《D.A.R.W.I.N.》


 Prologue

    Timber Hollow, United States


    September 4th, 2017


    Two floors, one story, and no frontal fence, for it would just invite graffiti. In one corner of the maintained but aging home, a mother still garbed in scrubs from hours past made breakfast, her bagged eyes and exhausted features unable to hide the beauty she still held. In another corner, a boy, approaching a man, partook in the most important task of his age.


    Correcting people on the internet.


    ¡°Wind Swift only beats Overdrive on foot, you simpering sycophant!¡± The boy huffed as he typed out his latest rebuttal, amused and frustrated by the fool on the other side of the screen. The fellow but unrespected keyboard warrior was quick to reply, offering some inane semantics in an attempt to devolve the debate, but before the boy could educate the error of Swiftest_Swiftee¡¯s ways, a shout intruded into his room.


    ¡°Greg!¡± His mother called, a codeword for ¡°Come eat breakfast or else.¡±


    ¡°Coming!¡± He shouted back, sending a longing look at his keyboard, just waiting for him to type out a response that would surely convince the deluded sycophant. But firming his resolve, he tore his gaze away and exited the room, leaving the debate of who was the faster mover to go eat, letting that groupie have the last word¨Cat least until he was on the bus, but he¡¯d probably forget about it by then.


    ¡°Dressed and ready?¡± His mother asked as he sat down, his food on the table by the time his butt hit the seat. Milk, scrambled eggs, and heated-up frozen waffles: the breakfast of champions.


    ¡°Yes, Mom,¡± he answered, drawing out her name, a question and answer that had been repeated a thousand times, and if she had her way, ten thousand more.


    ¡°Good.¡± The mother flitted around the kitchen, tidying up the counters, scrubbing the used dishes, and putting away the dry ones, her eyes never once leaving her immediate tasks. ¡°I have a shift this afternoon, so I won¡¯t be able to pick you up. Go home with Violet, and don¡¯t go anywhere but the bus station and straight home, understand me?¡± She belted out rapid fire.


    Greg rolled his eyes but nodded¨Cnot that she would see. ¡°Yesh, Mom,¡± he answered through half a waffle. His mother heaved a sigh of relief at his assurance, as she always did, performing a final and third check that everything was right within the kitchen.


    ¡°Thank you, honey.¡± She moved behind her boy and leaned down to kiss him on the head, combing through his beautiful, nostalgic hair as she did. ¡°Have a good day at school, and I love you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, yeah, love you too,¡± he grumbled back, but even teenage angst couldn¡¯t hide the reciprocated affection. The sight of her little man pouting at her doting gave her the energy to smile, and she couldn¡¯t resist reaching down to pinch his still-fluffy cheeks, his growing protests wordless and token.


    Once his mom had her fill of squishes and pinches, she left him to pass out in her room, snores filling the room within seconds of hitting the bed. Greg quickly scarfed the rest of his food and gulped down what was left of the milk, scrubbing and drying the plate and cup when he was done.


    After pulling a blanket over his dead-to-the-world mother, he grabbed his backpack and left the house, the stench of the city immediately invading his nostrils. Sidestepping broken bottles and discarded trash littering the sidewalk, he made his way to the bus stop with his hands in his hoodie and his head down.


    Others were there when he arrived¨Cteens dreading school and adults heading to work. They used to have buses that were yellow and went straight to school, but not anymore. No one cared enough about his school to keep it.


    Despite being a public place and a routine one to boot, the bus stop was tense, with few words being spoken between flickering, wary glances. After five minutes¨Conly six behind schedule, this time¨Ca bus half paint and half scratched steel huffed its way to the group and screeched to a stop. Wordlessly, they clambered in, each of them going to their usual torn and bleeding seats.


    Greg was one of the last to get on, forced to sit in the awkward far back but not the back area. A certain prestige was required to take the back row, and he didn¡¯t have it. Luckily this group wasn¡¯t the most rowdy, and most importantly they didn¡¯t pay attention to him. Still, these groups rotated over time, and he¡¯d learned long ago the pitfalls of enclosed vehicles.


    Before the final student had sat down, the bus lurched forward, and Greg pulled out his phone. He had at least fifteen minutes to lose himself in the screen, the bus route long, winding, and inefficient¨Canother consequence of crap funding.


    His fingers hovered over the portable computer, debating how to entertain himself. He had dozens of free mobile games downloaded and ready to play, but like most days, his fingers focused in on one app, where four black letters were displayed over a gold background¨CMCHAT. Before he settled on tapping it, he remembered the unfinished argument he started this morning and the thousands just like it, and suddenly he just wasn¡¯t in the mood to start another. With a silent click of his tongue, he tapped his second most frequented app, pressing on a billowing cape with an unblinking eye in its center: CapeWatch.


    Immediately, a list of headlines of varying meaningness covered the screen of his phone, fighting for his attention. Like usual, tabloids ranging from WIngman¡¯s Second Affair This Month! to Will Sky Fly Return to Modeling? took over most of the trending pages, most of them being gossip with airs. Though he¡¯d never admit it, those were Greg¡¯s favorite types of articles and the ones he¡¯d normally read, but that day one headline stood out from the rest.


    Stormcloud Chases Lycan to Timber Hollow?


    It wasn¡¯t particularly noteworthy, certainly not something he¡¯d care much about normally. Heroes chased villains every week, both to settle the score and to not look like a dope when they bounced towns. Except, this time the villain came to his town, chased by a member of the Tetrarchy of all capes. But why?


    Sky Fly¡¯s End of Summer Beach Shoot Hits the Shelves!


    ¡­He could find out later.


    _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________


    ¡°Violet!¡± Greg shouted as he approached the outer school entrance, staying to the side to avoid the morning crowd.The owner of the name he loudly announced to everybody nearby looked up from her postion of languidly leaning against a crumbling wall. She was tall, her eyeline at Greg¡¯s forehead even with her slouched against the wall. Framing her tired features was a bob of lustrous hair the same shade as her name, chocolate brown eyes peering through purple to level a stare to the boy..


    ¡°Greg,¡± She returned with dry exasperation, her muted fondness tempered by predicted annoyance. ¡°You do Ms.Robinson¡¯s homework?¡±


    ¡°Eh¡­¡± Greg reached a hand back to rub at his neck, an awkward look on his face. ¡°Ehehehe?¡±


    Violet did not share in his laughter.


    ¡°This is important, Greg.¡± Violet said as she stood up, her chin now at the level of his hair and while her hands were now on her hips. Greg cringed back as he recognized the stance. ¡°Were you on the M-CHAT last night?¡± She asked, half rhetoric and half hope he was doing something more productive.


    ¡°...it¡¯s M-CHAT,¡± Greg muttered mulishly, his averted gaze a confirmation of her question.


    ¡°What?¡± She asked with a raised brow.


    ¡°It¡¯s M-CHAT not the M-CHAT,¡± he insisted, much to Violet¡¯s consternation. ¡°Only old people call it that.¡±


    ¡°One, I¡¯m not old. Two, I don¡¯t care. What you should care about is school and your grades, not obsessing over people in spandex.¡± She sighed as she reached into her bag¨Cmade up of a single strap strap slung across her shoulders and black pleather hidden underneath numerous stickers. ¡°I can¡¯t-won¡¯t keep covering for you,¡± she promised as Greg snatched the outstretched paper and hid it under his shirt as if this was some kind of illicit exchange. ¡°One of these days I¡¯m gonna let your dumbassness catch up with you.¡±


    ¡°We both know I¡¯m far too charming and handsome for that to happen.¡± Greg winked, an affair that required one-half of his face to scrunch to accomplish. The response was irrevent, flippant, really, but it was painfully obvious to both that the boy just didn¡¯t want to make it real. .


    Violet raised a single, unamused eyebrow. ¡°You want that day to be tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­I mean you won¡¯t because you¡¯re so benevolent and kind?¡± Her eyebrow remained raised. ¡°And beautiful as well?¡±


    That got an eye-roll, which might as well have been a white flag. ¡°Flattery will get you everywhere.¡± Before any more lectures could sprout, they were interrupted by the ringing of the warning bell, audible even at the perimeter of the school. ¡°Except to class on time. Come on, let¡¯s go.¡±


    Violet pushed off the wall and walked into the school proper, the inside just as cared for as the outside. Which was to say, not.


    ¡°You hear about Stormcloud?¡± Greg excitedly asked as he was squeezed next to her, the overcrowded hallways killing any notion of personal space. Unless you were popular, but that didn¡¯t apply to the twosome.


    ¡°What about him?¡± She replied, tone vaguely disinterested, but Greg knew it was feigned. Probably. Who didn¡¯t love capes? At the very least, everybody cared about them one way or the other.


    ¡°He¡¯s coming to Timber Hollow!¡± He excitedly exclaimed, as if the news was something to celebrate.


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Violet would have stopped in surprise if it weren¡¯t for the sea of people that would crash into her if she did. For a moment, she frowned in confusion and concern as she processed Greg¡¯s words, which meant she was interested. He was right!


    ¡°Why the hell is a member of the Tetrarchy coming here?¡± She asked incredulously. Why someone of such renown was coming to their little shithole was a mystery to her. The only thing Timber Hollow was known for was crime, poverty, and a disproportionate amount of capes¨Cand the last one was just a symptom of the first two.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Greg shrugged. ¡°I only skimmed a bit of it. He¡¯s chasing some dude named Lycan. He;s some villain who popped up a few weeks ago and started murdering and robbing people, blah blah blah, the usual¡± he listed disinterestedly. ¡°Anyway, he¡¯s a transformation type, but get this: he can turn into a werewolf! Isn¡¯t that awesome?¡± Greg gushed, too lost in his rambling to notice Violet¡¯s concerned gaze.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think killing people is ¡®awesome,¡¯¡± she replied disapprovingly.


    ¡°You know what I mean!¡± Greg whined. ¡°Not the, you know, murder and stuff! The power! Transformation types are really rare, and he can turn into a werewolf! A werewolf!¡±


    ¡°A werewolf,¡± Violet dryly repeated.


    ¡°Yeah, like a half man half wolf type thing,¡± he explained.


    Violet rolled her eyes. ¡°I know what a werewolf is, Greg. But why did that make Stormcloud hunt him down?¡± She asked incredulously.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Oh. That. Yeah, he killed one of Stormcloud¡¯s proteges,¡± he blasely replied, Violet¡¯s eyes widening slightly at the answer.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s horrible. When¡¯s the last time a junior hero died?¡± Violet asked as they reached the classroom door, the two slipping in unnoticed amongst the rambunctious conversations.


    ¡°They¡¯re called Youth Guards,¡± Greg corrected as they sat down. ¡°Junior is, like, demeaning or something. It¡¯s why they changed it to that stupid name. I still think they should be called Minimorphs.¡± He then leaned closer to whisper in Violet¡¯s ear¡­which meant putting his hand next to his mouth and taking at the same volume, just more breathy. ¡°You know, I heard Sarah beat up a kid for calling her little league.¡±


    The words, gossipy as they were, caused Violet to nearly jump out of her chair in alarm. ¡°Shh!¡± Violet hissed. ¡°Don¡¯t say that aloud!¡±


    ¡°What? It¡¯s not like it¡¯s a sec-mmph ummph bmmff!¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, dumbass,¡± Violet chided with a hand-held firmly against Greg¡¯s mouth. ¡°Do you want to get expelled?¡± That hand quickly left when a too-wet tongue started slathering it as the perpetrator shook his head in denial. ¡°God, you¡¯re a weirdo,¡± she grumbled as she wiped her saliva-ridden hand on Greg¡¯s hair, doing nothing to dim the smug smile he wore.


    ¡°Well now you¡¯re covered in weirdo spit,¡± he churlishly retorted, Violet choosing to not dignify that statement with more than a roll of her eyes.


    ¡°Good morning class!¡± The door to the classroom opened and in walked their teacher, her chipper greeting barely audible under the cacophony of conversations. Ms.Robinson was young, smart, and even more rarely, actually cared about her students. She also had a mean set of lungs that belied her small frame. ¡°I said; GOOD MORNING CLASS!¡±


    Her surprisingly low-pitch bellow was at odds with her beatific smile as conversation stilled, students grudgingly making their way to their seats.


    ¡°Good. This week we¡¯ll be learning about the Great War¡¯s origins, history, and its effects,¡± she announced, making some students perk up at something actually interesting being taught. ¡°Today, we¡¯ll be learning about the Triple Entente, and how such alliances caused the greatest armed conflict in history,¡± she added, before raising a single finger. ¡°But first, let¡¯s go over your homework!¡±


    Pained groans filled the room.


    _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________


    Morning classes were over, and it was time for Greg¡¯s favorite part of the school day: lunch. The food was terrible, made with ingredients he didn¡¯t want to know, and prepared by people with too much hair and too little net.


    And yet most of the time, it was something Greg looked forward to because it gave him half an hour to babble at Violet while she picked at whatever slop she chose.


    ¡°And get this, this moron replied that Overdrive would only win if he was given a sports car! As if! He could win on a moped¡ªthough only for a little while. Then the moped would explode, but you get my point, right?¡± As he ranted, he waved his fork around with every sentence, unaware of the food he was inadvertently flinging to the floor.


    ¡°Yuh huh.¡±


    ¡°And then when I tell that bozo what¡¯s what, he starts talking about tool assistance for some reason. Like yeah, Wind Swift doesn¡¯t really use tools, but she sucks so who cares.¡±


    ¡°Mmhm. So why do you care about this Overdrive being faster than Wind Swiftie?¡± Violet questioned, making Greg gape indignantly as he sent a piece of mystery meat flying.


    ¡°What? Buh-because he is! And the overrated roof hopper is called Wind Swift. Stupid name,¡± he grumbled.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s very important, but-¡±


    She began, before with a ground shaking roar the cafeteria rumbled, dust raining from the ceiling like snow.


    ¡°What the heck was that?¡± Greg asked, more curious than afraid.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It sounded like thund-¡±


    ¡°You got a screw loose, red bastard?¡± Violet looked past Greg as he turned around to see the reason lunch could be the worst part of his day.


    Tall, built, and objectively handsome with dirty blonde hair and green eyes, it was Brad Bradbury striding his way to their little corner of the cafeteria. Normally, he didn¡¯t bother going to ¡°loserville,¡± something about not wanting them to rub off him, but today was differnt, and Greg paled when he saw why. On the shoulder of his varsity jacket was a splotch of red, the source of it a flappy, rubbery piece of meat held between his thick fingers.


    ¡°H-hey, m-man, it was just an a-accident-¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t waste the little scraps of money your Mom slaves over to get, you know?¡± Brad continued, smirking as he saw the little shit¡¯s face twist in impotent anger at his words. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m such a nice guy. Here, have it back,¡± he said as he brought his hand down on the manlet¡¯s head, rubbing it in for good measure just to make sure he wouldn¡¯t lose it again. Who could say he wasn¡¯t thoughtful? When he lifted his hand, one would be hard pressed to tell the difference from before and after. Buried in an unnatural crimson the same shade as dried blood with small highlights of fiery red, Brad could barely see the chunk of flesh he so graciously returned. The owner didn¡¯t seem to think that, what with how he glared up at him, adorable anger filling a pair of red eyes that were quickly averted.


    ¡°The fuck¡¯s your problem, Berry?¡± The girl barked out, making his features twitch in anger at her intentional butchering of his name. Meeting her gaze filled him with even more annoyance. Unlike the little shit sitting across from her, she was actually somewhat intimidating, though he¡¯d never admit it. There was no fear in her eyes as she glared at him, and as if in response to her ire, the cafeteria rumbled again, this time louder and more intensely.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember telling you to open your mouth, purple bastard.¡± He sneered, a sneer that turned into a venomous smile as a particularly clever thought came to mind. ¡°Or maybe I should. If you¡¯re anything like your Mother all I¡¯d need is ten bucks for the rest of the hour. Or do you charge more?¡±


    That got her to drop the ice queen bullshit, her teeth showing as she snarled. Snarled! And yet, she did nothing but seethe and try to kill him with her eyes, as expected of the bastard duo.


    ¡°Guess not. Just keep your slop to yourselves, or next time I won¡¯t be so nice about it,¡± he declared and turned to walk away¡­


    ¡°Say you¡¯re sorry.¡±


    ¡­only to be interrupted by the red-headed manlet deciding to grow a pair all of a sudden. What, was it the thing he said about his Mother? Brad was pretty sure he¡¯s said worse before. No, that wasn¡¯t it. It was about the girl. He usually just glared harder, though. The moron really never recovered his balls after trying to get physical with him. God, that was a good memory. Brad looked back and down to see the little bastard standing from his seat with clenched fists. The redhead was angry, apparently, but when he barely came up to his chest it was more amusing than intimidating.


    ¡°You say something, half-breed?¡± Brad asked with a raised brow and a sardonic smirk. But instead of taking the obvious and far too generous out, the bastard proved his brains were just as tiny as the rest of him.


    ¡°W-what you said about Violet¡¯s Mom. Apologize,¡± he forced out despite his blatant hesitance. This was starting to get more annoying than funny.


    Brad stepped forward until his chest was nearly touching Greg¡¯s nose.


    ¡°Ohh, scary. And what are you,¡± he said, barely raising his arm to poke the boy in the forehead, ¡°gonna do if I don¡¯t?¡±


    Greg clenched his fists as he looked to the ground, both in anger and to stymie the fear begging him to freeze, run away, or beg. He was sure that if he allowed his nails to grow out, they¡¯d be drawing blood from how hard he squeezed.


    It felt strange, to stand up for himself, he realized. Unfamiliar and foreign, like he was in a dream that had no place in reality. He didn¡¯t even know why he was doing it. Not really. There was nothing special about it. He didn¡¯t wake up with a feeling of emboldenment and something like this wasn¡¯t out of the ordinary. It was normal. Routine.


    If he¡¯d stayed quiet, meek, Brad would leave him alone after a bit more hazing, and that¡¯d be the end of it. But maybe it was because he was sick of it, maybe it was because Brad had the nerve to insult Violet where it hurt, or maybe it was the booming rumble that seemed to thunder in time with his audible heartbeat, as if it was a manifestation of his inner turmoil.


    Behind Greg, Violet watched the encounter with conflicted feelings. She was proud of her only friend for finally standing up for himself, worried about the obvious outcome of it, and hesitant to intervene lest she snap his backbone before it¡¯s given a chance to grow. And so she chose to wait, watching with bated breath as he finally looked up with something in his eyes she¡¯d never seen before.


    ¡°Apologize.¡± Greg was too weak, in every way that mattered. Physically, he couldn¡¯t even Brad with one of his hands behind his back. Mentally, he wouldn¡¯t even try. He needed to be strong, strong enough to never feel like this again. To never be treated like this again. He needed to change. And something inside him did.


    ¡°Apologize, or I¡¯ll- I¡¯ll punch y-¡±


    BOOM!


    The wall exploded as a figure blurred by speed tumbled across the cafeteria in an uncontrolled hurtle. The sound of pelting rain and howling winds went from ambient to all-encompassing, yet for Greg, the cacophony of noise might as well have been silent compared to the sight in front of him.


    Grey and black fur mottled with red both dark and bright. Sharp, large, and blood-stained teeth of gleaming silver. Orange eyes nine feet off the ground despite being hunched over with arms rippling with muscle draped over digitigrade legs to effortlessly claw furrows into the floor.


    Lycan, the Werewolf.


    It was his first time seeing a cape so close, his first time seeing a villain that wasn¡¯t on his screen. He¡¯d always thought he would geek out and scramble to get his phone to record the moment, yet now, in the moment, he couldn¡¯t even move. Couldn¡¯t think as the world seemed to grind to a halt.


    And yet, the world stopped for no man, let alone a boy, and now he had to pay the price for such delusion.


    ¡°Greg!¡±


    Something warm and soft collided into him, knocking him out of his reverie and onto the cafeteria floor. Confused and disoriented, he looked around after wiping dust out of his eyes. Everywhere he looked there was chaos, over two hundred students running around as if their heads were cut off as two figures glared at each, one far larger, yet the other was looking down.


    Violet gets knocked out, not pinned.


    But no matter how big a nerd he was, the sight of Stormcloud barely even registered when his gaze made the mistake of drifting down to his left, where a curtain of purple hair was being dyed red. Next to her prone form, the offending piece of stray rubble lay bloody and mocking, reminding him who its target should have been.


    ¡°¡­no. No, no, no, no, no!¡± On hands and knees, he crawled closer, searching, pleading for a sign she was alright. Pressing two fingers to her neck, his relief was short lived at feeling the weak pulse.


    ¡°Violet!¡± He shouted, gingerly turning her limp body over if only to see her face. His hands came away bloody, and a strangled cry escaped him at the sight. ¡°Can you hear me? Come on, say something!¡±


    Briefly, he looked around for anybody nearby to help him, as if by some miracle a random highschooler would be able to patch her up. No one was there to help. The only ones left in the room were the two capes battling it out and those still too busy cowering behind chairs and table to move.


    ¡°Violet!¡± He shouted again, as if this time she¡¯d wake up from it. She didn¡¯t, as expected, and yet he¡¯d never felt so disappointed. He didn¡¯t know what to do. There was nothing he could do. Their corner of the cafeteria was the farthest from the entrance, and there was no way he was going to bet Violet¡¯s life on his ability to stagger through two top level capes fighting. He couldn¡¯t even move her to a safer spot, not without risking hurting her even more. The only thing he could do to help her was to sit there. To do nothing. He felt more powerful getting beat up than this.


    With tears of frustraion in his eyes and his fists clenched against his knees, Greg¡¯s gaze turned to the epic clash of titans before him. In the short span of time he¡¯d looked away, they¡¯d moved their battle outside, taking half the cafeteria with them.


    He watched in envy and awe as trees were uprooted and sent flying like javelins only to be rented in two with a swipe of claws. Cars were flung like they belonged in a matchbox instead of the road, just to be used as stepping points or dodged with inhuman grace. Bolts of lightning poured down like rain, each one dodged before they even struck.


    That power, that strength, where just being near the fight was a danger itself. If Greg had that, Violet wouldn¡¯t have been hurt. She would never have even been in danger. The anger of impotence boiled in him like magma, and out of his control his fist lashed out, crashing into the concrete with enough force to make a crack¨Cso small Greg couldn¡¯t even see it behind his pained fist.


    But even if Greg lost sight of others in his anger, he wasn¡¯t alone, and you didn¡¯t need to see something to know it happened. The boom, quiet as it was compared to the thunderous battle, didn¡¯t go unnoticed by the only one with the ears to hear it.


    Lycan¡¯s fur bristled just before lightning struck down where he stood only milliseconds ago. He growled in annoyance at the pesky bolts. He was fast, very fast, but even he could only rely on instinct and luck to avoid them. When those failed him, they hurt like hell and made his muscles shaky, even if the damage didn¡¯t last long.


    The entire fight was an annoyance for Lycan. At first, it was fun, exhilarating to fight one of the fucking Tetrachy in his first month as a morph. And then when it became a stalemate, it became boring. If Lycan could reach the weather boy he¡¯d tear him to shreds, but he couldn¡¯t, and weather boy couldn¡¯t hold him down long enough to kill him. For the last half hour he¡¯d been trying to escape this boring back and forth, his efforts doing jack when the one chasing him could fly and sense him with the fucking air. He needed something to distract him. Nothing crazy, like an Abominable attacking the place, he just needed a moment, a second where weather boy wasn¡¯t looking at him to hightail it.


    And then he heard a boom.


    ¡°Wake up, will you?¡± Greg pleaded, lightly slapping Violet in the face in his tenth attempt to get her to open her eyes. Like every time before, it didn¡¯t work. He went to slap her again, this time with probably too much force, but before he brought his hand down a werewolf riding the bumper of a thrown car slammed into the ground a few dozen feet away.


    Before he could even gawp, the werewolf leaped from the wreckage¨Cnot back to the fight or out of the way of an attack, but towards him. The world seemed to slow as orange eyes far too bright and malevolent stared into his own with the beast¡¯s teeth exposed in a bloody smile. Meeting its gaze, his body and mind froze like a statue, filled with absolute certainty that he was going to die.


    He could try to dodge, but he¡¯d be too slow. He could block, but he¡¯d be torn through like paper. Anything he did, not only would he die, but Violet would too.


    So he did something so stupid his mind didn¡¯t even think to object to it. He punched, and the world went black.

 Beagle 1.1

    October 12th, 2014


    Timber Hollow, United States


    Having powers was awesome¡ªawesome in a way no one ever seemed to talk about. It wasn¡¯t some flashy, life-changing revelation. I didn¡¯t suddenly become the coolest guy in school, nor did I flex my newfound strength into wealth or status. To everyone else, I was still just Greg. Greg the loser. Greg the wimp. Greg the ¡°Red Bastard.¡±


    I still got picked on. I still got called names. But now? Now, it barely bothered me. Mostly. On some small level, it still stung, but more than anything, it was funny. Like I knew some cosmic joke they didn¡¯t. Because I did know something.


    I knew that if I wanted to, if I really wanted to, I could just say ¡°screw it¡± and kill them with a single punch. Something about knowing that made everything different. It made all my problems seem small¨Cconquerable.


    I suppose that¡¯s why my most recent hurtle was so frustrating.


    It had been a month since I got my power, and from the moment I realized what I could do, the next step seemed obvious: become a cape. Anyone with powers did it. The ones who didn¡¯t? Few, far between, and total losers.


    The only problem? The costume.


    I loved costumes. I could tell you what year it was by looking at a capes outfit. The materials, the stitching, the color palettes¡ªI ate that stuff up. But making one myself? Turns out, I sucked at it.


    I knew it was hard to make a costume. Everyone did. But like most people, I only knew it anecdotally. Now, after a month of trying, I knew it firsthand.


    I started on my costume the day after Lycan¡¯s Rampage¡ªthe media¡¯s name, not mine. Thanks to that psycho, I had more free time than usual. The hospital was overwhelmed, even more than normal, which meant Mom was there nearly every waking hour.


    Which, I know, sucks and all, but it worked out for me. I had way more time and way less questions.


    Normally, if Mom saw me rummaging through old clothes and dusty sports gear, she¡¯d at least ask some questions¡ªmaybe even the right questions, despite her total disinterest in cape culture. But after everything that happened, I¡¯d apparently earned some post-trauma leeway. Instead of questions, all I got were pitying looks and offers to help.


    So, thanks to Lycan deciding to murder a few dozen people before getting his butt kicked by Stormcloud, I had nothing stopping me from making my hero costume. Nothing¡ªexcept my complete inability to actually make one. Or a villain costume. I tried that too.


    A hero¡¯s outfit was one of their most important assets. Above all else and without words, they announced who you were.  Sure, if you were powerful enough, you could stroll around in a trash bag and still be a legend. But not everyone had that kind of luxury. I certainly didn¡¯t. Not yet, at least.


    A good costume did more than just make you popular. If a criminal saw you as weak, they¡¯d treat you as weak. But if they perceived you as strong? Half the time, you wouldn¡¯t even need to prove it. I¡¯d practically written essays on cape forums about how every tiny detail of a costume mattered.


    Too bad knowing that didn¡¯t mean I could make one. And my habit of tearing apart bad designs online? Yeah, that didn¡¯t help either.


    But good costume or not, I couldn¡¯t wait any longer. There was a burning need to use my power, not for something grandiose like justice or systemic change, but simply for the sake of it, to crystalize the change I went through.


    And so, unable to make a good outfit but unwilling to wait, I found myself here, walking the streets at night looking like¡ªalmost¡ªanybody else.


    Covering my upper body was an old leather jacket slightly too big but not loose enough to swallow my hands. My legs were protected by black denim built for manual labor, tough enough that even my kitchen knives struggled against it.


    The only thing that marked me as a cape was the hockey mask I¡¯d spray-painted black. The one and only custom part of my outfit.


    It wasn¡¯t flashy. It wasn¡¯t impressive. But it was enough to be recognized as a cape.


    Nobody wore face masks anymore¡ªnot even on Halloween. Too many people had been jumped, mistaken for a cape, or had the MRU called on them for it. These days, a mask was a statement. A declaration.


    And tonight, it was mine.


    But even walking down a public street with my mask on full display, I wasn¡¯t worried about a team of heroes swooping in. Not here. This was the crap part of town¡ªor rather, the crappiest. A dead husk of industry left to rot by the coast, its warehouses and abandoned businesses too worthless to sell. Now, they just collected dust. And the desperate.


    The only people out this late weren¡¯t the types to call the authorities. Druggies, dealers, or homeless with their heads down¡ªI didn¡¯t have to worry about them making a fuss.


    Still, I kept my head on a swivel as I traveled the sidewalk for what I did have to worry about¡ªa dirty blade wielded by someone with more drugs than sense. And that¡¯s when I saw it.


    Or rather, her.


    I was crossing an alley, doing the sensible thing and checking for muggers, when I spotted a figure leaning against the wall. A small piece of paper dangled lazily from one hand.


    It took me a second to process¨CI even looked away before my brain caught up and snapped my head back in shock. My body reacted before my mind, throwing me into cover with all the grace of a falling trash can. I clapped both hands over my plastic mask as if that would somehow undo the noise I¡¯d made.


    Heart pounding, I took a few calming breaths and risked a glance back into the alley. No movement. No sudden charge from a cape ready to tear me apart.


    I was in the clear.


    But I wasn¡¯t done.


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    Luckily for me, the adjacent alley had a fire escape. Rusty, loose in places, and creaking under my weight, but most importantly, climbable. I hauled myself up, careful to move slowly, and tiptoed across the gravel-coated rooftop until I reached the parapet. Making sure to be extra quiet, I crouched down and leaned forward, looking down into the alley.


    From this vantage point, I was almost directly above her and slightly behind. The dimness of tonight¡¯s moon meant I¡¯d have to wave my arms around or start shouting to be noticed¨Cnot that I was stupid enough to do that¨Cbut it also meant it was hard to see.


    This close, I could see her figure, just enough to tell she was female and not much beyond that. Her outfit was black. Not just dark, but the kind of black that swallowed light, straining your eyes if you stared too long. Her hair, tied into a ponytail that reached her shoulder blades, was the same shade¡ªmaybe even darker, to the point I could see it because of how dark it was.


    There wasn¡¯t much to go off to identify her, but there was almost enough. Feeling vindicated by my obsession with capes, I squinted, focusing on her arms and legs. If I hadn¡¯t been looking, I never would have noticed them, but I was looking.


    Blades.


    Small, sheathed knives lined her outfit, their handles ending in a single metal ring¡ªjust big enough for a finger to slip through.


    And that was all I needed to confirm my guess.


    Lady Nyx. A villain, if not an infamous one. She worked for the Old Blood¡ªone of Timber Hollow¡¯s gangs and arguably its strongest. Not much was known about her. She rarely appeared in cape conflicts and was even more rarely recorded, the only sign she was there being her blades littering the scene.


    Her presence here raised a question. The mystery of her powers and role in Old Bloods raised more.


    Was she scouting? Testing the waters?


    We were in the Docks¡ªa stretch of no-man¡¯s-land between the territories of the two largest gangs. It wasn¡¯t unclaimed because it was too crappy for even the gangs to want it. No, it was because it was in between the territories of the two largest gangs, and whoever decided to reach out their hand to snatch it would find themselves missing an arm to defend their sides. A single spark could start a war.


    So what was she doing here?


    My gaze flicked to the piece of paper in her hand. A note. Based on its creases, folded twice¡ªonce vertically, once horizontally. Too far away for me to read, the words too small. I leaned forward, as if closing those few inches would somehow bring clarity¡ª


    Cold metal kissed the back of my neck.


    ¡°Don¡¯t kill him,¡± Lady Nyx said, still staring at the note. Not once had she looked up during my entire surveillance. Something only an amateur wouldn¡¯t notice.


    I felt a sharp prick, like a particularly large mosquito decided to have a nibble. Slowly¨Calmost creakingly¨CI turned my head to look behind me, my breath hitching as I nearly jumped out of my skin.


    A man.


    No. Not a man.


    It looked human, but every inch of its form was clad in full plate armor¡ªexcept the metal wasn¡¯t steel. It was wispy, shifting like colorless ink dissolving in water, its entire figure wrapped in monochrome haze. In its hands, a spear of the same strange material, at least as tall as its wielder, yet held effortlessly in one hand to hover over my neck.


    I gulped, the movement making me fear my Adam¡¯s apple would scrape against the blade despite it being against the side of my neck.


    I wasn¡¯t ashamed of my terror. I wasn¡¯t proud of it, either, in this instance? It was only natural. This thing¡ªwhatever it was¡ªhad no hesitation. No mercy. Because it couldn¡¯t. It wasn¡¯t human. It had no flesh, no soul. It was a construct. A tool. A weapon.


    And I knew its name.


    The Eternal Retinue. Or part of it. I didn¡¯t know how medieval stuff worked, but I did know it was a projection¡ªa manifestation of someone¡¯s power.


    And not just anyone.


    Its creator was a cape every Hollowan knew by sight. One of the most feared men in the city.


    And if he could see through his creation, that meant he was staring at me right now.


    The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I instinctively turned back toward the alley¡ªexpecting to see Lady Nyx still there, watching.


    But she was gone. Only trash and scattered debris remained.


    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t I kill you?¡±


    I turned back¨Cand the inhuman facsimile of a knight was gone.


    Instead, Lady Nyx stood before me, a dagger held casually in one hand.


    The added lighting from the being on the roof gave me a better look at her, but somehow, she was still hard to see. Her entire form¡ªher hair, her bodysuit¡ªwas so dark it felt like a void, swallowing the light around her. I didn¡¯t know if my eyes were playing tricks on me, but in some spots, shadows seemed to reach out, swaying like tendrils below her.


    Still, the added clarity let me pick up details that no blurry online photo could ever capture. Her armor was segmented and almost plastic-like in appearance but moved smoothly with her body. Beneath it, black cloth covered every inch of her skin, shielding her from both sight and the creeping chill that began to appear this time of year.


    But I couldn¡¯t ogle her forever, and if the way her grip tightened over her dagger, I was already trying her patience.


    Think. Say something!


    ¡°U-uh¡­I¡¯m, uh, a big fan?¡± I said haltingly, unsure and timid. Weak. My fists clenched at the thought, something I immediately undid when I felt her gaze sharpen on them. Like a coward. Like I was still powerless.


    ¡°Because you¡¯re a¡­fan?¡± She repeated, her raised eyebrow not needing to be visible to know it was there.


    ¡°Uh, yes. I mean¨Ccorrect.¡±


    A long, quiet moment stretched between us before she let out an exasperated sigh and lowered her dagger. Not sheathed¡ªjust lowered. Dismissively.


    ¡°If you want to join up, go be a nuisance in Old Town. I don¡¯t handle recruitment.¡± Her tone was flat, her words final. She turned, already walking away, as if the idea of me attacking her wasn¡¯t even worth considering.


    She was leaving, walking away without a fight¨Cno harm done, no threats even issued. There was no better outcome than this. So, I should have stayed quiet, right?


    ¡°I¡¯m not joining your gang!¡± And yet I just had to open my mouth.


    Lady Nyx froze.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a villain!¡±


    A long, slow breath escaped her, audible even from where I stood. Then, finally, she turned back toward me.


    She looked me up and down as she stepped closer, and only then did I realize I had stood up at some point. And yet, as she stopped just an arm¡¯s length away¡­


    She was still taller than me.


    ¡­She was short.


    "That," she said softly, her dagger held low and casual but no less threatening, "was the wrong thing to say."


    But then¡ªbefore she could eviscerate me and toss my body into the bay¡ª


    The sun rose.


    At eleven at night.

 Beagle 1.2

    October 12th, 2014


    Timber Hollow, United States


    Lady Nyx flinched away as if the glaring light had struck her with physical force. The way her body tensed, I thought she was going to stab me right then and there. But instead of attacking, her gaze snapped past me, locking onto the source of the light.


    Toward the ocean.


    For a fleeting moment, my fear of the villain in front of me was eclipsed by something far worse¡ªa spine-chilling terror of what was lighting up the docks. Coping denials blitzed through my mind at the thought. It¡¯s too soon. The last one wasn¡¯t that long ago. Timber Hollow has never been directly hit. That wouldn¡¯t change tonight. Even if it did, I was fast enough to get to Mom in time. We could run.


    But no litany of rationale could quell the horror in my gut. My body moved despite the protests of my more fearful mind, trembling, reluctant, knowing¨CI turned around. Relief nearly made my knees buckle.


    A fire.


    A monstrous inferno roared two blocks away, so large and so hot I could see heatwaves distorting the air and flames clawing skyward like starving beasts. Even from here, over two blocks away, I swore I could feel it grow hotter as the fire grew, devouring everything in its path. The sight should have been awe-inspiring, enough to make one simply gawp. Instead, my mind tore through the implications.


    It was too big, too fast. A natural fire wouldn¡¯t have spread this quickly without me noticing first. The distance¡ªtwo blocks¡ªwas close enough that an explosion would¡¯ve been deafening, yet I¡¯d heard nothing. That left only one possibility.


    A cape.


    I knew Timber Hollow¡¯s capes. Knew them more than just about anyone. And there were no pyrokinetics among them. That meant a fresh awakening. If it was caused by¡­something else, there would be a trail of steam and fire stretching from the ocean to the blaze, and the ones that crawled from the earth never started in abandoned warehouses. They emerged where the most people were.


    Which meant, whoever started this?


    Human.


    The realization sunk into me with startling relief. An unknown cape? A terrible possibility. But compared to the alternative? It wasn¡¯t even a question.


    ¡°Fuck!¡±


    The cape I was decidedly not relieved to see shouted, her fists clenched as she glared at the fire. Then, as if the blaze had burned through whatever had distracted her, she snapped her attention back to me.


    ¡°You!¡±


    She stomped forward, jabbing a finger in my direction, her snarl curling with unfiltered rage and accusation.


    ¡°You stupid piece of shit!¡±


    Instinctively, I backed away with my hands raised, making sure to distance myself from the edge of the roof. Despite the placating gesture, my face was twisted into a frown, irritation sparking beneath the confusion twisting in my gut.


    ¡°What the heck did I do?¡± I asked, bewildered. The only thing I¡¯d done was spy on her. Which¡ªokay¡ªsounded worse than it was. But she was a villain!


    ¡°That,¡± she snapped, whipping her arm around to point at the raging inferno in the distance, ¡°is what I come out here for.¡±


    Another stomp forward. This time, I held my ground.


    ¡°But now,¡± she dragged the words out, voice dripping with venom, ¡°instead, I have to deal with some mook in khakis and a hockey¡ª¡±


    She stopped. Perfectly still.


    Her eyes flicked between my raised fists and the dagger gleaming in her grip. Then, to my utter humiliation and rage¡ª


    She snorted.


    Which turned into a chuckle.


    Which turned into full-blown, doubled-over laughter.


    ¡°Are¡ªare you going to punch me?¡± she wheezed, barely holding herself together.


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    Heat rushed to my face, indignation and embarrassment fighting for dominance.


    ¡°I will,¡± I stated, more resolutely than I felt.


    The amusement drained from her in an instant, as if the air itself had changed. What was left in its wake was something else. Something primal. Something I¡¯d applauded and feared in equal measure.


    A villain, in all her terrible, untethered glory. An apex predator without the constraints of a hero.


    The change was so sharp, so stark, that every instinct screamed at me to run. But I didn¡¯t. Whether it was stubbornness, adrenaline, or my newfound, unproven confidence as a newfound morph, I didn¡¯t back down. Instead, I tightened my fists and drew one hand back, like an arrow nocked on a string.


    I could feel Lady Nyx¡¯s smile behind the mask.


    ¡°Do it,¡± she murmured, voice almost blank¡ªalmost. Beneath the emptiness, a manic excitement coiled, barely contained and waiting for a reason to be let out.


    ¡°The old man said no attacking other capes.¡±


    She stepped forward, slow and deliberate. A second dagger slid from one of her many filled sheaths, firelight glinting off the cold metal.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t say anything about self-defense.¡±


    The words were a provocation, blatantly goading me to start something she thought I couldn¡¯t finish. I tensed, my breath heavy and labored like I¡¯d just run a marathon. My arms trembled pathetically, betraying my best efforts to be¨Cno, look¨Ccomposed. But she didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t attack. And so, my fear of what could be remained greater than what was.


    ¡°Do it.¡±


    Her voice was almost breathless¡ªlike she had to physically restrain herself from leaping at me.


    Then sharper, hungrier¡ªalmost desperate.


    ¡°Do it!¡±


    Her arm snapped forward. A dagger buried itself in the rocks between my feet. I flinched¡ªfar too late. Too slow to dodge. Too slow to react. Even then, I didn¡¯t throw a punch.


    ¡°Fucking pussy.¡±


    Something snapped, and I saw red.


    My arm moved before I even knew I¡¯d decided to strike. Fast. Faster than I thought possible. Strength surged through me¡ªraw, untethered, and out of my control.


    That sentence. Those words. I¡¯d heard them before. Most people have. But most people didn¡¯t have it so often directed at them. It was always the same few people who called me that, and among them, one name stood above the rest.


    Brad Bradbury.


    Every time he felt the whim to treat me and Violet as toys to play with and break at his amusement. Every time he swaggered over, wearing that crap-eating smirk with a glint of cruel merriment in his eyes. Every time I didn¡¯t do a thing about it. Every time I dropped my gaze to the sound of his mocking laughter.


    Not this time. I wasn¡¯t that guy anymore.


    I snapped out of my fugue¨Cmy fist mid-swing. Lady Nyx stood over ten feet away, knees bent and dagger poised ready to strike. She was ready to kill me.


    But I didn¡¯t want to kill her. At the last second, I yanked my arm downward.


    A howling gale erupted from the impact and the rooftop vanished in a dense cloud of dust¨Cpulverized rock choking the air, leaving me blind and coughing, but alive. And so was she.


    Uncomfortable but safe within the cover of my own destruction, I shook out my arm. It was trembling, a pulsing, throbbing pain lancing throughout.  Too much force. Far more than I¡¯d ever called on in practice.


    That strength hadn¡¯t come without cost. My arm barely felt usable now, every movement twinging.


    Then¨Ca struggle. A muffled curse.


    I whipped around, my heart hammering against my chest.


    ¡°Show yourself,¡± a voice commanded from beyond the dust. Deep. Steady. Male. Not Lady Nyx, the only other person who should be on this roof.


    I thrust out my good hand, careful not to use too much force. A weak but effective burst of wind tore through the haze, revealing the man who had spoken.


    He stood clad in bronze, his armor straight out of ancient Greece¡ªpolished, imposing, and familiar. A chainmail skirt that fell past his knees, hovering over metal greaves that blended into sturdy boots. A massive, rounded shield on his back, and a sheathed straight sword hanging from his hip, a gauntleted hand resting lightly on its hilt.


    His other hand was locked easily around both of Lady Nyx¡¯s wrists. She thrashed, struggling in vain to escape his grip.


    ¡°So my eyes weren¡¯t deceiving me¡­¡± The man muttered, though loud enough for me to hear. I felt his gaze settle just above my eyes, prompting me to look up¡ªand up again¡ªto meet the stare behind the famous helmet.


    Hoplite.


    Long ago, before I was even born, he was a legend in the making, or so people claimed. But time changed that, and now he¡¯d passed into obscurity so much I thought he¡¯d simply passed away.


    ¡°Are you affiliated with her?¡± the hero asked casually, jostling the villain in his grip as if there was anyone else he could mean.


    My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I shook my head in the negative.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    Without a hint of effort, he sent Lady Nyx flying. The villain didn¡¯t even hit the ground, melting into shadow and vanishing before she did¡ªa facet of her power the internet absolutely did not know about. Something I would be rectifying later. But now, with her gone, I was left alone with the man I had written off as dead.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± he ordered. Before I could blink, I felt a grip crushing my shoulder, and the man was standing right beside me.


    ¡°This is not a request.¡±


    That night, I learned how little choice I really had. That night, I became a hero...ish.

 NPR: Lycan

    Notable Persons Report


    Subject: Lycan


    Name: [Redacted]


    Affiliation: Ex-member of the Blowhard gang


    Designation: Villain


    Threat Rating: High 8, Low 9


    Age: 27


    Classification: Shifter (self) | Brute 9 (shift state) | Mover 8 (shift state) | Master 2 (shift state)


    Ability Title: Lycanthrope


    <h4>Ability Assessment:</h4>


    Subject possesses the ability to shift into a form resembling a werewolf. This state grants significant increases in strength, speed, and regenerative capabilities. No observed duration limit. Regeneration renders non-lethal damage ineffective.


    Subject exhibits an additional auditory effect: when howling, nearby targets experience an unnatural fear response. Subject has stated that the effect is reversed for designated allies, reducing their fear response. Further testing required to confirm parameters.


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    <h4>Appearance:</h4>


    In shifted form, subject stands at approximately 9.5 feet in height, covered in dark grey to silver fur. Clothing is rarely worn; only observed when recently transformed.


    <h4>Background:</h4>


    Born in Chicago, subject engaged in criminal activity from a young age, exhibiting antisocial behavioral patterns indicative of sociopathy or psychopathy. Prior to morphogenitization, subject committed multiple homicides.


    Following morphogenitization, subject attempted a violent coup within the Blowhard gang, nearly succeeding before engaging in conflict with Stratos, a Youth Guard and protege of Tetrarchy hero Stormcloud. Subject killed Stratos before being forced to flee east. Pursued and ultimately apprehended by Stormcloud in Timber Hollow, Delaware.


    <h4>Threat Assessment:</h4>


    Subject is a high-tier brute with limited counters outside overwhelming force. Any non-lethal damage is negated rapidly. Engagement should prioritize incapacitation through extreme force or containment methods.


    Behavioral patterns indicate a preference for combat over strategic retreat. Subject will flee only when facing overwhelming opposition or loss of interest.


    <h4>Operational Assessment:</h4>


    Subject lacks ambition beyond immediate physical conflict. Displays an obsession with power, preferring to remain in shifted form. Required explicit threats of termination before reverting to base state.


    <h4>Conclusion:</h4>


    Operationally, subject presents little long-term concern. Lacks the discipline or strategic foresight to pose a sustained threat beyond immediate engagements. Unreliable for external manipulation. Best neutralized through overwhelming force or capture.

 Babirusa 2.1

    October 13th, 2014


    Timber Hollow, United States


    Graffiti, broken crack pipes, a bevy of trash, and dried blood staining the walls and floor of an abandoned warehouse. The perfect spot for capes to secretly meet¡ªpractically straight out of a movie. Too bad for me, I hadn¡¯t been able to enjoy fulfilling that particular fantasy on account of not being given a choice to be there.


    In front of me had stood Hoplite, a man with so few public appearances in recent years that I was convinced he¡¯d died an unreported death. I was wrong, unfortunately.


    Hoplite was also an official hero, though I¡¯d begun doubting if he deserved the title.


    ¡°What the heck did you bring me here for?¡± I¡¯d asked, the stretched silence gnawing at me. It had been getting late, and I wasn¡¯t nearly good enough at lying to trick Mom if I arrived home at the wrong time.


    No response.


    ¡°Well?¡± I¡¯d pressed, irritation sharpening my words more than I¡¯d intended. The moment I¡¯d spoken, regret coiled in my stomach¨Cthe kind you feel when you bump into a vase, helplessly hoping it won¡¯t hit the ground.


    Maybe it¡¯d been my tone. Maybe it hadn¡¯t mattered. Either way, Hoplite had chosen that moment to move.


    Garbed in armored boots, his footsteps had echoed like thunder in the warehouse as he strode forward, silent and deliberate, closing the distance between us until he was uncomfortably close.


    ¡°Greg?¡±


    With my eye level at his chest and him so near, I¡¯d been forced to crane my neck to meet his gaze. It¡¯d been a power play; I knew it then, and I knew it now. Yet, it had still worked, even if I was aware of it. Simply holding his stare had hurt¡ªphysically and mentally. A forceful reminder of the difference between us, of how little control I had here. I¡¯d been given two choices: to step back and concede ground or stand firm and look like a stubborn child next to him.


    Either way, he won.


    I had stayed right where I was. It hadn''t been out of bravery. My legs had simply refused to move.


    ¡°Greg? Hello?¡±


    I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to meet his gaze, to push the fear down, to act like I wasn¡¯t drowning in it.


    ¡°Alright, enough, man. What do you-¡±


    His gauntleted hand had shot forward, too fast to react. My world went black, my voice muffled. Squirming without sight, I could feel his fingers reach past my mask to scrape against my scalp, his palm pressing against me hard enough that it felt like my nose was going to snap. His thumb dug into the side of my chin, his hand large enough to encompass my entire face.


    ¡°Earth to Greg?¡±


    The pressure against my nose faded as he took hold of my mask, warping it with a casual squeeze. Before I could even attempt to defend myself, with a sudden yank he pulled bac-


    ¡°Greg!¡±


    Violet was staring at me now, concern etched on her normally placid face. I must have looked terrible to get her to show her emotions so blatantly.


    We were at school, sitting outside against a wall. It was lunch hour, and the cafeteria was still taped and filled with rubble and promises of rebuilding. The news said Stormcloud was footing the bill, but knowing this school, I doubted they¡¯d fix it til next year.


    At least we got to sit wherever we want now.


    ¡°You alright?¡± Violet asked, her food forgotten in her open lunchbox. She never ignored her lunch, even if she always ate it like we were at some fancy gala.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Just thinking about armored a-holes,¡± I grumbled.


    A-holes, huh? What¡¯s got you worked up enough to almost say a naughty word?¡± she teased, one brow raised, though the concern remained.


    ¡°It was nothing,¡± I brushed off, flashing a forced smile. It didn¡¯t seem to be very good. Violet was still looking at me, studying my face with a furred brow and waiting for me to elaborate. She wouldn¡¯t push¡ªnot outright¡ªbut I also knew she wouldn¡¯t drop it completely.


    ¡°I just¡­¡± I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. ¡°Had an annoying night.¡±


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    She watched me a moment longer before finally picking up her sandwich and taking a slow bite. When she spoke again, her tone was noticeably more casual. ¡°Annoying how?¡±


    I shrugged, trying to smooth over the frustration I¡¯d let slip. ¡°Just some guy on the internet. He just happened to strike a nerve, okay?¡±


    ¡°And that nerve happened to revolve ¡®armored a-holes¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± I said, dragging out the word and popping the p.


    ¡°Mmhm,¡± she hummed, unconvinced. Then, bluntly: ¡°You¡¯re deflecting.¡±


    She was tactless, but she wasn¡¯t wrong. A large part of me wanted to sputter out some denial, make up some better lie, but I didn¡¯t. It wouldn¡¯t work¡ªnot on her. And more importantly, I didn¡¯t want to dig this hole of lies any deeper. Not to her.


    That didn¡¯t mean I couldn¡¯t twist it.


    ¡°¡­Maybe,¡± I admitted, rubbing my temples. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± I exhaled, sighing more in the last hour than I had in the past month. ¡°What would you do if, say, someone was blackmailing you into doing something you didn¡¯t want to do? Like, really didn¡¯t want to do?¡±


    Violet¡¯s eyes sharpened, her casual but concerned demeanor vanishing in an instant. ¡°Is someone threatening you, Greg?¡± she asked, something dangerous flashing behind her gaze.


    ¡°Is someone threatening you, Greg?¡± Violet asked, something dangerous flashing in her eyes.


    ¡°No! No, nothing like that,¡± I said quickly. ¡°It¡¯s just¡ªthis guy online brought up something similar, and it got me thinking, ¡®what would I do, ¡¯ you know? What would I be capable of?¡±


    Violet paused at that, the question unexpected enough to calm her down. The Greg of a month ago didn¡¯t go outside enough to get blackmailed, and he certainly wasn¡¯t exciting enough to have good material for it. So, for once, my previous lameness worked to my favor. The question was hypothetical to her, and she seemed to be giving it consideration, going so far as putting her sandwich down.


    ¡°Well, that depends on what they have on me and what they¡¯re asking me to do. It¡¯s not about how bad the blackmail is, Greg¡ªit¡¯s how bad it is compared to what they want.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­ what if what they have is like, really, really bad?¡±


    ¡°How bad?¡± she asked, narrowing her eyes. ¡°What could they have on you that¡¯s so terrible?¡±


    She paused. Then, suddenly, horror flickered across her face.


    ¡°Greg, did you send someone a picture of your¡­ you know?¡± She gestured vaguely toward my lower half. ¡°Please tell me you didn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t!¡± I interrupted loudly, eyes darting around to make sure no one else heard that. ¡°This is hypothetical, remember? Now get your mind out of the gutter!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t!¡± I loudly interrupted, looking around to make sure no one else heard that. ¡°It¡¯s a hypothetical question, alright! Now get your mind out of the gutter!¡±


    ¡°My mind was never in the gutter, Gregory,¡± she stated sharply, and I almost flinched at the full-name treatment. ¡°I was just making sure. It¡¯s not like you haven¡¯t met someone ¡®special¡¯ on M-CHAT before.¡±


    ¡°That was one time!¡± I hurriedly defended, scandalized. ¡°But never mind that. What would you do if someone had something on you that was really, really bad? Like, someone you love might die bad.¡±


    She blinked. ¡°Someone I love?¡±


    She paused in thought before glancing at me, my face going scarlet even if it wasn¡¯t like that. After a few silent moments of consideration, Violet answered, her tone turning from teasing to utmost seriousness.


    ¡°Then I¡¯d do whatever it took.¡± A beat. ¡°I¡¯d still try to find the bastard threatening me first, though.¡±


    I let out a nervous, forced laugh. ¡°Uh, oh. Haha. Remind me not to get on your bad side.¡±


    ¡°Who says you¡¯re not already?¡± she replied with an obnoxious smirk.


    A smirk that disappeared the second I opened my mouth.


    ¡°Well, that look you gave me says otherwise,¡± I said with too many winks, my face scrunching up on one side to accomplish the suave move.


    Violet¡¯s mouth opened, sputtering denials on her lips, before she promptly shut them and turned away, suddenly finding her food much more interesting than me.


    ¡°You¡¯re an idiot,¡± she muttered, cheeks tinged pink as she took small bites of her sandwich. Violet was no blushing maiden; I couldn¡¯t recall the last time I saw her look like this. I found I quite liked it.


    But before I could try my hand at making her even more scarlet, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, and my good mood drained to the last drop.


    UNKNOWN NUMBER: 7:00. Old town. Don¡¯t be late.


    A second message popped up with an address for me to follow.


    I stared at it, stomach twisting as the world narrowed to a street name I didn¡¯t even recognize. I thought I¡¯d have more time. The weekend, at least. But Hoplite wasn¡¯t giving me time or a choice. He¡¯d frame it differently, but we both knew that ever since that night, there was a gun to my head with his finger on the trigger.


    I shoved the phone back into my pocket, forcing my expression to stay neutral.


    I wasn¡¯t good at it.


    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Violet asked.


    ¡°No,¡± I lied. ¡°Just some spam.¡±


    ¡°Mmhm,¡± she hummed, humoring me, but she didn¡¯t press it. I almost wished she did¨Ctake the choice out of my hands. Stop me from doing something I couldn¡¯t undo. But that didn¡¯t happen, and dread boiled like tar.


    Because tonight, a dream of mine died. Tonight, I¡¯d be joining the Old Blood.

 Babirusa 2.2

    October 13th, 2014


    Timber Hollow, United States


    Old Town was a strange place. Alien, almost. It sat north of where I lived and was once the enclave of the rich, back when Timber Hollow was known only for shipping lumber.


    I¡¯d been here before, years ago, and hadn¡¯t been back since. I remembered it being weird and altogether boring, but back then, I was too young to realize why.


    It was because Old Town wasn¡¯t like the rest of Timber Hollow. Honestly, it felt like a different city entirely. It wasn¡¯t just the obvious stuff, like the stark cleanliness or the lack of things broken. It was the people, too.


    They were different in a way that felt insulting. They stood different, walked different, even freaking smiled different. When they casually strolled on the lustrous sidewalks, they didn¡¯t avoid eye contact or refuse to engage in conversations. Their steps weren¡¯t hurried, and their forms weren¡¯t huddled. When they smiled, it wasn¡¯t just an awkward raise of their lips. It was relaxed, almost cocky in how comfortable they were. It was like, here, the thought of someone jumping them just wasn¡¯t even there.


    But, out of everything they did differently, the strangest part to me was how they reacted to me. I was in full costume, mask on and everything, and yet the people who saw me barely even cared. Most just glanced at me and scoffed or smirked as if there was something amusing, their stride not even breaking. Anywhere else, seeing a cape meant you looked the other way and hurried up to get as far as possible. At the very least, there¡¯d be someone stupid enough to start recording them. But no one bothered to even do that.


    ¡°Ignore this.¡±


    I stepped forward, out from the edge of an alley and towards the street with my fist clenched and ready to make some noise.


    Before I could take a second step, I heard a barely audible thud behind me, and suddenly, I couldn¡¯t move. My eyes still had the freedom to frantically dart around, allowing me to see the amused snorts of passerbies, but the rest of my body felt like it was stuck in concrete.


    ¡°Thanks for making it easy, dipshit.¡±


    The voice came from behind me, familiar and annoyed. I felt a hand grip the back of my leather jacket, and stuck like a statue, I was yanked downwards. But, instead of slamming into concrete, I fell through the floor and into inky darkness for a split second.


    Jarringly instant, light returned to my eyes. I was no longer on the street, I was somewhere else entirely.


    A small, suffocating room.


    The air was stale, heavy with the mix of overdone air fresheners and something metallic beneath it¡ªblood, maybe. The four walls were pristine but lifeless, sterile in a way that made them feel more menacing. A single light fixture buzzed overhead, its dim glow casting shadows in the corners of the room.


    In the center sat a metal chair, the only furniture in the room. The concrete beneath it bore faint scuff marks¡ªsigns of struggle, of someone else dragged here before me. Below the chair, a rust-rimmed drain stared up like a waiting mouth. There was no sink. No pipes. No reason for it to be there.


    A flex of my fingers told me I could move again, but there was nowhere to go. No windows. No doors. Not even a clock.


    Just silence. The only sound was the distant hum of a ventilation fan, somewhere beyond these walls. This was the kind of place you only ever saw once.


    I blinked.


    When my eyes opened, she was there.


    Lady Nyx stood before me, her presence as abrupt as if the shadows had spat her out.


    ¡°Cuff yourself,¡± she ordered, pointing at the chair. A metallic jingle followed as handcuffs clattered onto my chest.


    Confused, but too scared to try anything, I sat down and began to as she said¨C


    Only to be interrupted by a sharp, exasperated sigh.


    ¡°To the chair, dumbass.¡±


    ¡°...Oh.¡±


    Heat crept up my neck as I corrected my mistake, securing one wrist against the chair¡¯s cold metal arm.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Lady Nyx leaned against the wall, a dagger rolling idly between her fingers. Not quite a threat, but not idle either.


    ¡°Alright, two questions,¡± she drawled, tilting her head in a way that was somehow threatening instead of curious. ¡°Why are you here? And why shouldn¡¯t I cut off a few fingers and do a happy jig?¡±


    This wasn¡¯t like last time. Back then, I had an exit. A sliver of control. Now, I was in her territory. If she wanted me gone, I¡¯d be slush in a barrel before sunrise. And with these cuffs? Fighting back wasn¡¯t even a fantasy.


    And yet, now that she was in front of me, I wasn¡¯t nearly as scared. Anxious, sure¡ªI was wired like a frayed cable at that moment¡ªbut not scared. Not like before. Because this time, I had a reason to be here. Even if it wasn¡¯t my own.


    ¡°I wanna join your gang.¡±


    She stilled. A flicker of surprise crossed her posture¡ªjust for a moment¡ªbefore she let out a sharp, mocking laugh.


    ¡°Uh-huh. You want to join the ¡®gang,¡¯ is that it? Remind me what you told me when you wasted my time.¡±


    ¡°I changed my mind,¡± I said, my voice steadier than I expected. ¡°Turns out heroism isn¡¯t what I thought it was.¡±


    ¡°Truth, justice, and the American way?¡± she asked sarcastically.


    ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s just great to hear. But I didn¡¯t ask if you changed your mind,¡± she said, her voice dropping to a low, humorless thing. ¡°I asked you to tell me what you said. I remember it being a little anathema to gang life.¡±


    I exhaled, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the power play. ¡°...I said I wasn¡¯t going to join a gang."


    ¡°Hmm? What was that? I couldn¡¯t quite hear you.¡±


    My jaw clenched involuntarily, the urge to punch her taking over me, but a quick look at my cuffs disabused me of that notion.


    ¡°I told you I wasn¡¯t going to join a gang,¡± I repeated, sharper this time.


    ¡°You did, didn¡¯t you?¡± She took a slow step forward, bending just enough to press her dagger under my chin. The blade was cool against my skin¡ªalmost refreshing, if not for the fact that it could open my throat in an instant. ¡°So why should I believe you¡¯ve had a change of heart? Especially when, if you knew anything about the ¡®gang, ¡¯ you¡¯d know to never call it that. It¡¯s crude.¡± A beat. ¡°It¡¯s insulting.¡±


    ¡°Then I apologize,¡± I conceded. ¡°But I¡¯m serious. Hoplite, the armored guy that showed up? He tried to recruit me¡ªwanted me to join the Hardliners and spy on them. You know, go undercover. He wouldn¡¯t take no for an answer, either,¡± I lied, reciting the story Hoplite told me to tell.


    ¡°And he just¡­let you go? Just like that? How stupid do you think I am?¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t just ¡®let me go.¡¯ I said I¡¯d do it. He told me he¡¯d be in touch. Had to give him my number, but yeah, he let me leave after that.¡±


    ¡°And that made your morals do a nice little flip. Uh-huh.¡± She backed away, but not before tracing the tip of her dagger along my neck, just enough to pierce the skin. A bead of warmth trickled down my throat. ¡°Either your morals are hilariously loose, or you lied to me¡ªone way or the other.¡±


    ¡°And that made your morals do a nice little flip. Sure.¡± The villain backed away, but not before tracing a small line on my neck with her dagger, just enough to pierce the skin. ¡°Either your morals are hilariously loose, or you¡¯re lying.¡±


    ¡°I already told you, circumstances changed. It wasn¡¯t like I was going to be a government puppet hero anyway.¡±


    I raised my uncuffed hand, pressing my middle finger hard against my thumb. Lady Nyx tensed, her grip tight on her dagger, but she didn¡¯t move¡ªjust watched, waiting for me to do something stupid.


    ¡°And you seem to be forgetting something important.¡± I let my thumb slip out of the way.


    A concentrated burst of wind shot from my fingertip, slamming into the wall. The impact blasted out a fist-sized hole, the debris scattering across the floor.


    ¡°I¡¯m not just some wannabe thug off the street. I¡¯m a cape.¡±


    I met her gaze, unwavering. ¡°I know what I¡¯m worth, Lady Nyx. And I know I deserve a chance. Nobody else would pass up an opportunity like this.¡±


    Silence stretched. Her unreadable gaze locked onto mine, calculating, weighing. I refused to look away. My adamance wasn¡¯t born from something as noble as steely resolve. I was annoyed. Very annoyed.


    I didn¡¯t want to be here. Didn¡¯t want this. Mom and Violet would kill me if they knew. And they¡¯d be right to do so. Joining a gang was stupid¨Cnot worth it. This was stupid.


    And yet, Lady Nyx was acting like I should be grateful. Like I owed her.


    Bullcrap. If anything, they were lucky to have me. I should have been welcomed with open arms as soon as I said I¡¯d join. Heck, a signing bonus wouldn¡¯t have been unreasonable.


    She let out a long breath, then shrugged.


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    For once, her voice lacked that insufferable, patronizing edge.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take you to the boss. He decides if you¡¯re in.¡± She smirked, slow and sharp.


    ¡°If not?¡± She shrugged helplessly. ¡°Welp.¡±


    I nodded and gestured to the cuffs still chaining me to the chair. Her expression flickered¡ªlike she was annoyed I¡¯d remembered¡ªbut she tossed me the key anyway. The metal clicked as I freed myself, rubbing at my wrist before rising to my feet.


    Then she spoke again.


    ¡°Oh, and if you¡¯re serious about joining, take off that fucking wig. It¡¯s ridiculous.¡±


    I froze.


    A silence settled between us, awkward and heavy.


    ¡°Uh¡­ I can¡¯t really¡­ do that,¡± I said, sheepish.


    She tilted her head, confusion crossing her face before she slumped, muttering some sort of curse under her breath. Then, with a sigh, she pinched the bridge of her mask like she was physically holding back regret.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a wig, is it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a wig,¡± I confirmed.


    A pause.


    ¡°...You¡¯re a fucking idiot, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Yes, yes, I was.

 Babirusa 2.3

    <b>October 13th, 2014</b>


    <b>Timber Hollow, United States</b>


    The Old Blood wasn¡¯t a gang. I called them that, but it just wasn¡¯t true. It was an easy word to use, sure, but not the right one. Between them and a gang, it wasn¡¯t even close.


    Not in their organization, their intelligence, or even how they operated. They didn¡¯t peddle drugs or warm bodies, didn¡¯t mug people that looked at them the wrong way. They acted more like a pseudo-government, a style that had them ruling Old Town with an iron fist wrapped in velvet.


    Instead of taxes, they racketeered, and the businesses they extorted  from hung their banner from the windows with pride. Instead of cops, they had guys in black and gold patrolling the streets. They didn¡¯t need official capes, either¨Cthey had their own.


    Because they were the uncontested owners of Old Town, and they didn¡¯t need to rule with blood¨Cat least, not anymore. It wasn¡¯t out of benevolence. It was born from overwhelming might. A might so absolute that the cops didn¡¯t even show up anymore. No bribes required. There was no need to puff themselves up like a normal gang, to remind everyone of the rules, because, when you owned the streets to their level, your rules were law.


    Not that it was always like this. And I wasn¡¯t saying they were perfect or even good. There was a time when the Old Blood was still carving their name into Old Town, and they built their empire on death and violence just like everybody else. They were still criminals. Their capes were still villains. It was just that unlike other crooks, when they crapped, they covered it in gold. And they covered it so well that the people in Old Town seemed perfectly content with their rule. But I knew they didn¡¯t rule through love. I knew that under that velvet, they ruled with an iron fist soaked in old blood. A bit ironic, really.


    These days, I didn¡¯t know what they did behind the scenes to keep their rule, but I knew the man who ran it all was still the same. You had to be, to be a villain still kicking it after decades in Timber Hollow. And now, I was sitting in front of that man and asking for a job.


    The office was lavish but not gaudy, with the only other person in the room being Lady Nyx who stood guard at the door. Outside that door was a hallway, filled with at least a dozen wispy, statue-still soldiers who would flood the room at an errant thought. Beyond the hallway, I had no idea. I had been brought here by serial teleportation with a blindfold on my head and my phone forcefully powered off.


    Now, I was in a plushy chair that I could practically melt into, but I didn¡¯t feel the slightest bit comfortable. Because in front of me, sitting behind a stately desk, was a man who held my fate in his palm, and he was too busy doing paperwork to even look my way.


    When I first got my powers, I fantasized a lot about meeting the big names of the cape world. My daydreams were filled with monologues and me kicking their butts or them telling me how awesome I was¨Cunrealistic stuff like that. None of them included this. Even in my more grounded imaginings, I never thought I¡¯d be ignored so blatantly. You just didn¡¯t do that to capes. But Magistrate did.


    He looked just like the photos I saw of him on the internet, and yet an image on a screen couldn¡¯t convey even a fraction of the presence I was feeling right now. It wasn¡¯t the feeling of animalistic brutality that other villains gave out, like they could snap at any time and kill you with ease. It was calmer than that, but no less frightening. It felt more like I was insignificant¨Cnot in a condescending way, more like a fact one just had to accept.


    This wasn¡¯t just a guy in a costume playing dress up. This was a real villain, even if he didn''t have a mustache to twirl. His attire was a blend of nobility and intimidation¨Ca black military style coat trimmed with gold that showed off his broad physique. On his face was white half-mask that covered him from the nose up to his hair, leaving his thick but well-groomed beard on display. He was sitting down now and leaned over his desk, but I could tell with a glance that he was tall. Tall enough that if he stood up, he¡¯d make me feel as short as I did with Hoplite.


    And that was another reason why I had to dig my heel into the ground to stop my leg from shaking, why I felt as insignificant as I did. The physique of most morphs told you a bit about their powers. If they were big ripped with muscle, they were probably a brute¨Cthe ones that could eat a bullet and spit it out. Other capes didn¡¯t tend to look like that. It was just how powers worked. When you could fire lasers from your hands or make someone punch themselves with a thought, what good were your fists?


    Magistrate¡¯s power was of the latter category, the kind where one didn¡¯t need to be strong to be powerful. His power was simple. He could create an indefinite amount of projections, just like the one who held a spear to my throat that night on the roof, just like the ones lining the hallway. He could be in a wheelchair with no arms and still kill an entire city block.


    But, being in front of him, actually seeing him in person, it felt like he didn¡¯t need it. It felt like, even without his powers, he could leap over the desk and beat me to death with just his gloved hands.


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    I hated it.


    ¡°So,¡± a voice, deep and just as cultured as it was in the videos, abruptly spoke, making me nearly jump out of my seat. ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    ¡°I, uh,¡± I floundered at the simple question. ¡°I wish to join your, uh, organization.¡± My fists clenched on my legs¨CI didn¡¯t know why I was stuttering so much.


    Magistrate didn¡¯t respond, and after a few moment¡¯s of cloying silence, Lady¡¯s Nyx¡¯s words flashed in my mind. ¡°If my hair¡¯s a problem I can just cover it up or something, it¡¯s really not an issue for me-¡±


    Magistrate held out a hand, stopping my rambling.


    ¡°Your hair is not an issue,¡± he said, glancing at Lady Nyx behind me. I didn¡¯t know if her hate of certain hair was a recurring issue, or if he somehow knew about our conversation from earlier. ¡°I want to know why you are here.¡±


    ¡°I want to join your organization,¡± I answered, confused. ¡°That''s all.¡±


    ¡°I have repeated myself once, already,¡± Magistrate stated, his tone stern and colored with annoyance. ¡°Do not make me do it a second time.¡±


    ¡°...did Lady Nyx tell you about my situation?¡± I asked after a few moments. Magistrate stared blankly at me, not confirming or denying my question. Guess he was making<i> me </i>repeat myself. ¡°Hoplite threatened me, tried to make me go undercover for the Hardlners. I, uh, obviously didn¡¯t want to do that. So I lied, told him I would. He let me go, now I¡¯m here.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Magistrate nodded, seeming to accept my words.


    ¡°How old are you?¡±


    ¡°I, uh¡­¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to answer. It was rhetorical.¡± He leaned back and steepled his hands together. ¡°You¡¯re young, I can tell. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen at the oldest.¡± His guess was scarily accurate. ¡°I¡¯d wager you¡¯ve never even broken a serious law¨Cyou just don¡¯t have the look. So why are you here, turning to a life of crime at the first opportunity? The Youthguard would take you in a heartbeat.¡±


    The Youthguard was the underage branch of the Morhpguard, the only government sanctioned (and run) group of morphogens to act as heroes. For a lot of kids, they were who they wanted to be when they grew up, more renowned than any normal celebrity in the world. The Morphguard had their own action figures, shows, merchandise, even movies made about them. The only problem was Hoplite was one of them.


    ¡°I already told you,¡± I said, brows furrowed under my mask, ¡°Hoplite threatened me. I can¡¯t join the Youthguard.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you?¡± He asked, head tilted slightly. ¡°Perhaps you don¡¯t know, but Hoplite has been on the fringe with his overseers for quite some time. They¡¯ve been looking for a reason to kick him out for years. Your case is a prime one.¡±


    I¡­didn¡¯t know that. It would explain why he got moved to Timber Hollow, though.


    ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± I asked. <i>Is he trying to get me to leave?</i>


    ¡°Simple. Those who join out of fear have no reason to stay when that fear is gone. Had you learned of this later, that fear would be gone when I actually trusted you.¡± He paused, chuckling lightly with a small smile. ¡°But, more importantly, I told you because it doesn¡¯t really matter. You¡¯d have joined the Youthgaurd the day you got your powers had you wanted to. All it would have taken is a phone call and your name on a dotted line. And yet, you didn¡¯t, which means you never were.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± I didn¡¯t have an answer. Not a made-up one, at least. It wasn¡¯t a question I expected to hear, and never I really answered. Not to myself, and not to anyone else. Not fully, at least, because joining, actually joining the Youthguard, just wasn¡¯t something that I ever really considered.


    I should have, logically speaking. It was the objectively best route I could¡¯ve gone with my powers. It was the only way I could be a cape with my Mom and have her accept it, even if she didn¡¯t like it. They paid you, too¨Ca clean salary I wouldn¡¯t have to struggle to explain. They protected your identity, too, far more than any normal cape would get. It was the best option. The most benefits. The most resources. The most safe.


    ¡°...the Youthguard doesn¡¯t do anything,¡± I said, unable to keep the contempt out of my voice as I stared a hole into the floor. ¡°They¡¯re just for show¨Cprops that look good and sign autographs to distract you from how less than useless they are. You know the last time a Youthguard was caught doing their job in Timber Hollow? Because I do. Eight months ago Sky Hi stopped an arms deal near downtown. She got a clap on the back, right? Wrong.¡± I chuckled without humor, the sound more bitter than I thought it would be. ¡°There wasn¡¯t even another cape¨Cjust goons. But Sky Hi¡¯s not completely immune to lead, so it was <i>¡®risky and irresponsible.¡¯ </i>I don¡¯t want that.¡± My fists clenched at the thought. ¡°I¡¯m a cape now. A morphogen. I could kill someone with a flick, if I wanted to. I don¡¯t want to stay being some loser. I want to matter, to <i>take </i>matters into my own hands without some bureaucrat telling me I¡¯m not authorized to do it.¡±


    Silence pervaded the office, and it was only then I realized how much I had ranted. I had said too much, let things authentic slip out. I lost control, all over something as stupid as a question.


    ¡°Sorry, I-¡±


    A clap. Then another. Another one, faster, and then some more.


    I looked up, seeing Magistrate bringing his gloved hands together in a slow but not mocking applause.


    ¡°Bravo,¡± he said, smiling widely. ¡°I¡¯ll be honest, I didn¡¯t expect such passion. You didn¡¯t strike me as the type.¡± He stood up, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles of his coat as he did. ¡°But such passion is expected for any who wish to join my organization.¡± He put his arm out, palm facing upward and reaching across the desk. ¡°Stand up and take my hand, and I will grant you the opportunity you seek. A chance to prove yourself not just worthy of joining me, but worthy of the lofty ideals you have given yourself.¡±


    On legs that refused to stop shaking, I stood up, going from waist level of Magistrate to his chest.


    ¡°You are a child no longer. You lost that comfort when you chose to use the powers given to you. You¡¯re a man now, and under me, I will help you show the world what you can do.¡±


    More than ever, I was glad I chose a full-face mask. I didn¡¯t know what my expression looked like under it, but I was sure it wasn¡¯t the disgusted, unfazed look it should be.


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    Tentatively, and after a few aborted attempts, I raised my arm.


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    It felt like my hand was wrapped in stone, but more than that, at that moment, I realized it might have been the first time I¡¯d shaken another''s hand.

 Babirusa 2.4

    October 18th, 2014


    Timber Hollow, United States


    The thug life was false advertisement. The biggest lie wasn¡¯t that crime doesn¡¯t pay; it was that the criminal life was one of danger and excitement at every turn.


    Wrong.


    I¡¯d been a criminal for five days, and my life hadn¡¯t changed at all. Right now, it was somehow even more boring.


    ¡°So¡­how long do we sit here?¡±


    I was sitting in an empty apartment right next to the window, staring across the street at a warehouse¡ªOld Blood property, right on the edge of their turf. It also had something valuable inside it¨Ccash, drugs, weapons¨Csomething illicit, no doubt. Not that I knew what it was. Nobody told me. The only thing I was told was that it was my to sit here and make sure nobody took whatever was inside.


    ¡°¡®Until I say we¡¯re done,¡± Lady Nyx replied from her side of the room, barely glancing my way. She looked just as bored as I felt, elbow propped on the windowsill, head resting against her fist.


    She wasn¡¯t here to help me guard the warehouse. She was here to guard me. Or, more specifically, she was here to guard me from their goods. Or maybe she was just here to make sure I didn¡¯t screw it up. Again, I didn¡¯t know. I was still new, still untested. This was my first job with the Old Blood, and while I¡¯d ostensibly joined them, I still wasn¡¯t ¡°one of them.¡± They still didn¡¯t trust me, much to Hoplite¡¯s chagrin.


    Not that I cared about how he felt.


    ¡°Okay, sure, but what does that mean? Half an hour? An hour? A few hours? A lot of hours? Perhaps even days?¡± I rapid-fired, gasping exaggerated hour at my last guess.


    For every question I asked, I could see Lady Nyx¡¯s fingers twitch a little. If she wasn¡¯t wearing her mask, I was sure I¡¯d have seen a vein pop.


    ¡°A lot of hours. Now shut up.¡±


    I leaned back, stretching my arms over her head, for once feeling giddy in an interaction with the villain. ¡°A lot of hours? That¡¯s vague. Kinda spooky,¡± I said, wiggling my fingers in a half-hearted attempt at jazz hands. She refused to look. ¡°You ever notice how time moves slower when no one¡¯s talking? A ¡®lot of hours¡¯ will go really slow if we just sit here silently.¡±


    She let out the slowest, most exhausted sigh I¡¯d ever heard. That might be a new record for me.


    ¡°It feels painfully slow with you talking,¡± she muttered. A response¨Ca quip, even. That was good. It would have been bad if she just ignored me.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have you know I¡¯m an expert at annoying people,¡± I declared proudly.


    Lady Nyx turned her head slightly, just enough to hit me with a look that screamed, ¡°You don¡¯t say.¡±


    ¡°I also know when people don¡¯t like me, so you might as well stop pretending.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like you,¡± she said, deadpan.


    ¡°Uh, yeah, you do. Otherwise, you wouldn¡¯t keep replying. You also insult me a lot. Kinda weird if you really didn¡¯t like me.¡±


    ¡°When the hell did you get so chatty?¡± She asked, a poor attempt at sidestepping the conversation. Violet was much better at it than her.


    ¡°When you stopped trying to kill me,¡± I answered quickly. ¡°And don¡¯t avoid the question. I already told you, I know when people don¡¯t like me, and I know you don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Whoops! Didn¡¯t realize I was talking to a social mastermind. You saw straight through me!¡± Lady Nyx said with exaggerated amazement.


    I smirked, rolling my eyes at her attempt at sarcasm. She was just proving my point.


    ¡°Exactly. Now you get it. If you really didn¡¯t like me, you wouldn¡¯t have said anything¨Ceven if it¡¯s rude.¡±


    She scoffed, rolling her eyes so hard I could feel it through her mask.


    "Would complimenting you get the picture across?"


    "I wouldn¡¯t stop you."


    ¡°Of course you wouldn¡¯t. Alright, let me think of something¡­¡± She leaned back, tapping her chin in exaggerated thought. ¡°¡­nope. Nothing.¡±


    "Of course it wouldn¡¯t. Alright, let¡¯s see¡­" She leaned back, tapping her chin in exaggerated thought. "¡­nope. Nothing."


    Rude.


    ¡°Okay, fine. Maybe¨Cjust maybe¨Cyou don¡¯t like me. But you definitely don¡¯t not care about me.¡±


    ¡°I speak english, dumbass, not whatever bullshit you¡¯re spewing.¡±


    I sighed theatrically.


    ¡°I mean,¡± I began, dragging out the word, ¡°you¡¯re not apathetic. I know a lot of people apathetic to me, and unlike you, when I annoy them, they just don¡¯t care enough to respond.¡±


    She exhaled sharply. ¡°Fine. You got me. I find enjoyment in insulting you. It¡¯s just too damn easy.¡± Without looking directly at me, she waved her hand in my general direction as if it proved her point. ¡°So congrats. You¡¯re easy to insult. Now shut up.¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± I said, popping the p. Her insults washed over me like water on a duck¡¯s back. Or something like that. I didn¡¯t know anything about ducks.


    ¡°Like you said, we¡¯re gonna be here for a while, so I might as well spend that time getting to know you. Even if you¡¯re, y¡¯know, kinda old.¡±


    Lady Nyx twisted around so fast I was surprised the chair didn¡¯t break, giving me a stare I didn¡¯t like the look of. ¡°The hell did you just say?¡±


    ¡°Uhh¡­¡± I smoothly replied.


    ¡°We¡¯re like the same age you fucking idiot. Don¡¯t ever call me old again.¡±


    Her piece said, Lady Nyx huffed and turned away with her arms crossed like she was some offended cat.


    I squinted. ¡°Uh, what? Your name is Lady Nyx, isn¡¯t it? You¡¯ve also been in the Old Blood for, like, five years.¡±


    She held up a finger. ¡°Firstly, should I call myself Girl Nyx? That¡¯s stupid.¡± Another finger. ¡°Secondly, it¡¯s been four years. I¡¯m precocious¨Csue me.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well, uh, sorry.¡± I apologized, awkwardly rubbing the back of my neck. ¡°But hey, that¡¯s great, isn¡¯t it? That¡¯s even more reason to be friends. I bet you don¡¯t know anyone else your age who¡¯s a cape!¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re a shit gambler.¡±


    She paused, then tilted her head slightly. ¡°But while we¡¯re on the topic, what the hell¡¯s your name, anyway?¡±


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    I hesitated. ¡°Ah. That.¡± The back of my neck itched. ¡°I haven¡¯t come up with one yet. My power¡¯s super cool and all, but it¡¯s not that unique.¡±


    ¡°What even is it? I remember you making it windy when you punch, but I was¡­whatever.¡± She trailed off, clearly not eager to bring up her getting treated like a child by Hoplite.


    I cleared my throat. Finally¨Csomeone I could brag about my power with. ¡°I call it Gale Force¨C¡±


    ¡°You named it?¡± She interrupted.


    ¡°Uh, yeah? Don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Uhh, no?¡± She replied mockingly. ¡°Damn, you¡¯re a nerd.¡± Her words were rude, but for once, there wasn¡¯t much bite to her insult¨Cmore amusement than anything. Not that it was a good insult. Everybody named their powers¨Cshe was the weird one.


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°Well, whatever. I can generate winds from my hands, proportional to the force I put in. If I flick, I can make it weaker but more concentrated, but you saw that the other day when you, uh¡­¡±


    This time, it was my turn to trail off an old event. Getting cuffed to a chair in a murder room was not an experience I wanted to relive.


    ¡°When you damaged my wall,¡± she finished for me.


    She hummed, considering what I said for a moment before speaking again, ¡°That¡¯s decent, I suppose. Depending on your limits, obviously. Still pretty lame compared to me, though.¡±


    Her tone wasn¡¯t smug¡ªat least, not more smug than usual¡ªit was matter-of-fact. That annoyed me far more than any smugness could achieve, especially when her gaze was back to being locked on the window.


    ¡°What makes your powers so great?¡± I petulantly asked.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you know?¡± Nyx said, smugness back and dialed up to eleven.


    ¡°I know what the internet knows, but I doubt they know much. They didn¡¯t even know you could teleport.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Her voice carried actual surprise as she glanced at me. ¡°I don¡¯t even go out of my way to hide it.¡±


    She paused, humming in consideration. ¡°But you¡¯re the self-proclaimed cape expert. Tell me what you know; I¡¯ll confirm what¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°Uh, alright. People call your power Shadow Queen-¡±


    ¡°I take it back. Power names can be cool,¡± Nyx interrupted. I cracked a grin at her sudden change of heart.


    ¡°We used to call it Shade Strider, but then you revealed your ability to paralyze people using their shadows. It was only recorded once, so I wasn¡¯t sure if it was real. Then you did it to me, so¡­¡±


    Nyx nodded. ¡°Yep. I can do that. Doesn¡¯t work as well on brutes, though,¡± she said with a one-armed shrug.


    ¡°You do it by pinning their shadow with something?¡± I asked, seeing the side of her head nodding in confirmation.


    ¡°You¡¯re also able to disappear into shadows, but more importantly, you can reappear somewhere else.¡±


    ¡°Correct. That all?¡± She asked, her question a mix of disappointment and satisfaction.


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s all I know. Did I get most of it?¡±


    Nyx let out a short laugh. ¡°Not at all.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°How much did I miss?¡±


    ¡°More than you got. And no, I¡¯m not entertaining a guessing game,¡± she said, clapping once as if to physically move to another topic. ¡°Next test: Parity.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that one¡¯s easy. She¡¯s a Morphguard hero,¡± I said, feeling a touch distaste at the name. ¡°And she can copy the powers of someone near her. Makes them way weaker, though¡ªhalf as strong, I¡¯m pretty sure. Basically unbeatable in a one-on-one fight.¡±


    ¡°Eh. I could beat her,¡± Nyx said with confidence so casual it could only mean she truly believed it. Honestly? I supposed I did, too. Not that I would feed her ego by telling her.


    Without someone to copy, Parity was virtually just a normal person, and it would be trivial for Nyx to take her out before she even knew what was happening.


    I shrugged, even though she wasn¡¯t looking at me to see it. ¡°Only if you got the drop on her.¡±


    It was true, partially. Didn¡¯t mean it was at all realistic.


    ¡°Wrong, but keep underestimating me. Alright, next¡­¡± Nyx glanced over at me, and seeing me still just looking at her, she snapped her fingers as if an idea had struck her. ¡°I know! Frowner.¡±


    As if the name was a spell, I frowned when I heard it. Frowner was a villain¨Cbut not like Lady Nyx. He was a piece of garbage murderer, and unlike the villains even normal people sympathized with, he had no cause behind his heinous actions.


    But that wasn¡¯t why I frowned when I heard his name. There were too many people to count who were worse than him. That¡¯s just how the world was.


    I frowned because he was a reminder of what could happen to me.


    Josh Havel. That was his name. His real name, and everybody knew it. It got leaked by someone with a vendetta against him, and to this day, any post mentioning his name gets deleted. Not that that could stop the internet. If what had happened to him happened to me¡­I didn¡¯t know what I¡¯d do.


    It was hard to feel bad for him now, but I still remembered the difference¡ªhow he was before and after he got burned. He was always a piece of garbage, but when the world killed Josh Havel, all that was left was the monster named Frowner.


    ¡°He works for the Hardliners, so you obviously know him,¡± I began. The Hardliners were the only other gang in Timber Hollow close in power to the Old Blood. It was up in the air who was stronger, but everyone agreed neither could win with the Morphguard waiting in the wings.


    ¡°He¡¯s a brute. Way stronger than he is fast¨Ceven a low-tier speedster can run circles around him. Though I do have a theory about another-¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s he wearing?¡± Nyx interrupted.


    I shot her an unseen glare for breaking my flow. ¡°Like, his costume?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Well, he doesn¡¯t really have one. Just a plaid shirt, jeans, and work boots. And his mask, of course.¡±


    ¡°What color?¡±


    I blinked. ¡°What color what?¡±


    ¡°What color shirt, moron?¡± She clarified, sighing exasperatedly as if I was supposed to know what she meant.


    ¡°How should I know? It¡¯s not like he wears the same shirt every time. Probably just grabs whichever one¡¯s clean.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t care. Guess, Mr. Expert.¡±


    I snorted at the random demand. ¡°Alright, fine. Grey and white-¡±


    ¡°BZZZT!¡± Nyx made an obnoxiously loud buzzer noise, her arms crossed to form an X. ¡°Wrong. You lose.¡±


    She raised a finger to point out the window.


    ¡°What the heck are you¡­¡± I started¡ªthen followed where her finger pointed: the warehouse I was supposed to be watching.


    ¡°...talking about,¡± I finished lamely. Because outside the warehouse was a group of thugs, led by a man who towered over them all. Even from here, across the street and from the third floor, I could see his silver mask, a frown etched into the metal, and below it, a red and black plaid shirt.


    ¡°Crap,¡± The word barely left my lips before more followed. ¡°Oh crap, crap, crap. What do we do?¡±


    Nyx didn¡¯t answer immediately. She just laughed¡ªactually laughed¡ªat my rising panic.


    ¡°What we do is our job.¡± She stood up, stretching out the kinks in her back as if she had all the time in the world to do it. ¡°Yours is to hold them off. Mine is to get reinforcements.¡±


    ¡°Wait, you¡¯re leaving? If we fight together, it¡¯ll be easy!¡± I said, louder than I meant to. Considering how fast she was able to deal with me, I had no doubts Lady Nyx could take care of Frowner. But that¡¯s not why I proposed sticking together. I just didn¡¯t want to fight Frowner on my own.


    If I was just counting matchups, he wasn¡¯t that bad. Easily one of the best in the city for me, power-wise. He was strong but not fast and didn¡¯t have anything ranged. I gave myself a good shot of beating him in a one-on-one.


    The problem was if I lost. You lose against a hero? You get beat up and get captured. You lose against a typical villain? You got the crap beaten out of you and have your humiliation posted everywhere for people to see. But you lose against Frowner? Unless you¡¯re a Youthguard or high profile, you¡¯re just dead. I was neither of those.


    ¡°If you stay, we can beat him together!¡± I pleaded again.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Lady Nyx said flatly. ¡°I¡¯m leaving. I¡¯m way faster than you, and if there¡¯s more than one cape on their side, it could end badly for both of us.¡± She walked over, slapping my shoulder twice in some mockery of consolation. ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon, don¡¯t worry. Oh, and if I come back and you¡¯re not fighting them off, you¡¯re out of the Old Blood. See ya!¡±


    ¡°Wait-¡± I lunged forward, but by the time I moved, she was already gone.


    My hand, grasping empty air, turned into a fist. If I had the power to turn back time, I¡¯d have used it just to punch her before she left.


    But I didn¡¯t. I had the power of flashy punches, and I needed to use it to stop a group of thugs and their psycho murderer leader.


    My gaze drifted down the street, where there were no capes ready to kill me, and if I kept walking, I¡¯d eventually reach home.


    But that wasn¡¯t an option. I could run. Pretend none of this happened. And then, a week later, Hoplite would show everyone my face, and the Old Blood would know exactly where to find who I loved.


    There was no running. No hiding.


    I had to do this. Me against them.


    ¡°I¡¯ll start with the thugs."

 Babirusa 2.5

    October 18th, 2014


    Timber Hollow, United States


    I couldn¡¯t lie to myself¨CI was scared. Not just nervous, not just on edge. I was crap-your-pants scared. Not that I did that. But beneath the fear was something almost stronger.


    Excitement.


    This was the first time I would use my powers to fight. A real fight, I mean. Throwing a punch that missed against Lady Nyx didn¡¯t count. And unlike her, Frowner wasn¡¯t able to just teleport behind me and end things in a second. He was a brute. A bona fide monster. But honestly? That almost felt like a plus right now.


    I could hit him. I could go all out. He could take my punches, and if I went too far¡­eh. Frowner wasn¡¯t the type of guy I would mourn. I¡¯d feel bad, probably, but not that bad.


    The thugs below me were another story, however. There were three of them in total, two leaning on either side of the warehouse door and the other standing against the wall on the opposite side. More were inside, but I¡¯d only managed a rough count before they entered. I guessed these guys to be a little under half the size of the original group.


    Which was good for me. Meant I could test out how much a normal person could handle without getting swarmed. Not that these guys were ¡®normal.¡¯


    If I weren¡¯t a cape, they¡¯d be pretty scary to deal with. Not in the ¡®tatted up bodybuilder¡¯ kind of way¨Cmore like ¡®lone hobo muttering to himself¡¯ scary. The kind of person you¡¯d cross the street to avoid and hope they didn¡¯t notice you.


    Point was¡­ something. I didn¡¯t know if there even was a point. I just knew I had to stop stalling. It had already been a few minutes since Lady Nyx left, and if she came back to find me still sitting on my hands¡­


    I moved. Climbed down the fire escape I used to get up to the roof and sidled up to the entrance of the alley. I didn¡¯t risk peering in. My fists were tightly clenched and raring to go. My body didn¡¯t feel the same.


    I took a steadying breath, and before any hesitation could build up, I jumped into the alley, my arm already swinging and wind gathering like a storm as I prepared to release it.


    ¡°Wind punch-!¡±


    And then the alley disappeared, replaced by black and red squares, as my fist was stopped short by a palm twice the size of it. The wind I¡¯d gathered exploded harmlessly against unwavering skin.


    ¡°Weak.¡±


    That was all I heard before it felt like I got hit by a truck.


    When I blearily blinked back to consciousness, I was across the street, slumped on the sidewalk, and only upright thanks to the brick wall I had crashed against. My entire body hurt. It felt like my organs were pushing into my throat, and I tasted iron in my mouth. When I wiped my lips under my mask, my fingers came away red.


    Boots crunched against the pavement, the sound dull and the only thing I could hear that wasn¡¯t nauseating white noise.


    I looked up, my vision dotted with dark splotches, but I could see enough to see the man walking towards me.


    He was dressed in jeans, a black and red plaid shirt, and a silver mask covering his face, a large, black, and toothless frown carved into it. Slotted into that frown was a cigar. The lit stogie was thick, but not as thick as the fingers that pulled it away from the mask.


    ¡°Get up. I barely even kicked you.¡±


    His voice was rough and sharp, sounding like a bark despite his bored tone.


    The slightest movement was herculean, but I did as he said, nearly stumbling back down a few times before I finally got up. If I hadn¡¯t, there was little doubt in my mind that he would have just killed me for the annoyance. They¡¯d get taken down pretty fast, but I¡¯d seen videos of him killing for less.


    ¡°How¨C¡± I coughed up blood, making sure to keep my eyes on Frowner the whole time. He didn¡¯t move, just stood there in the street waiting for me to finish. ¡°How¡¯d you know I was there?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t asking just out of curiosity. That was why I asked that specific question, but it wasn¡¯t why I asked one in the first place. I needed time. Time to finish formulating my half-baked plan and time to not wince whenever I moved.


    The answer to his question wasn¡¯t meaningless, however. I had a theory about how he found me, and if his answer proved it true, then a hit-and-run strategy wouldn¡¯t work at all.


    ¡°You reek of fear and piss, kid,¡± he answered, and I knew I was right. He could sense emotions¨Cnegative ones, at least. Unless he just lied, but I doubted that.


    My moment of satisfaction was fleeting, however.


    ¡°Now put up your dukes. I ain¡¯t interested in talking.¡±


    He stomped forward with enough force to vibrate loose pebbles near my feet.


    ¡°Wait, wait, wait!¡± I shouted, stalling for time with one hand on my knees and the other held out in front of me. ¡°I¡¯m not much of a fight like this, right?¡±


    Surprisingly, Frowner stopped, humoring me for some reason. Maybe he was the type to actually enjoy a more challenging fight, or maybe he was just bored enough to see me squirm. Either way, what mattered was that I got more time-


    ¡°Fine. You get ten seconds.¡±


    I got ten seconds. Not a lot, but more than I expected. I had a plan in mind, more of an idea that I hoped would work, really, and I needed him too mad to think straight for it to work.


    Standing on the other side of the street and behind Frowner was his group of thugs. They were just watching for now, some even taking bets, it seemed. I couldn¡¯t rely on Frowner being stupid or prideful enough to keep them out of our fight. I needed to make him chase me¨Cbring him somewhere they couldn¡¯t or wouldn¡¯t follow. If I was lucky enough to be right, an irate Frowner would be enough for them to stay away.


    ¡°Before you, you know, kill me, I have a question,¡± I said.


    Normally, being an idiot who spends too much time online and learning information about capes was pretty stupid. Meaningless trivia at best.


    ¡°You get one,¡± Frowner said.


    Except, in this case, the meaningless information I knew might be the key to keeping my life. Or if I screwed it up, it might be the reason I die.


    ¡°I just wanted to know¡­¡±


    Discreetly, I balled the hand on my knees into a fist, tensing my arm and feeling power build up despite the lack of movement.


    ¡°What?¡± Frowner growled. He was mad, or at least annoyed, already. That was good. Made it more likely for this to work.


    I straightened up, my arm feeling like it was about to overload with energy.


    ¡°How¡¯s it feel?¡± I asked with the most snarky, smug voice I could muster, channeling years of hearing voices just like it. ¡°You know, being the one who got your mom killed?¡±


    It worked.


    Frowner¡¯s cigarette crumbled to ash in his clenched palm.


    ¡°You caught me at a good time,¡± Frowner said, his voice chillingly dead. ¡°I was just gonna break your legs.¡±


    Frowner shook his hand to rid it of the ashes, but they didn¡¯t sprinkle to the concrete. They flowed in shaky, erratic jumps towards the building wind.


    Towards me.


    ¡°But you fucked up.¡± He continued. ¡°Now, I¡¯m going to choke you with your own spine.¡±


    I forced out a mocking laugh. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t I just die first?¡±


    ¡°The last guy did.¡±


    I paled. He moved. I punched.


    The wind didn¡¯t howl. It wasn¡¯t the high-pitched, almost squealing rush of air I was used to. It was an explosion, like a bomb went off in my left hand. A deep, concussive force that swallowed everything in front of me.


    Barely audible through the deafening blast, I could hear the windows above me shattering from the force. If not for the wind pushing everything forward, I¡¯d have been covered in glass shards.


    It didn¡¯t last long. It felt like forever, but from start to finish, the effects of my punch lasted only a second or two.


    When it was over, there was no dust to clear. The car-sweeping winds had already done that, leaving me with a clear of Frowner pushing himself out of a wall while his thugs cowered behind cover.


    There wasn¡¯t a drop of blood on him.


    The same couldn¡¯t be said for me. Hissing, I straightened up from the wall I¡¯d launched myself back into. The pain from Frowner kicking me across the street had already ebbed, but new pain had loudly replaced it.


    My left arm was throbbing, and when I held it up, three fingers hung loosely and bent in the wrong direction. I didn¡¯t have defined muscles, but at that moment, I could see them spasming underneath the skin. When I touched it with my other hand, the flesh was tender and raw¨Clike a flick would be enough to break it.


    But more pain was coming, and his steps cracked the concrete from how wrathful he was.


    Hurriedly and heedless of my body¡¯s protests, I pushed off the wall and ran into the nearest alley, hearing Frowner grow closer with every stride.


    ¡°Stop running, you fucking pussy!¡± He shouted, his voice thick with rage.


    I stopped at the end of the alley just as he appeared at the entrance of it. He slowed, misinterpreting my stillness as a sign that I wanted to fight. I had no such intention. I just needed him mad enough to keep chasing me¨Cbut far enough to never catch me. The narrow, one-way path of the alley would help with both of those needs. There was no way I was outrunning him.


    ¡°Good. I hope you can hit harde-¡±


    So I had to cheat.


    I punched with my right arm¨Cnot as hard as before, but enough to make me wince. The wind blast was strong enough to shove a nearby dumpster a few feet, its metal legs scraping against the concrete.


    It made Frowner stand still for a second.


    Then he moved again, his steps faster but not hurried, as if there was no point in rushing.


    I punched again, harder. He stopped for a moment, then moved.


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    Again, harder. His boots scraped an inch against the concrete, and then he moved closer.


    Again, and again, and again.


    When I punched again, my bones were starting to feel it, and he¡¯d moved two-thirds the length of the alley.


    ¡°Stalling won¡¯t help, you know?¡± Frowner said when the wind faded. I was already backing up, looking for somewhere else to hold him at bay.


    ¡°Too full of fear to lose track of¡­¡± He leaned forward with his knees bent in a half-crouch.


    ¡°¡­too slow to escape.¡±


    Then he leaped.


    The concrete cracked beneath his boots as he crossed the distance between us in a split second, his fist already cocked back for a punch.


    Instinct saved my life. I leaned back, his fist sailing inches past my face with enough force to go through it.


    His next attack didn¡¯t miss.


    Almost too fast to see, his leg snapped out in a frontal kick. My arms barely had enough time to move before his boot crashed past them and into my ribs. The impact crushed the air out of my lungs as I was sent hurtling back, going airborne from the force.


    But unlike the last time I was kicked like a dog, I landed on my feet, turning what should¡¯ve been a fall into a desperate, stumbling retreat.


    If it wasn¡¯t for that stumble, my organs would have been pulverized by his chasing uppercut. I could feel and hear the air split as his meaty fist soared past. Unlike my power, the wind he generated was born from pure, terrifying force.


    As I leaned to the side in a belated attempt to dodge the punch he¡¯d already thrown, he sent another my way¨Ca quick jab I could barely track. It connected with my left shoulder, the force twisting me like a marionette with a yanked string, lining me up for another jab to my right shoulder to spin me the other way.


    I used the momentum to pitter-patter back as fast as I could, each step a hair¡¯s breadth away from being a slip.


    Frowner followed, his steps lumbering but each one covering more than double the distance of my unsteady own. It took him only three steps to my ten to get back in range. My arms felt like lead as I raised them once more.


    This time, he threw a straight punch. Blisteringly fast like the others, but I could actually see it coming as it blitzed towards my chest. I dodged back and swiped my arm to intercept his hand, but for all the force I put into it, I might as well have tried moving a wall. Yet, it was enough to turn the crunching hit into a glancing blow.


    He struck again¨Ca frontal kick. Except this time, instead of getting launched backward, I stumbled back with his boots pushing against my hands. Something snapped in both of them, the feeling sharp and painful, but I barely felt it. I was high on adrenaline, but more importantly, I was high on victory.


    He attacked again, and this time, it didn¡¯t even touch me. Again, and there was air between us. That was how the next five exchanges went: attacks that moments ago would have killed me turned into whiffs, each one dodged with larger and larger margins. By the sixth attack, I was smirking, practically dancing away from a punch that now seemed sluggish.


    But it wasn¡¯t sluggish. Frowner wasn¡¯t tiring¨Che wasn¡¯t even breathing heavily. He was just as fast as he had been in the beginning, but somehow, I was faster.


    ¡°What do I smell like now, huh? Fear, right?¡± I asked, panting slightly but filled to the brim with excited fervor.


    ¡°Still like a bitch,¡± Frowner growled before lashing out with another kick. This one was even slower than the others, letting me see in full detail as he snapped it down and turned it into a stomp. It wasn¡¯t aimed at me, but at the ground.


    ¡°And a stupid one, too.¡±


    I was too busy puzzling over the strange move to notice the shift in his weight¨Cuntil it was too late. Frowner surged forward, far faster than any of his previous attacks. A split second later, I felt a hand grip the back of my head, large enough that the knuckles of his fingers pressed halfway down my neck while the heel of his palm dug into my skull.


    My hair felt like it was going to be pulled out of my scalp as he yanked me downward with such strength that I couldn¡¯t even slow him down. My body was forced to bend with him lest my head be ripped from my neck. That was when he struck¨Ca fist driving into my stomach so hard and so fast that I swore I could feel it touch my spine. The force of the blow was so great that it lifted my entire weight around his fist for a moment before I was launched into the air.


    My eyes bulged as pain and nausea erupted within me, the world seeming to turn in slow motion as I was forced to stare ahead. In front of me, blood and sputum flew forward, expelled without choice from my mouth and lungs in a silent scream. The launched bile moved in an arc toward Frowner, yet somehow, I knew not a drop would even land before he finished what he was about to do.


    His arm was cocked back like a loaded gun. When we locked eyes, I knew exactly where that punch was aimed. He was going to fulfill his promise¨Cpunching through my stomach to rip out my spine. And behind that metal frown, I could have sworn I saw him grin.


    Fear gripped me harder than my soon-to-be-killer¡¯s hands ever could, paralysis taking hold of me as death encroached.


    ¡°There it is.¡± In between heartbeats, Frowner breathed in ecstasy, savoring the moment.


    That was when I snapped. I was going to die¨CI felt certain of it. But at the very least, I was going to leave a mark.


    With everything I had left, I punched forward, aiming for Frowner¡¯s stupid face. It had to have been the fastest punch I¡¯ve ever thrown¨Cbut by the time it was halfway there, I already knew it wouldn¡¯t be enough. Frowner simply had too much of a head start, and I¡¯d be dead before I could leave him my farewell gift.


    Except¨Cjust before his punch landed, his black-and-red plaid shirt seemed to scrunch up. His arm was jerked back, pulled just far enough for him to miss me.


    I had no such problem.


    A split second later, my fist collided with his silver mask, warping the metal even before the built-up wind exploded outward.


    The blast sent us both flying¨CFrowner tumbled head over heels and me twisting like an out-of-control ballerina. The world blurred from the speed of my rotations, and I couldn¡¯t even coordinate a punch in an attempt to reverse it. I was moving too fast, launched as if from a gun, and when I stopped, it was going to be from a wall. Frowner may not have been able to kill me, but I was still going to die, flattened like a mushy pancake on the side of an alley.


    Then my world turned into a familiar black.


    When I was spit out the other side, I was airborne. Sky¨Crooftop¨Csky again. Rinse and repeat a dozen times. My speed slowed, then halted for a brief, weightless moment before I began to fall.


    I braced for concrete.


    Instead, I hit something soft¨Calmost like a pillow.


    ¡°Is he dead?¡± a voice asked from nearby.


    ¡°I believe you already know, my lady,¡± another voice replied as I was lowered to the ground.


    I forced my eyes open and saw about eight people standing above me, their shapes blurry and swaying. A few blinks later, I realized there were only two¨Cone of whom I recognized.


    ¡°I believe you already know, my lady,¡± another voice replied as I was lowered to the ground.


    I forced my eyes open and saw about eight people standing above me, their shapes swaying. A few blinks later, I realized there were only two ¡ª one of whom I recognized.


    ¡°¡­What took you so long?¡± I groaned to Lady Nyx.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been here the whole time, idiot,¡± she replied with a huff.


    ¡°You¡ª¡± I swallowed down a yell of outrage, inhaling sharply. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± I asked as I unsteadily stood up, my vision still dizzying.


    ¡°You¡¯re complaining a lot for someone still breathing,¡± Lady Nyx replied, like my reaction was the strange one.


    ¡°You can¡¯t be ser-¡±


    ¡°What I believe my lady means to say,¡± a different voice cut in¡ªthe same one I¡¯d heard when I landed. It was masculine, calm, and heavy with amusement as he emphasized the latter half of his sentence. He also sounded posh. ¡°Is that we¡¯re glad you¡¯re alright.¡±


    My gaze snapped toward the source of the voice. Now that my vision had steadied, I recognized him.


    ¡°This is¡ª¡± Lady Nyx started.


    ¡°¡ªLoom. Power gives him the ability to manipulate string,¡± I finished, rubbing my temples. He was also the first male hero who didn¡¯t tower over me. I liked him already. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re the one who saved me?¡±


    Loom nodded. ¡°I am, though it was hardly much. I¡¯m surprised you recognized me. Quite flattered, really.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± Lady Nyx cut in. ¡°He¡¯s a damn cape nerd.¡±


    ¡°Be that as it may, my lady, it still warms an old man¡¯s heart to be recognized.¡±


    ¡°Well, my lady, it still warms an old man¡¯s heart to be recognized.¡±


    They talked with a familiarity that edged on familial¡ªnot that I cared at the moment. I was too exhausted to give a crap about their little dynamic.


    ¡°Is Frowner detained?¡± I asked. I doubted he was dead, and Loom¡¯s power was perfect for capture.


    ¡°Currently writhing in his shirt,¡± Loom confirmed. ¡°You gave him quite the lump, might I add.¡±


    ¡°And the thugs?¡±


    ¡°Limping home.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Good. Because I need to see a doctor,¡± I said, holding up my left hand. ¡°My fingers broke, something in my hands snapped, and I¡¯m pretty sure I fractured my arms.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± Lady Nyx asked, unimpressed.


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°I¡¯m literally showing you why.¡±


    ¡°That you need to go to a mental hospital?¡± She asked sarcastically.


    ¡°What? No, because my fingers are¡­¡± I stopped mid-sentence. I blinked, shook my hand, but the image of perfectly intact fingers didn¡¯t change. ¡°¡­not broken?¡±


    ¡°Did you hit your head, young man?¡± Loom asked, concern in his voice.


    I shook my head. ¡°No, I just¡­¡± I trailed off. My fingers had been broken. I remembered the pain of just moving them. But now¡­nothing.


    ¡°Well,¡± Loom said, studying me with newfound interest. ¡°In any case, you don¡¯t seem all that hurt.¡± He glanced at Lady Nyx. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me he was a brute.¡±


    ¡°Because he wasn¡¯t,¡± Lady Nyx said, suspicion in her voice. She stepped forward, grabbing my arm and jabbing it.


    ¡°Ow,¡± I said instinctively, but it didn¡¯t hurt.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t have ¡®fractured arms¡¯ either,¡± she muttered.


    The air turned awkward after that, neither of us saying anything. Maybe if I wasn¡¯t so annoyed and exhausted, I¡¯d have argued about it. Pleaded my case. But even if I could muster the energy to convince her, it wouldn¡¯t really matter. I never lied. Not when it came to what I knew about my powers, at least.


    ¡°Well.¡± Loom clapped his hands together, gathering our attention. ¡°I¡¯ll go ahead and dump Frowner somewhere nice and public. Wouldn¡¯t want to interrupt two lovebirds, now.¡± He said with an exaggerated wink behind his cloth mask.


    Lady Nyx yelled something uncharitable at him for the insinuation, but his laughter was the only response she got as he leaped from the roof. Maybe at another time, I¡¯d have cared too, but it wasn¡¯t another time.


    When he was gone, I sat down on the parapet, feeling more mentally tired than physically.


    ¡°¡­So?¡± Lady Nyx said after a few moments of silence.


    My lips pulled downward behind my mask in anticipation of an interrogation. First, she leaves me to fight on my own, then when she does come back, she doesn¡¯t even help, Loom did, and then she acts like I should be grateful just because I was alive. It was bull crap, and I couldn¡¯t even give her a piece of my mind. The things I had to do¡­


    ¡°So, what?¡± I bit out irritably.


    ¡°So, how was your first cape fight?¡± Lady Nyx clarified, showing an uncharacteristic lack of annoyance.


    ¡°So, how was your first cape fight?¡± Lady Nyx clarified, showing an uncharacteristic lack of annoyance at my attitude.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Your first cape fight. Everyone has one, and it¡¯s obvious you¡¯ve never fought another cape before¨CI don¡¯t count,¡± she said with a proud sniff. ¡°So? How was it?¡±


    ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know,¡± I said warily. ¡°Why are you asking me this?¡±


    ¡°Because this is your last chance to get out,¡± she stated. ¡°So tell me, how was it? ¡®Cause news flash, this won¡¯t be your last fight. Especially knowing you¡¯re a brute¨Cyou will be explaining that development to me later. And if you don¡¯t like fighting now, you¡¯re going to hate it later.¡±


    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t want me in,¡± I replied, narrowing my eyes at her as she stood with her arms crossed.


    ¡°And I thought you¡¯d cower instead of fight. So congrats, you got the rare honor of proving me wrong.¡± She raised one hand, wiggling her fingers in a begrudging, faux celebration. ¡°Now tell me¡ªwas it boring? Fun? Liked it? Loved it? Hated i¡ª¡±


    ¡°I punched a guy so hard his mask caved in,¡± I interrupted.


    ¡°And it was¡­?¡± She asked leadingly.


    ¡°It was great. Awesome. Too awesome.¡± My leg started to thump as the mere memory of the fight got my blood pumping. ¡°It was, uh, scary. Like, really scary. But I¡¯ve never felt so alive. It felt too good.¡± I paused. ¡°Honestly, that part is the scariest.¡±


    ¡°I know what you mean,¡± Nyx replied. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to fight, I get it. I¡¯ve seen people turn into monsters from it.¡± She put her hands on her hips. ¡°So, are you in or out? Last chance.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in,¡± I replied near instantly, and I found that when I said it, it wasn¡¯t just out of obligation. It really was scary.


    ¡°Then you need to pick a name. I¡¯m not inducting you without one.¡±


    ¡°Like right now?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yeah, right now. If you don¡¯t choose one, I¡¯m calling you Hockey Boy¨Cand good luck shaking it.¡±


    I shuddered at the thought. A cape¡¯s name was one of the most important things about them¡ªmore important than their costume, in my opinion. Unless you were stupidly powerful, a bad name was a cloud over your head. It made you a joke, and when people thought you were a joke, they didn¡¯t fear you. Didn¡¯t hesitate when you showed up.


    I looked down at myself, searching for something¡ªanything¡ªthat felt right. My arms, my stomach, my neck and chest, they were all covered in drying blood. When I pulled my bangs down in front of my eyes, my hand was the same shade as my hair.


    I had my name. Maybe it was stupid. I didn¡¯t care. It was mine, and unlike the hair that inspired its creation, I chose to have it.


    ¡°Red Gale.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t heroic. Not in the slightest. It definitely wasn¡¯t a name I¡¯d want my mom to know about. But at that moment, covered in blood all my own and officially minted as a criminal, it felt right.


    ¡°Red Gale, huh?¡± Lady Nyx extended her arm, hand open. ¡°Welcome to the Old Blood.¡±


    For the second time in my life, I shook someone¡¯s hand.