you think it’s so pointless.”

“Cause it is! It’s obvious!”

“Then it should be easy to explain. Start at the beginning. You obviously have a strong reason. I just want to hear it.”

Juan snorts. “Them. There be lotta reasons.”

“Ok, them.”

Juan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Fine. “ Juan holds up one finger. “Cops ain’t gonna fix this. Cops ain’t fix nothin’. They ain’t stop gangs, they ain’t stop drugs, they ain’t stop nothin’. Metas fix things, not cops; us metas tuckin’ our tails for cops be backwards as hell.”

Juan holds up another. “I didn’t see anythin’. Nothin’. The call went out, and almost err’body already be there, already wit’ the dude, before I show. He be on the ground hurt bad. That’s it. I didn't see no ‘splosion, no burnin’, no fallin, nothin’.”

A third finger. “I don’t know nothin’. Don’t know the place we were at. Don’t know the players for that turf. Didn’t know him, like, at all. I only barely knew there was a kid who got gone cause of some fight sometime. Tuckin’ tail to cops when I ain’t see nothin’ and ain’t know nothin’? Worse than backwards, that’s just suckin’ up to someone that can’t do nothin’ anyway.”

The fourth finger. “I didn’t do nothing! I didn’t!” His face drew into an angry scowl.

“Juan, we don’t think that you hurt Derr-“

“NO! You ain’t follow. I didn’t do nothin’ cause ain’t nothing I could do.” Juan grips the armrests of the chair tightly, body tensing, leaning forward as the words tumble out. “I mean, someone shouted to call for help, so I call, right? Try an tell ‘em what be goin’ on. But anyone can have a phone. That ain’t nothin’. But what else I got to do? I was already late! I can’t help nobody. I ain’t got nothin’ that can help anybody! All I can do is jump an’ look pretty an’ hurt people. I be standin’ there, dude be dyin’, and that be what I find out.“

The counselor sits, silent, listening, letting the words flow into the empty space. Juan takes a shuddering breath and continues. “If someone actually be needin’ help, the real straight truth is I be useless. All my meta be pointless. All I can do is find someone else to hurt. Maybe that person should be hurt, to pay ‘em back or to keep ‘em from hurtin’ someone else, but it ain’t change that hurtin’ is all I be doin’.”

“Someone hurt Derrick. Someone else is gonna hurt the one who hurt ‘im. Maybe they should. But that’s all I could ever do ‘bout it, an’ it’s more than any pig cops spendin’ their time hassling us can do. I may be on the right side, but best I’ll ever be is another hurter.”

“Giving in and bein’ another good lil’ anglo cooperatin’ with cops? Scorpin’ up and lettin’ loose? It just be nothin’, at best, and more like more of the same of what killed Derrick to begin with.” Juan sighs. “How pointless is that?”

[Twitchcraft]

((Cork's death has, of course, made the news. Various media outlets emphasize different aspects of the story -- some mention an explosion as fact, others play it down, etc.))

Teen Super Dies in Baumton

by Darcy Danton
Paragon Sentinel Staff Writer

A Paragon teen holding a Hero patrol license fell to his death late Tuesday evening in the restricted Baumton area of the city.

Authorities declined to speculate how Derrick Nathan Cork, 17, of Kings Row, gained access to the area. Baumton, more colorfully known as "Boomtown" in local circles, is off-limits to unauthorized personnel, including hero-status individuals not working active cases. (Cork's status records indicated he held no open assignments at the time of his death and had not notified officials of his visit.)

"Obviously, it's a tragedy any time a young person dies," said PPD Spokesperson Terri Sloane. "In the case of Mr. Cork, it's compounded by the fact that he'd dedicated himself to the service of others. You can be sure we're going to be covering all the bases on this, but the preliminary evidence does point to an accidental death."

Cork was not wearing a MediComm badge at the time of the incident, Sloane said. Attempts to render assistance at the scene were unsuccessful, as were efforts to transport Cork to the nearest emergency facility. A spokesperson for MediComm declined comment, noting only that the service has a "near-flawless track record in such instances."

Sources inside the police department indicate a number of other teen supers were on-site when first responders arrived. However, their presence had yet to be confirmed at press time.

Also unknown is what, if any, relation the incident might have had to reports of an explosion in the eastern part of the district --

continued A6

[Taylor Brenton]

She could have been leveling her Jedi.

Ever since Star Wars: The Old Republic was released she and Syd were on a quest to get their Jedi to 50. There was a guild meeting that night but it was still early.

And she went to Boomtown anyway.

She saw the body, and it didn't look like he fell. Not if Hollywood special effects were as real as they claimed to be. And as she stood there staring, she thought of how she should act if that was in fact a movie. Deep down, she knew it wasn't a movie, but that's the only thing she could compare it to.

She didn't know him. Someone said his name was Derrick. There were a lot of kids at Westbrook she didn't know. Maybe that helped some. She didn't feel anything really. Not sad, not horrified, just slightly relieved that it wasn't her or anyone she knew. At least that thought brought with it a twinge of guilt. Maybe it's true what they said about all the movies and video games desensitizing you. Maybe it was life on the ranch. Once, when she was a kid, her horse stepped on a kitten that got underfoot. Her kitten. She cried for a bit, until her dad explained to her that that was just the way life was. Crying wouldn't bring the kitten back.

Wouldn't bring Derrick back either.

People handle dealth in different ways. If this were a movie, she'd go do some soul searching and reflecting or something. But it wasn't a movie. She didn't know him. She'd handle it by swathing through levels on her Jedi.

[Aglakti Hale]

Later that day

A lone figure stood out in the stadium after dark, heavy coat on his back turned toward the light freezing misty rain. Hands in his pockets, head tilted down, he'd built a small fire on the pitch. Nobody was out there to reprimand him, not in this weather. Besides, he'd constructed a perimeter of rolling fog about the place to conceal himself further. It made everything oddly quiet out here. There would be a proper memorial service, they said that, but he doubted that it would cater to the Cork's spirit making safe passage into the other world. A "douche" though he was (rumors were circulating that Derrick had not been a very nice kid in life), Ag did what he could. He was no shaman yet, after all.

He removed one of his gloved hands from his pockets, opening fingers to drop a ball of herbs he'd wrapped before into the fire, it cause the flames to sizzle red and deeper orange for a moment before returning to their usual colour.

"What is life?
It is the flash of a firefly in the night.
It is the breath of a caribou in the wintertime.
It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset."

A soft song rose into the fog for a moment before the fire was extinguished, sticks scattered here and there by a booted foot.

The boy took his time walking back to the dorm building but he was in before anyone got too suspicious.