Dylan had a headache when he woke up the next morning, as he dragged himself out of bed, and brushed his teeth. After that, he headed down the stairs, and poured himself a bowl of cereal. As he ate, he felt yesterday''s emotions come rushing back to him. The fear, the anger, the frustration, the exhaustion.


    He thought he knew who the villain he’d encountered yesterday was. He hadn’t known off of the top of his head, but after a few hours of research, he’d stumbled across a figure most prominently known 5 years ago. He had been given the codename “The Magician”, and, according to reports, was extremely dangerous. He was also listed as being “missing or possibly dead” on the wiki.


    The magician had been a fairly low key villain, at the start of his career, but had slowly escalated his targets. Eventually, he’d ended up in a battle with several heroes. He’d killed some of them, and had the rest of them on the back foot, before someone arrived. The articles didn’t have a name, or a face, or a likeness, or even a consistent accounting of that person, but whoever they were, they managed to force the Magician to flee, and there hadn''t been any confirmed sightings since, although there had been a few witnesses that had spoken to seeing him in the following years. All of the sources he could find considered those sources unreliable, but Dylan could confirm that the man was still alive, at least.


    He’d also seen, in the news, that a local warehouse had been raised to the ground sometime yesterday. Apparently, the Crimson Edge was dispatched to the scene, but nothing had come of it. The Crimson edge was another oddity, Dylan thought. The public information on him was extremely sparse. Normally, Heroes were displayed prominently by their agencies. They wanted them to be recognizable, and marketable. As far as Dylan could tell, the Crimson Edge didn’t even have an agency. Was he a vigilante? There were also only a few reported injuries. A death from the fire, a few burns, and one woman who came into the hospital, with bruises and abrasions. Apparently, she’d suffered a concussion, as she kept talking about ‘the gray’.


    Once he’d finished his breakfast, he washed the bowl out in the sink, and gathered the rest of his things. Dylan briefly looked around for his parents, but he couldn’t find them. His mother was probably already at work. He frowned. He hadn’t seen his father in over a day. He’d been at work late last night, and it seemed like he was already gone.


    Shrugging, Dylan started his commute to school. His bag felt heavy on his back. He was certainly feeling better than yesterday. It was something he had to thank his powers for, as much as he begrudged them. He healed far faster than he would have normally. He probably would have had to go to the hospital, yesterday, were he without them.


    Dylan started down the steps to the subway, and felt a slight worry come over him. As he got onto the train, he kept an eye out for the homeless man that had accosted him yesterday. Luckily enough, however, he wasn’t on the train. Dylan let out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t deal with that right now. He was stretched to the breaking point.


    The ride was swift, and soon enough he found himself departing the subway. Stepping out into the station, he finished the rest of the walk into school rather quickly. He stared at the building, and let out a little chuckle. It wasn’t as daunting as he’d thought. The incident yesterday had given him a fresh perspective on the whole thing. A distance that he’d started to forget, as others tried to drag him down into the mud.


    Everything that happened here was petty. The people around him were children. Big children, perhaps, but children nonetheless. They didn’t know what it was like, to fight, to fear for your life. They didn’t know what it was like, to feel your body getting battered, to see your blood spilt, your flesh rent.


    It was better that they didn’t, Dylan thought. People should be able to live in peace. But he also felt that he had a perspective that they just didn’t know. What were their problems, compared to his? Small, almost non-existent.


    As he walked through the doors, he made eye contact with a red haired girl. She looked angry, and for a second, Dylan couldn’t parse why.


    And then, slowly, he remembered. Ahh, she’d been the super who’d broken up the “fight” yesterday. Of course. It had been so petty of him, to grab.. Dylan couldn’t remember his name. He let out a chuckle, at the absurdity of it all.


    The redhead’s frown deepened into a scowl, and she turned, and strode off angrily. Oops. She’d probably thought he was laughing at her. Should he apologize, or explain himself? Dylan disregarded the idea almost immediately. It really wasn’t that big of a deal.


    As he walked to class, he noticed someone else staring at him. It was an older student, a guy. Dylan didn’t recognize him. Bizarre.


    Class proceeded as normal. Mr. Johnson was still boring as ever. Dylan felt this differed from fiction: normally, when he read books, after the main characters came back from their trials, they started to appreciate the little mundanities and quirks of life that they once found boring or frustrating. Dylan certainly didn’t. He could barely stay awake during class.


    Today''s lecture was on the history of ethical deliberations of supers in war.


    “And so, class, you can see, that, although, on paper, many countries disavowed using supers, they were still frequently seen in combat up until about 50 years ago. Shortly after the conclusion of World War 2, whilst armed conflicts continued to persist, supers became less and less involved-”


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Was it really necessary that he sit through this? Dylan couldn’t think of a single way that this could be useful in his life. He understood that, on a base level, that history was important. But did he really need the irrelevant minutia that Mr. Johnson included in every sentence? Plus, his lectures were so circular. He’d talk about the same thing for 10 minutes, and finally move on, only to come back to it a few minutes later.


    Dylan let out a sigh of relief, as he left the class. That had been almost physically painful. As he walked through the door, somebody bumped into him. He looked up. Was it the same guy he’d almost got into a fight with earlier? No, it was a group of two.


    “Sorry, guys, I didn’t see you there,” Dylan said.


    The two said nothing, simply staring at him for a moment, and then walking off. Dylan shrugged, and went on to his next class.


    —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    For the next week, Dylan continued his normal routine. Well, normal, excepting the constant stares he got. No matter where he went, it felt like someone was watching him. And Dylan was sure that it wasn’t paranoia this time.


    No, he’d often feel eyes on his back, and when he turned, there was somebody watching him. Almost always male, with an athletic build. It wasn’t one or two guys, either. He rarely saw the same face more than twice.


    —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Dylan had to stay in school late, today. He’d missed an assignment, and while he was able to make it up, his teacher had required him to do so after class for the day was done. It was a good deal, he supposed, but he wished he’d remembered to do it on time.


    But he hadn’t, and so Dylan was here. He only had to complete a short essay, luckily, which meant that he was almost done. Still, short meant that it was nearly an hour and a half after he would have normally left.


    He glanced out the window. The halls were deserted, the last few students left in the school tucked away wherever their extracurricular activity happened to be held. He sighed, and ran his hands through his hair. The words swam off the page, floating like clouds across his vision.


    Dylan forced himself to finish writing, anyways. He had more homework to do at home. He couldn’t waste all the rest of the day here. Plus, from the way his teacher kept glancing at her watch, she was probably waiting on him.


    After 10 minutes or so had passed, Dylan set down the pencil, and scanned over the essay one last time. It wasn’t great, but he felt like it should at least be serviceable. He picked it up, and walked over, to place it on the teachers desk.


    “Did everything turn out alright?” She asked.


    “Yes, Mrs. Hartman, it did. Thank you for letting me turn it in late.”


    “You’re welcome, Dylan.”


    He nodded, and started towards the door.


    “Have a nice day, Mrs. Hartman.”


    “You too, Dylan.”


    His locker was another few minutes walk from the classroom. Dylan walked briskly, as quickly as he could without speed walking. When he got to his locker, he turned the knob, quickly trying to undo the lock. Of course, it didn’t open the first time. Dylan fumbled with it, re-entering his combo. Finally, it clicked open.


    Just then, somebody called down the hall.


    “Hey man, can you come help us out?”


    Dylan started to reach into his locker.


    “Dude, please? We really need you.”


    Dylan stopped. Were they talking to him?


    He peeked around the locker door.


    A student stared back at him. The boy was probably a freshmen, fresh faced.


    “You talking to me?” Dylan asked.


    The boy nodded.


    “Can you come quick? We really need you.”


    Dylan sighed, and went to stow his backpack in the locker. He’d come back and get it later. He slammed his locker door a little harder than he intended. As he got closer to the freshman, he looked him up and down. The boy was squeezing his hands into fists.


    “Is it that urgent?” Dylan asked?


    “Yeah, it really is. It uhh, should be quick, though” the boy responded.


    As soon as Dylan got close, the student turned, beckoning Dylan to follow.


    The boy walked quickly, forcing Dylan to speed up into an awkward shuffle.


    They rounded several corners in quick succession. How far was it? Could the boy not find anybody else? A flash of worry crossed Dylan''s mind. Was somebody hurt? Was he going to walk in on an injured freshmen, surrounded by his friends, who were too scared to call an ambulance?


    Eventually, they reached the back of the school.


    “Are we close?”


    The freshman nodded, not turning around. He made a final turn, and then waved for Dylan to follow him, before slipping inside a shut door. Dylan could barely make out his silhouette through the frosted glass.


    Bracing himself for the sight inside the room, Dylan stepped through the doorway. Immediately, two pairs of hands launched out, and grabbed on to his arms.