The Vacation [5]

Ah, the life of a superpowered team leader. It's like being the director of a movie where all the actors are Nicolas Cage in "National Treasure" – you never know if it's going to be a cult hit or a hilarious disaster. And now, the big moment: the chance to empower myself. Of course, this will make Ellie as relevant as a Nokia 3310 in the full swing of the 5G era, but who cares? Sam is going to have to deal with the apocalypse on his own anyway, so better the power stays with me.

The makeshift classroom looked like an abandoned film set from a Netflix Christmas special. Ornaments hung with the same hope as a politician during election season. And me, wearing a suit and a black mask without holes – because, let's be honest, who needs facial expressions when you have CGI?

Looking at my team, I saw the future of humanity: Viktor, the man who made personal hygiene seem like an alien concept; James, who probably thought facial cream was armor against evil; and Caroline, who had the energy of an extra who discovered her role was cut in the final edit. Valet and Kant, well, at least they seemed to have read the memo about the dress code.

"Cough-Cough-Cough," I cleared my throat, a classic cliché to grab attention. "I've gathered all of you here for the last meeting before the mission, or should it be the first meeting?" And that's when Kant, the mini-hero for hire, raised his hand. "What's a child doing here anyway?" I thought. "Ah, yes, hired to face demons and villains. Because nothing says 'responsibility' like putting a child on the front line."

"What's up, Kant?" I asked, already guessing the answer. "I need to go to the bathroom," he murmured, with all eyes on him. I stared at him, wondering if this was a joke. "I told you not to overdo it with the water. It seems like you've discovered the faucet for the first time today." And so, the strategy meeting turned into a pee break.

Kant left the room with the urgency of a hero on his first mission: to find the bathroom. Meanwhile, I, the master of eloquence, picked up the blue marker – because blue is the color of seriousness, and what I was about to do was serious… or at least it was supposed to be.

"Listen," I began, with the dramatic flair of an anime villain revealing his final plan, "we're going to an island that is hosting the pentagonó students. And your goal there is—" I was interrupted by Viktor, whose excitement could only be compared to that of an anime fan finding an obscure reference. "Kill them!" he exclaimed, with the subtlety of an elephant in a china shop.

The looks turned to him, a mix of confusion and concern. It was as if we were trying to decide whether he was a primate or just someone who had lost a few neurons on the way to evolution.

So, I began to draw a portrait of a demon on the board, a circle, two horns, two eyes, and a mouth. "This demon here is Kan-Yara-Lath. He's dangerous, so be careful. Although he's playful, he has a very tough side," I said, and then paused, wondering if that sounded strange. "Well, at least Kant isn't here to hear this."

"Returning…" I started to make a portrait of Nivea. "This woman here, she's very dangerous too. If you see her, have a good excuse ready. Because in this theater of the absurd that we're about to witness, the truth is just an extra, like us. And remember, if everything goes wrong, pretend to have an existential crisis. No one's going to hit someone who's having an existential crisis," I said, with the confidence of a philosopher who just discovered Twitter.

After distributing safety advice like someone handing out flyers on election day, I returned to the heart of the matter. "Your goal is only to track this group of students and ensure they survive the massacre that's going to happen tonight," I declared, while drawing on the board the portraits of Sam, Diana, Ellie, Blake, and Chloe. My stick figures had as much detail as a hastily made RPG character description.

"Hmm, and what's your goal?" asked Caroline, with the confusion of someone who just watched a David Lynch movie. "I, Mr. Caroline," I began, "am to steal an item from one of them. Specifically, from a boy with black hair and red eyes." I finished with the finesse of a suburban Sherlock Holmes.

"Okay, and when will we receive our payment?" Valete inquired, with the anxiety of a gamer in line for a new console release.

"Relax, Ellen Ripley of the shoope," I reassured her. "The payment will be deposited into the account after the service is completed, like a happy ending in a horror movie." With a theatrical nod, I picked up my overcoat from the table and put it on.

And so, with a smile that was half confidence, half 'we're all doomed,' I concluded: "Let's go, team. If we manage to survive this, I promise the next meeting will be in a place with fewer Christmas decorations and more chances of survival. Maybe an underground bunker or, who knows, a spa."

---

There we were, on the cargo aircraft provided by Alva, flying towards Alcateia Island in the Caribbean. The team looked like a group of tourists who had confused a luxury cruise with a skydiving flight. Viktor was wearing his parachute backwards, looking at it as if it were an alien artifact. Valete was trying to control her drones inside the aircraft, causing more internal turbulence than the actual wind outside.

Caroline was so still that I had to check if he wasn't a wax statue or a cadaver. James, on the other hand, was distributing snacks as if they were peanuts on a commercial flight, completely oblivious to the fact that we were about to jump out of a plane. And Kant? Well, Kant was playing with his lighter, probably imagining he could light his parachute like a rocket if something went wrong.

Viktor was trying to adjust his parachute, but with the same skill as a penguin trying to fly. "Can someone help me here? This is more complicated than assembling Swedish furniture," he complained, spinning in circles with the straps caught on his arms.

Valete, in turn, was busy giving instructions to her drones, which buzzed around her like confused bees. "No, no, no! Don't fly out yet! Wait for the signal," she yelled, as one of the drones collided with James's head, who just murmured a distracted "Ouch!" without taking his eyes off the packet of cookies he was opening.

Caroline was sitting still, with a distant look. "Are you okay, Caroline? You know we have to jump soon, right?" I asked. Without changing his expression, he replied, "I'm just contemplating the irony of life. One minute you're safe on the ground, the next, you're falling from the sky with a cloth on your back."

James, trying to be the father of the group, distributed snacks and unsolicited advice. "Remember to chew well, we don't want to choke in the middle of a jump," he said, while offering a ham sandwich to Kant, who looked at the sandwich as if it were a mathematical enigma.

There I was, Dean, the born leader, the protagonist of this saga of parachutes and paranoia. As the aircraft rumbled and shook, I knew it was time to christen our team with a name that would echo through the annals of history… or at least wouldn't be forgotten by the end of the day.

"Listen, team," I began, with the seriousness of a stand-up comedian before the final joke. "We need a name that inspires fear and respect. Something that makes villains tremble in their boots and citizens applaud with admiration."

Viktor, with his parachute still on backwards, suggested: "How about 'The Avengers'?" I laughed. "Avengers? Please, that's so 2012… Besides, they died in 2019. We need something original, something that screams 'we're here to stay.'"

Then, after a dramatic pause, I announced: "We shall be known as… 'The Retaliators'!" There was silence, followed by a collective murmur of approval. That's when Valete, with a raised eyebrow, questioned: "Isn't that kind of 2012 too?"

I stared at her with a mischievous smile. "I don't recall asking for your opinion." The team laughed, and even Caroline cracked a smile. "The Retaliators," I repeated, "ready to make a jump that will be remembered as the day we challenged the skies and won."

And it was at that moment that the pilot shouted over the intercom: "We're approaching the jump zone!" I turned to the team, all dressed in their parachutes, some still struggling with the buckles and straps. "Retaliators, get ready to retaliate… with style!"

The red light blinked, and everyone lined up like a flock of clumsy ducks on a dance floor. "Remember," I shouted over the roar of the engines, "if you get lost, follow Valete. Her drones will probably find their way back before she does."

Viktor, with his parachute on more crooked than a thrift store suit, stepped forward. "Viktor, your parachute—" I tried to warn, but he was already running towards the door, shouting: "For glory!" and jumped, spinning in the air like a rotisserie chicken.

I could only shake my head as I watched his chaotic descent. "Hmm, he jumped with the parachute backwards," commented James, with the concern of someone who just watched the end of a thriller.

"He'll be fine," I responded with forced optimism, while Caroline, the malnourished of the group, jumped with the tranquility of a monk in meditation, disappearing into the clouds like an elegant ghost.

Valete, with her drones already buzzing outside, gave a nervous smile and said, "Well, if I don't come back, tell my drones I loved them." And with that, she jumped, leaving behind only the echo of her voice and a drone that seemed confused without its master.

Kant, the young prodigy, looked at his lighter and then into the abyss. "Time to light up the show," he said, and with an acrobatic leap, disappeared into the golden light of the sunset.

Finally, there was only James left, paler than a ghost on a diet. "Dean, I don't know if I can," he murmured. I put a hand on his shoulder and said, "James, you are 'The Food Distributor.' But now, it's time to distribute courage."

He nodded, closed his eyes, and… didn't move. "Well, here comes a little nudge of courage," I said, and with a theatrical touch, I pushed him out of the plane. His cry of surprise was cut off by the wind, and I couldn't help but think, "I hope he doesn't distribute that kind of courage to his children."

And so, with a sigh of relief and a hint of remorse, I jumped, following my team of retaliators.