Please be warned this chapter has some sex scenes in it okay, thank you.
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Mary, a vibrant whirlwind of emerald green hair and razor-sharp wit, practically propelled Michael and Nicholas through the Academy grounds. Her pace was a blur, her explanations delivered in a rapid-fire torrent of information, each punctuated by a sardonic smirk or a knowing eye-roll. "So, this place," she announced, gesturing with a flourish towards a colossal, futuristic structure that resembled a power plant more than a school, "isn't your average high school. Think Hogwarts, but with considerably less Quidditch and significantly more… *interesting* extracurriculars and by curriculars I don't mean subject the teach you in highschool. At the SSA the don't teach you how to be the president of the United States or a fucking artist they teach you how to be a hero or how to fuck up the world."
Michael, still slightly shell-shocked from the earlier, frankly unsettling events, managed a weak, "Interesting how?"
Mary grinned, a mischievous glint in her emerald eyes. "Oh, you'll see. First up, the Kinetics Lab. Basically, where we unleash the inner Usain Bolt in everyone… or at least attempt to." She flung open a massive steel door, revealing a cavernous space vibrating with controlled energy. Students zipped around on sleek hoverboards, practicing precise movements with laser-guided projectiles. One student, suspended precariously in mid-air, was attempting the seemingly impossible: juggling flaming torches while riding a unicycle.
Nicholas's jaw dropped. "What in the actual..."
Mary cut him off with a hearty laugh. "Don't even ask. Finn's got a bet with the Head of Physics. Apparently, sustained levitation, unicycling, and flaming torch juggling somehow proves a complex physics equation. He's a moron, but a *determined* moron." She shook her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Morons, really. But inventive."
Next, they plunged into the Sensory Deprivation Chambers – a series of soundproof, lightless rooms that resembled high-tech, oversized sarcophagi. "For those with… *sensitive* senses," Mary explained with a wink, "or those who simply need a break from the chaos. Though sometimes," she added with a sly grin, "they end up holding impromptu telepathic poetry slams. You wouldn't believe the dramatic readings I've overheard." Michael shuddered involuntarily.
The Bio-Engineering Wing was an even more surreal spectacle. Massive tanks pulsed with bioluminescent creatures, and bizarre plants with iridescent leaves seemed to hum with an inner energy. "Genetic engineering, bio-kinesis… the usual," Mary muttered, keeping a close eye on a particularly volatile-looking, glowing purple vine. "Don't touch *anything*. Eliza, the girl tending it, has a… *unique* way of dealing with intruders. Let's just say she's got a green thumb and a very short fuse."
As they navigated the corridors, Mary pointed out students with abilities ranging from the mundane to the frankly miraculous. A girl with fiery red hair casually incinerated a stray piece of gum with a flick of her wrist, a display of controlled pyrokinesis. A boy with eyes like polished obsidian manipulated shadows, creating fleeting illusions – momentarily materializing a giant spider behind a startled teacher, who shrieked and fainted.
"And that," Mary announced dramatically, pointing towards a classroom where the air crackled with intellectual tension, "is where we debate the moral implications of precognition. Currently, the big question is: does predicting the lottery numbers make you a genius or a societal menace?" She snorted. "I'm betting on popcorn sales for the duration of this particular debate."
"Okay, let's continue," she said, sparing the philosophical classroom a final glance. "Onward, my minions!" she declared, a mischievous glint in her eye, taking the lead. Michael and Nicholas exchanged surprised glances. "Did she just call us her minions?" Michael whispered. Nicholas shrugged, already stepping into the next hallway.
They entered the boys' dormitory, a scene unfolding that defied their expectations. A girl was perched atop a boy, laughter ringing through the room, their bodies moving with an impossible, synchronized grace. "Faster! Move faster, you son of a bitch!" the girl shouted, her voice clearly amplified by heightened kinetic energy.
Mary slammed the door shut. "Okay, that wasn't on the tour schedule," she said, her voice barely a chuckle, "but you have to admit, that was… *efficient* use of super-speed. I could've sworn I heard an argument about 'the right angle for maximum friction'." She winked.
Michael, still speechless, could only stare, his mind struggling to comprehend the scene just witnessed.
"Efficient," she continued, completely oblivious to their shock, "I tell you. Why haven't *I* thought of that having a major rock down with speedster for intimately pursuits And, as you can see, the room is soundproof."
Next, they approached the boys' restroom. "Okay, here's the boys' toilet, and as you can see, it's… *charmingly* unkempt and super gross," Mary said, throwing open a restroom door with surprising ease.
A startled yelp, followed by a guttural exclamation of "Get the *fuck* out!" echoed from within. A boy, mid-masturbating with his hands moving up and down his dick, was startled by the intrusion.
Mary slammed the door shut with surprising swiftness. "I really need to stop kicking open doors," she muttered under her breath. The boys just stared at her, speechless yet strangely intrigued.
"As you can see," Mary said, her tone a carefully crafted blend of sarcasm and observation, "the Academy is a remarkably… *free* place. You can do pretty much anything you want, except, perhaps, kill someone, although I'm starting to suspect those limits are flexible." She added, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "But that's for another tour." The boys just stared at her, utterly bewildered.
The remainder of the tour was a dizzying array of similar encounters, Mary's sarcastic commentary a perfect counterpoint to the extraordinary sights they witnessed: telekinetic pillow fights, accidental pyrotechnics in the chemistry lab, and the ongoing feud between the telepaths and the precognitive students over a misplaced copy of Nietzsche. By the end, Michael and Nicholas were utterly exhausted, yet enthralled. The Academy for the Superabled was nothing short of extraordinary, and their initiation into its unique world had only just begun. "Okay, check your phones for your dorm room numbers," Mary said, leaving them to process the sheer bewildering strangeness of it all.