Dick had begun to question everything about the blade that had been used to attack Moore. There was something not quite right about the entire incident, and the more Dick replayed the events in his mind, the more the pieces seemed to defy the simple explanation that Poure had been the intended victim. From the angle of the blade, it had appeared to be heading straight for Poure. Yet, there had been a strange, inexplicable delay—like the weapon had waited for Poure to move out of the way. Dick had caught sight of the blade in that fleeting moment with his sharp, eagle-eyed focus, but the fact that it had almost missed its target made him question the nature of the attack.
The only way the blade could have entered the classroom was through the window. But their classroom was on the third floor, an almost impossible height for anyone to reach without being noticed. Climbing the outside of the building or throwing the weapon through the window simply didn't make sense. And yet, Dick couldn't dismiss the fact that the weapon had been there, and it had been far too precise. There had to be another explanation.
Artificial intelligence. That was the only possibility that seemed plausible to Dick. The idea of a machine, advanced enough to maneuver its way into the classroom and target someone, was nothing short of extraordinary. If there was such technology in use, it would be a game changer, far beyond anything he had ever imagined. But the thought that Moore had been specifically targeted was becoming undeniable. Dick could see it in Poure's eyes—the satisfaction that flickered there before blood splattered onto his face and temporarily blinded him. The weapon hadn't been meant for Poure; it had been meant for Moore.
As Dick considered the strange technology behind the attack, he found his thoughts turning back to the group of students who had once proclaimed themselves as possessing special abilities. He had always dismissed their claims as the fantasies of people with too much time on their hands. Anything that could not be explained by science, to him, was simply witchcraft, a superstition with no place in the modern world. But now, as the truth about Moore's injury started to glare at him in a way that he could not deny, Dick had to reconsider.
He was hesitant to believe that these so-called abilities could have played a part in the attack, but the more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. These abilities—if they were indeed real—could be used for manipulation, control, or even harm. Dick shuddered at the thought. If he believed in such powers, it would be as if he were surrendering to forces beyond his control. He'd become a slave to those with more power, and that was something he could not tolerate. Though he considered himself weak in some ways, Dick refused to become anyone's servant.
For him, the answers had always been rooted in science and technology. With enough time and effort, technology could solve the world's problems, he believed. It could fix anything, and with it, he could achieve anything. It was the path he had always chosen. But now, there was an uneasy feeling growing in his gut. If these students did possess abilities beyond the normal realm of understanding, he would have to tread carefully. They might hold the power to manipulate the situation to their advantage, and the last thing Dick wanted was to be caught in a web he couldn't escape.
The safest option, Dick reasoned, was to give them all a wide berth. Show respect, especially to those connected to Mikey, and avoid drawing attention to himself. He adjusted his bag across his neck, gathering his resolve, and crossed the road toward the school hospital.
When school had ended, Dick headed to the school hospital to check on Moore. He'd heard Moore had been moved there after the attack, and he wanted to make sure his friend was okay. Inside the room, Moore was sitting on the bed, a bandage wrapped around his neck. The sight of Moore upright reminded Dick to cover his own neck reflexively, a gesture of nervous habit. He pulled the bag over his shoulder again, his discomfort with the situation evident.
Moore glanced at him with a teasing grin. "C'mon, what's that for, huh?" he said, motioning toward Dick's awkward posture, trying to lighten the mood.
Dick, embarrassed by his strange reaction, quickly let the bag fall from his shoulder and sighed in relief when he realized Moore's condition wasn't as critical as he had feared. Moore looked fine, considering the circumstances.
Just then, Dick noticed someone else in the room. A woman was seated beside Moore—a woman with a dignified presence. It took him a second to recognize her, and then it hit him: she was Moore's mother, Kathryn. She appeared to be in her early thirties, though her beauty was clouded by a somber expression. The lines around her eyes spoke of the worry and exhaustion that had come with years of single motherhood. It was clear she had rushed to the hospital the moment she had been informed of the incident involving her son.
"Hey," Dick greeted her with uncertainty, feeling out of place.
"I'm good. You don't have to worry," Moore responded, his cheerful tone a clear attempt to downplay the severity of his injury.
Kathryn, however, had been waiting for a moment to ask questions. She had held back, respecting Moore's wish to downplay the situation, but it was clear from the look in her eyes that she had questions she needed answers to. She turned her attention to Dick.
"I know you're his friend," she said, skipping any further introductions. Her voice was steady but held an edge of urgency.
"Y-yes," Dick stammered, taken off guard.
"Were you at the scene?" Kathryn pressed, her eyes narrowing as if she already knew the answer.
Both boys exchanged a quick glance. Moore's expression was cold, warning Dick to be careful. But Kathryn wasn't waiting for permission. She grabbed Dick's hand gently, pulling him towards her. "Please, come," she requested with quiet insistence.
"But I don't know you," Dick protested, unsure how to navigate this sudden shift in the situation.
Kathryn smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, my manners. I'm Kathryn—his mother," she introduced herself.
Moore nodded, confirming her words without saying a word.
"Can you come?" she pressed once more, her voice softer now, but her determination still evident.
Dick hesitated for a moment longer, but then, sensing the gravity of the situation, he agreed. The two of them left Moore behind in the room, who silently hoped his friend wouldn't spill any crucial details, especially about the altercation with Poure and how things had escalated so quickly.
Moore, as Kathryn's only son, had been the center of her world ever since their divorce five years ago. Kathryn had left her husband, Terry, after learning of his infidelity, and she had fought tooth and nail for custody. She wanted Moore to grow into someone Terry would envy—a reflection of her own strength, resilience, and dedication as a mother. But now, with Moore injured, she had no choice but to face the fact that something more sinister might have been at play.
When the school had first contacted her, they had only mentioned an accident, nothing more. Kathryn had immediately left her office, but even now, she didn't know the full story. She was hoping Dick could help fill in the gaps.
At the hospital reception, the two of them sat on opposite sides of a long sofa. Kathryn crossed her legs, exuding a quiet, purposeful energy. Dick, on the other hand, sat stiffly, trying to keep his resolve and not reveal anything that might cause trouble. He wasn't sure how much of the truth Moore wanted his mother to know.
The room buzzed with activity—visitors coming and going, hospital attendants darting about, and the receptionist juggling phone calls and patients. The walls were immaculate, white with red design accents, and a first-aid kit was embedded in the wall nearby.
Kathryn began the conversation. "I brought you here so we wouldn't disturb your friend. You know his condition."
"My name is Kathryn. What's yours?" she asked, more out of courtesy than anything else.
"Dick... Morgan," he replied hesitantly, unsure how much to divulge.
Kathryn leaned in slightly, sensing his wariness, but before she could ask further questions, Dick's eyes scanned the room. That's when he spotted Mikey among the visitors. Mikey had a cap pulled low, a poor attempt at camouflage, but Dick could tell he had seen them first. Mikey had adjusted his appearance to avoid being noticed, but Dick wasn't fooled. Mikey's suspicious movements only heightened Dick's growing unease.
"Moore is the only thing I have left of…" Kathryn's voice trailed off, but Dick wasn't listening anymore. He was focused entirely on Mikey as he stood up and walked toward the wards. His movements were swift, calculated, like he was trying to slip past unnoticed.
Dick tried to push aside his growing paranoia, but it gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.