Trust Me, I'd Rather Not Be Here Action - Modern - Superhero (2024)

Cross-posted from Space Battles

My head was aching and my legs were sore. I tried getting my breathing under control, the organ pumping blood throughout my body to calm, as I leaned my back against my apartment door.

I slid down to a seated position, the fabric of my shirt clinging to me like a second skin. The sound of raindrops hitting the various surfaces outside were akin to loud snare drums played wildly by a hyperactive five year old high on sugar.

I exhaled through my nose, shutting my eyes hard to the point of discomfort.

...stupid magic bullsh*t.

If you're an overworked office worker who spent a majority of his loner life on the internet, you're probably familiar with the concept of 'isekai'.

Essentially, it's a genre of fiction that can be summed up as portal fantasy.

Control. Control yourself. Never show them what you really are. Never.

The usual pattern went something like this: person dies – preferably in a motor-vehicular accident – and then gets to meet whatever God or Goddess who took pity on them, gets offered a choice between passing on or get reincarnated into a world straight out of fantasy and powers. Don't forget the powers. Most of them tended to be stale upon arrival, but it's all fiction.

...at least that's what I thought.

"Goodbye." He smiled.

It took every single ounce of willpower I had to not collapse the floor underneath me and turn this three storied apartment building into a two storied apartment building. Or simply explode the entire bloc into smitherens.

Blood rushing, I could feel heat slowly spreading throughout my body, enveloping my limbs. It would be as easy as picking up a napkin from the table, effortless.

But I stopped myself.

Control, I told myself. Control. Never show them what you really are. What you can actually do. Never.

I exhaled again, this time longer. My body relaxed as I limped, the heat slowly fading away followed by the pain that had been assaulting my head.

Finally, I opened my eyes. And I regretted it immediately.

It hurt. My eyes felt like I'd rubbed them too hard for too long. I opened them again, this time slowly and carefully. When they're open, I was reminded why I had closed them in the first place.

"...it's gonna stain my shirt."

It's my favorite shirt too. Bought it from a named brand store, unlike the rest of my clothing which I had sourced from the local thrift shops. I shouldn't worry too much, there were harder stains to clean than blood.

I shakily made the effort to stand, using the door behind me as support. The walk to the bathroom was more of a shamble due to how sore my everything was. Flipping the light switch on, I was able to confirm that blood was indeed leaking out of my eyes.

"...f*ck."

In any other circ*mstances, I should be worried. But, if you ask me, bleeding out of my eyes was the least of things I should be worried about. Twisting the knob, I let water flow from the sink and began washing my face. It took a while, but I managed to get it cleaned up. The cold water washing my face also refreshed me in a way the rain outside failed to do so.

...still didn't make me look any better, though.

Not that there was anything wrong with how I looked. I still looked like I was before I got... dropped off here. Tanned and swarthy complexion from years of doing construction jobs, dark bags under the eyes due to untreated insomnia, and a bowl haircut because I was a lazy piece of sh*t who couldn't be bothered to care after his looks.

I just looked like I'd gone through the worst wringer life could throw at a person, which wasn't that far from the truth. I'd been in this new world for a total of three weeks and I'd already seen things—experience things I'd rather not recall, so yes, my physical appearance took a huge hit because of that.

I should shave, though.

...nah, not now.

Now, I felt like sleeping. Or at least attempt to do it.

I shambled all the way to my bed, which was a plain uncovered mattress laid out on the floor of this studio sized apartment. No bedframe because real men didn't need them. I did take off my shirt and dried off the rain earlier in the bathroom, though.

Real men also did their laundry properly and in a timely manner.

The mattress, a cheap'o one I'd snagged from some clearance sale, was one of my recent purchases. It's not comfortable at all, providing the same amount of comfort as a dry sponge; not to mention the smell I couldn't totally get rid off. But, hey, at least it was something.

I was never one who cared much for comfort. In my previous life, I came from a low income family in a third world country, so this was actually an upgrade believe it or not. This new world I'd been transported to, I had somehow scrounged up enough money to afford a place for myself.

I still couldn't believe it all, actually.

"Sleep... sleep... please... whatever magic f*ckery I've been cursed with... make me sleep." I droned out, hoping that my 'powers' would at least grant me that.

.

.

.

No luck, huh.

Shouldn't be surprised.

A normal person required sleep, so what did that mean for someone who couldn't sleep like me?

"Thank you, please come again."

I didn't even bother giving the guy my practiced 'service smile' that our manager heavily insisted we give to our customers. Dude bought a pack of cigs and two red-bulls, I doubted something like a smile from the cashier would help him in any meaningful manner.

The no-sleeping thing hadn't always been something permanent, it's something I noticed I'd developed ever since I found myself in this new world. I'd always had insomnia, but things were different now.

I stepped off the register before making my way to the back. The breakroom, which doubled as a storage area for our merchandise, was where I found my co-worker who was lounging on a steel chair with his phone out.

I could already make out the beeps and boops the moment I stepped into the room.

"Hey," I called out to him, "I'm going for my break."

"Oh, sure, dude." He looked up from his phone, pausing his gaming session entirely. Pocketing his phone, he stood up, tidying his uniform. "Don't take too long, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Good kid. Still in high school; got hired at the same time I was. Did as he's told, never complained, and knew when to keep to himself.

I made my way out the store through the backdoor, which led to a dimly lit alleyway.

Immediately, I was hit by that city stink that overtook my senses. It wasn't anything new to me, in fact, it was almost calming in a way. In my old world, I had lived a few blocks away from the dumpster.

A third world country's dumpster, mind you, so make of that however you will.

Walking myself to a nearby stool my co-worker and I had set up so we could hang outside during our break, I sat myself down. I leaned my back against the store's brick wall, uncaring for the dirt and grime it was covered with.

Now, if I was a smoker, this would be the perfect time for me to pull one out and start huffin' and puffin' my break away.

But, unfortunately, I wasn't a smoker. I wasn't a drinker either.

So, I opted for the next best thing: I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep.

Before, it was only a matter of when my body would feel exhausted enough to the point I would fall into unconsciousness. Essentially, I had to rely on passing out in order to get a semblance of sleep. Now it's not like that anymore. Whatever it was that happened to me, it had robbed me of my need to sleep.

This might be a blessing to some, but to me, it was just about the worst case of robbery I'd ever experienced.

Still, I stubbornly tried to do so; forcing my brain to shut off so that it could enter a state of rest. With eyes closed, I forced myself to sleep, waiting for its sweet embrace. This went on, and on, and on, and on, an—

"Oh, uh, you asleep?"

I cracked one eye open.

"Sup?" I responded. "Is my break over?"

The teenager stepped out of the door to the alleyway outside, closing it behind him. He shuffled closer to me, his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. His posture was closed and withdrawn, like he's constantly alert. Smart.

"No, you're still good." He told me.

I hummed, closing my eyes again. "So who's watching the register?" I asked him.

I heard a scoff. "It's like, what, close to midnight? Aside from that one customer you had earlier, no one's gonna come this late into the night, especially in this part of town. Besides, we'll know if someone's inside to browse."

True. This part of town wasn't the safest, but it's also not the busiest. The CCTV inside would normally be a concern since we're technically not on station, but corporate couldn't be bothered to do their job, so who cared?

I shrugged. "Sure."

He then joined me, pulling a nearby beer crate that the store had yet to get rid of and using it as a stool. He sat there adjacent to me and not really looking at my general direction, despite clearly wanting to do so.

How was I able to tell this with my eyes closed?

Magic. That's how.

"Hey, Jack," I cringed at his use of what was essentially a Westernized nickname of my name, "can I ask you a question, dude?"

"...what is it?"

"Are you a cape?"

I slowly opened my eyes, swiveling my head slowly so I could look the kid in the eyes. He met me stare for stare, blinking a few times but still maintaining eye contact. It was probably the most serious I'd seen him, too. Not to imply he couldn't be serious.

This went on for a solid minute before being broken by yours truly.

"If... I was a cape, what makes you think I'll admit to being one in the first place?"

Bro just shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, really."

"What's with the question?" I asked back. "Why do you think I'm a cape?"

"I don't know, I guess it's just... the feel I'm getting from you." Both he and I knew that wasn't an answer that would satisfy the both of us. "And there's that time when you were robbed at gun point."

My facial expression didn't change, it remained flat even as I recalled the event my co-worker was alluding to.

"Anyone else would've been scared sh*tless of being held at gun point by a... crack head with their finger literally twitching at the trigger, but you didn't." His face, on the other hand, got even more... intense. "You didn't even look bothered, much less threatened."

I exhaled through my nostrils.

How should I approach this accusation? Oh don't get me wrong. He's right on the mark, kind of, but how should I respond to this in a way that wouldn't expose my status as a parahuman?

Contrary to popular belief, there's ZERO reason to reveal whether or not you're a parahuman. Not to your family, not to your friend, and certainly not to the government.

Regardless of how dangerous that superpower was, regardless of how... life changing that power could be; there were no real reasons other than anxiety and guilt to bring that knowledge to light.

Call me selfish, call me an asshole for potentially 'endangering' people's lives for not getting registered or checked up in the PRT building. Raise all your torches and picket all you want.

But, with all due respect, a loaded gun wasn't going to fire itself at anyone.

To all the smartasses out there: Newton's Third Law.

To all the gangsters out there: f*ck around and find out.

...I should probably give the kid a proper response now, as silence tended to be a form of response of its own.

"David," calling him by his first name got his attention. I knew this because I rarely called him that. "You ever been depressed?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Not your typical teenager bullsh*t type of depression," I quickly said, "none of that 'sad boy hour' kind of stuff, either. I'm talking about depression from having everything you own, people you knew, places you've been... be rendered bereft to you, as if they're no longer there. Do you know, or have experienced, depression that stemmed from those exact circ*mstances?"

I'd just rendered him speechless, from the looks of it. And, I was just guessing here, something was telling me the answer to that question was a 'no'. He stared at me, his mouth slightly ajar.

He recovered, to his credit, fairly quickly but took a moment to digest and process the question I had cast his way. There were a lot of uh's and umm's, but eventually, he managed to find his words.

"...so is that a no to you being a cape?"

"...no."

"Oh, okay."

It obviously wasn't 'okay'. He still wanted an answer from me, still expecting something reasonable for an answer. I sighed. Well, I guess there's no better time to test my cover story.

"My transfer to Brockton Bay wasn't something I was on board with."

His head snapped up, clearly not expecting me to say anything more.

"I had no time to say goodbye to friends and family, not even a second to leave a letter behind." I caught him before he could even speak. "No, I wasn't kidnapped, I was... transfered here."

Against my will.

"What," David spoke up, incredulousness in his tone, "by corporate?"

"...not by corporate, no." Damned teenagers. I paused. "Do I look American to you David?"

His eyes narrowed in mistrust. "Is that a trick a question?"

"No, I'm not implying you're a racist or anything like that." I wryly said. "But points for being sensitive, kid. Let me change the question: do I sound American?"

That got him to stop looking at me like I was about to drop a suspicious package at the porch of his house. He took the time to really think about the question, his facial expression reflecting this. It didn't take long until he came up with the right answer.

"No, you don't." I nodded along to his answer. "You have an accent when you speak, or rather, you tend to develop an accent when you speak."

"Oh?"

"When that guy – who was clearly an Asian dude – held you on gun point, your accent changed to something... err... Asian." He said that last part slowly. "Or that one time when a, clearly, Mexican man asked for a pack of cigs, you sounded like you're speaking English but a... uh... without an accent?"

Huh, I had to give him some credit. But young David wasn't done just yet.

"And when you're speaking to me – white people really – you tend to have a... British accent. Or was it an English accent? Maybe it's Australian... I don't know."

Well, color me surprised.

Opening my eyes, I smiled. "You're right on the mark, kid. I don't sound American because I'm didn't grow up American. English's not even my first language, but I grew up speaking it to the point where I'm fluent in it as a second language."

I elaborate.

"I 'pick up' accents when I speak to people because, from where I came from, people were a lot more diversed and they speak English with their own accents. When that guy robbed me, I sounded like that because I'd grown up with Cantonese people who also speak English as a second, even third language."

I hoped that made sense?

"So you're not from the States?"

"Nope. I'm from the other half of the globe."

"Europe?" With my skin color? Really David?

"Asia."

"Huh, damn." He sounded genuinely surprised. "Which part of Asia, if you don't mind me asking?"

"South East."

"South East..." there was no mistaking the wonder his voice. Not too surprising considering how the geo-political climate of this world was. "If you're from all the way there, how the hell did you end up here in the bay?"

My mood took a hit at being reminded that. This was where I had to be careful and really be mindful of the words that would come out of my mouth.

"I was sponsored by someone to live in the US. And, before you ask, yes, it sounds shady as sh*t but I got papers and documents that have been reviewed by lawyers."

I wasn't lying here. I did possess documents that, as far as I'm concerned, stated that I was an American citizen. A Social Security Number, American passport, and a bank savings account with fifty thousand US dollars in it... that last one was something I'm grateful for.

Still didn't mean I wasn't pissed about suddenly being transported here.

"But, in order for all of that to happen, I had to go through those things I mentioned earlier. I couldn't bring anything from back home with me, I wasn't given time to say goodbye to family and friends, and as far as I'm aware, I couldn't even contact them even if I want to." I paused. "So, to answer your question David, I'm not a cape. I'm just a miserable, depressed, twenty-something year old who got... transferred to place he'd rather not be."

I tried not to sound emotional, but a hint of it seeped through my efforts. Not that there's nothing wrong with being emotional or anything, but I was just the type of person who'd much rather be vulnerably at his lonesome and not in front of a teenager who had nothing to do with my problems.

"That's... messed up, Jack." The sincerity in his voice made up for the use of my nickname. "So... that's it, then? There's really no way for you to..."

The fact that he didn't even suggest trying to get help or aid from anyone spoke volumes of how life really was for the people in this city, or maybe this world in general. The distrust in authorities, the lack of faith in people's capability to help others...

Kid probably thought my family died in a natural disaster, got offed by capes, or to one of them monsters that I kept hearing about on the internet. Well, I wasn't about to tell him exactly, so I was content to let him come to his own conclusion.

"No."

And, even if I could, I wasn't sure if I wanted to be with them anymore. Not when I'm like... this.

As I hugged myself in front of this teenager who I barely knew, I could feel a literal storm brewing from deep within my core. It was hard to explain it in words, as it was something that could only be felt by me.

My powers, as I had come to learn, was somewhat tied to my emotions. Not a very safe combination to have, if fiction was to show. But I was not completely hopeless, for with them came the understanding to use them.

Understanding, not knowledge. I still had to learn how to manifest them, how to properly utilize them... but I knew that I had control over them. Them. These powers.

Plural, not singular.

...yeah, I think it's about time I actually do something about myself—FOR myself.

"David."

"Hm?"

"...thank you, I needed this."

"You're welcome, man."

.

.

.

"And David?"

"Yeah?"

"...I'm quitting."

If you want to help support me and read future chapters a week earlier, you can check out my Patreon or ko-fi if you just want to drop a tip. Every dollar helps a lot, you will be making a difference.

If you want to help support me and read future chapters a week earlier, you can check out my Patreon or ko-fi if you just want to drop a tip. Every dollar helps a lot, you will be making a difference.

I stumbled and hit the ground after failing to catch myself from falling. I blamed it on account of me losing sensation to my legs and arms.

My body impacted the cement ground of the parking lot of an abandoned mall without a lick of grace, rising up and down as it began taking in air and releasing them through labored breathing. Sweat soaked the t-shirt covering my body, seeping through the hoodie I wore over it.

f*cking. Move. Bastard.

The curse was to myself as my arms, as sore and tired they were, attempted to lift my upper bodyweight above the ground just so I could reorient and lie on my back. The change in resting position helped immensely, helping me breathe easier while also exposing my face to the cool evening air. My legs were still a work in progress, however, I'm not moving them just yet.

It wasn't easy coming up with a workout routine when you had no need for one for the majority of your life. I was, and had always been, a thin dude.

While I was no athlete, I spent most of my life walking from point A to point B, thus contributing to a substantial amount of stamina.

That was the extent of my history 'working out', I'm afraid. Countless hours walking to commute from school and my old job, something born out of necessity in order to save money.

Aside from several rare occasions, I almost never carried anything heavy. Light to very mild cardio was all I ever did consistently, none of that powerlifting or calisthenics.

Honestly, the only real thing to a proper workout routine I'd ever done was back in senior high during gym class...

...a fact I decided to change seven days ago.

"Wow, you're really bad at this."

That was the unhelpful voice of David, who I had enlisted to help me with my new routine over the past week.

"Shut... up..." Just speaking was a struggle.

"No, I'm not even joking," David, meanwhile, looked like he barely broke into a sweat. "We've been at this for a whole week now and you showed barely any signs of improvement. Do you have, like, any medical conditions you didn't know about?"

That was a good point he'd just brought up, but no.

"I'll say this though," David walked up to me, not lifting a single finger to help with my exhaustion, "anyone else would've quit on the first day, so you keeping to it for this long must mean you really want to improve."

Obviously I wanted to improve myself. Having powers was great and all, but having great athleticism and body strength was even more important.

I'd seen too many media about people with superpowers getting offed because they were sh*t at cardio. Grossly simplified, I know, but the point I was trying to make was clear.

Having a fit body, one that wouldn't fail me at the very least, was a no brainer. After all, I was still exploring my powers so who knows what would happen if it suddenly stopped or something.

"Give me... water..."

David crouched down and procured a bottle of water, handing it to me. I sat myself up and proceeded to twist the cap open before downing it in huge gulps.

Much better.

"You good?" He asked me.

I swiveled my head to face him, nodding. He then stretched his arm towards me, offering a hand. I took it and stood up, wobbling lightly.

Looking at the time, we finished up our run. I changed out of my sweat-soaked t-shirt into a fresh one, hearing a zipper hoodie over it. David, meanwhile, barely sweat at all so he didn't see the need to change.

"I probably said it before, but you look like you still got a few more rounds in you, kid," I started conversation in the midst of our walk, "as expected of the school's track star, eh?"

"Oh shut up," he was embarrassed at being praised, or maybe that's just the teenager in him reacting. "Like I told you before, I'm not the school's track star. Far from it."

He was a member of the track team, though. I had no frame of reference to compare him to, but kid had got to be good. I could tell just from looking at the way he ran. Again, no frame of reference, I was just using pure observation.

"By the way," David said, "I wasn't kidding when I said you... barely showed any improvements.You sure you don't have any medical conditions weighing you down or anything?"

"Like I said, I've nothing like that. I just never really worked out before, this is my first time trying something like this seriously."

"Hm." I could feel him staring at me, doubting me. "Then that just means we'll have a lot to work on."

I smiled as David began going off on what he'd make me do the next time we're outside to train.

Honestly speaking, I felt a little bad for 'technically' lying to him. I had – in fact – improved my physical condition. I wasn't kidding about the first day being literal hell for me, but I was very determined and serious about improving myself—my abilities.

So, after every session we did, I'd do it all over again until my body could no longer handle the stress. I could already hear all the fitness instructors and coaches out there shouting in frustration over my negative one-hundred IQ move, but let me explain.

See, I cheated.

By using my powers, I figued out a way to 'psychically' – is that even a word – enhance my muscles. And I don't mean just making myself look like a certain Austrian bodybuilder overnight, no.

I'm talking about increasing my lung capacity, manually regulating my heartbeat, expanding blood vessels, and of course, playing around with my strength.

The truth was, after that first session, I was already used to the strain. The extra round I did during the night, without David's knowledge, was just another way for me to confirm that I had – in fact – gotten used to the amount of exhaustion I had exerted during the day.

And since I was a believer in the saying 'no pain, no gain', that had to change immediately.

To remedy this, I had to use my powers in a way I had never thought before. Using psychic powers, I purposefully made myself and the clothes I was wearing heavier.

Yup, you heard that right, I went all Dragon Ball on myself.

For my mass, I manipulated my own personal gravity. It was easier said than done, though. The first time I tried it, I'd accidentally increased the gravity of everything around me. Thankfully, it wasn't by much, so nothing catastrophic happened.

But let's just say I'm in the market for a new television.

For my clothes, as long as they're touching me, I could just adjust their own weight and mass via the same means. I could still manipulate an object's personal gravity from a distance, though, so that's neat.

I started out with 5KG, increasing them by multiples of five. I'd done this for the past week. Meaning, today alone, I had been running with more or less 100KG worth of weight spread all over my body, as I had increased the weight of my shirt, pants, and hoodie.

Now, this wouldn't be possible without me enhancing my muscles through psychic means. However, I knew better than to rely on using psychic powers to enhance my muscles, so I used a combination of weighted clothing and proper muscle control to slowly build my ideal body.

So, I'm sorry kid, I was only struggling because of this limit I'd imposed upon myself.

Besides, if I were to – literally – stop weighing myself down, I'm sure you'd catch on.

"Hey, you listening?"

"Hm? Sorry, I was thinking about something else. What did you say?"

"I was trying to tell you, my mom's been wondering what I've been up to after school for the past week." David sighed.

"Yeah, and?"

"I've been telling her I was practicing for some bullsh*t match that doesn't exist." He told me, looking and sounding guilty.

I blinked.

"Okay... and?" I asked him. "Why did you lie to her in the first place?"

Now, it was his turn to look at me as if I'd grown a second head. God, I hope my power wouldn't do that.

"Look, Jack," I cringed, "I'm a seventeen year old kid who'd been hanging out with his twenty something year old former co-worker after school. That same co-worker also happened to have a shady background. You see where I'm getting at here?"

I cringed again, but for a whole different reason this time.

Now that he'd mentioned it, it did sounded suspect. We looked far too different to be related and we kind of fit the usual description of an older gang-banger trying to induct a younger person into their gang.

Optics – that was how one's perceived by the people around them – were important in order to maintain a reputation. And, I don't know about you, I was trying not to stand out... much less be speculated as a gang member trying to recruit high school aged kids.

"Well," I started, "I think it's best if you tell your mom about what you've been doing."

"Are you sure?" He gave me a look that suited the tone of voice he's using. "With how private and how much of a loner you are, I got the feeling that you'd rather not meet more people."

This kid...

"...brat," I grunted, "sure, but I'd rather not put you in any trouble with your folks, kid. Your mom and dad have-"

"I don't have a dad."

We both stopped walking.

Oh, err, well damn.

"T-Then, your mom has all the reasons in the world to be worried about who her kid's been hanging around with."

He didn't reply or say anything. sh*t, did I stepped on a landmine? Of course I f*cking did. f*ck. I was never one for being sensitive...

"...what should I tell her?" David asked.

"...tell her that you've been hired as a... workout instructor." To no one's surprise, not even mine, David gave me a look of uncertainty.

"A kid like me being a workout instructor to an adult like you?" There's no mistaking the disbelief in his words.

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

"I don't know, it just seem... far fetched?" Okay, now it's my turn to look at him like he'd grown a new head.

"Ain't that what you've been helping me with? You've helped me come up with a workout routine. So calling you my workout instructor isn't too far fetched, yeah?"

"I guess..." It seemed that no matter what I did, he's still uncertain. "It's just... I'm a teenager, still in high school. Don't you feel like that's strange?"

"Not really?" I blinked, genuinely confused as to what's bugging him about all of this. "David, just because you're a kid doesn't make you any less competent than adults. Hell, I know adults who could stand to learn a thing or two from you."

"...really?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Hell, you're looking at one of them. God knows I could've used your work ethics growing up. If I'd even bothered doing push-ups and sit-ups before going to bed, I guarantee you I would've had girls all over me."

We both broke into chuckles.

"You dog."

"Hey, just so you know, where I came from, calling someone a dog is like calling them a bitch."

"Then, you bitch."

"Brat."

We walked all the way from the parking lot of that abandoned mall and into a more crowded area with shops and other pedestrians, stopping at the side of the walkway so we wouldn't obstruct other people from their walk.

It's dark, so I better not leave the kid hanging. Nowhere in Brockton Bay was truly safe after dark. Didn't matter if you're a guy or girl, old or young, Cape or mundane. The city had a way of getting you, if not directly then in some other way.

"So, you really want me as your workout instructor?" David asked. "Just so you know, I'm a track and field kind of guy, so expect more of a cardio and calisthenic kind of workout instead of a dumbells and barbells kind. You cool with that?"

"Sure, I'm cool with it." I told him. "But maybe we could start again at Saturday? I've been working out non-stop, I figured it's about time for a rest day or few."

"Hey, I told you it was important to rest, but you insisted on doing the full week." David chided, he was even shaking his head like a disappointed trainer!

"Meh, I was feeling motivated; better use it all up before it dries away." I shrugged, offering him my reason.

Of course, I was lying. I'd still be working my ass off and experiment more with my powers. Maybe on to different things, like, the less physical aspect of it. I'd gotten good at manipulating my own body's personal gravity, along with clothes, in order to play around with the mass and weight.

"Oh and just because you're resting that doesn't mean you can just pig out and sit on your ass all day doing nothing, you hear?"

"Yeah, yeah!"

Back in my home world, I rarely ever got fast food. Even it was pretty much widespread and available to anyone in any major cities, it was much more expensive than everything else sold just about anywhere, and the variety left much to be desired.

I used to think that people from America, my world's America, would only eat fast food for every meal and occassion, but later in life, I found out I couldn't be more wrong.

Although fast food was an American staple, it was more of a lifestyle choice than anything. However, due to it being a dominant national industry and having deep roots in the country's economy, your average American couldn't entirely avoid it.

Almost all of the fast food chains that were in the country of my home world were foreign owned, American owned. But I couldn't seem to recall Fugly Bob's as being one of them.

"You know, isn't it a little weird that we're hitting up a fast food joint after a workout?"

"Nah, not really." David, my workout instructor, said after ripping a ketchup packet open. "A lot of those online fitness influencers will tell you to avoid fast food like the plague, but it's mostly bullsh*t."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, unfolding the paper my burger was wrapped in.

"Yeah. If you look up the amount of calories in that burger you're holding, it's going to amount at around four hundred calories. With the amount of cardio we do alone, we can easily burn that off in around an hour." He told me and I couldn't help but nod along. "There's all this talk about 'clean' bulking and stuff, but we're not too concerned about that."

The kid could say whatever he wanted, but to me, he sounded like he knew what's doing.

"The point is, once in a while, eating out at a fast food chain isn't gonna ruin your life." He took a moment to grab a bite out of his own burger, chew, and then swallowing before continuing. "The only thing I'm not a big fan off when it comes to fast food is the amount of salt they put in everything. So, try to go light on the salt whenever you can."

"Hm, yeah."

"Oh and soda, pop, whatever." He lowered the arm holding his burger, looking at me right in the eye. "Don't. Drink. Them. If you have to drink them, get the one with zero sugars."

"Aye, aye, coach." Huh, I guess that'd explain why we didn't get any drinks.

"...shut up." He gave me the stinkeye, before biting into his burger.

Psh, kid couldn't take a compliment.

"Isn't this place famous, or rather, infamous for being super unhealthy?" Ugh, I just took a bite of this burger and I already felt like I needed to shower due to how greasy it was.

"Hm? Oh yeah," with mouth still chewing his food, David replied, though muffled. He swallowed, opening his mouth to speak properly, "but when I heard you haven't even tried eating here, I just have to bring you here, you know?"

I couldn't help but be sickened and amazed at how easily he was able to put the food he's eating into his mouth.

"Fugly Bob's a Brockton Staple," he said in between bites, "you have to try it at least once."

Yeah, no, this isn't working.

I think my power's been messing with me. Again.

How did I come to this conclusion?

Well, I just noticed that lately I had not been eating as much as I used to.

Not to say that I had a big appetite to begin with or anything, but I was pretty sure I had somehow managed to make myself no longer feel hunger. Or thirst.

Wild, I know.

This was my fifth day not eating and I hadn't felt anything out of the ordinary. Didn't feel the known dizziness that was commonly associated with not eating after a few days, but I wasn't exactly sure if my body no longer required sustenance or it just got rid of its ability of feeling hunger.

I was banking on the former being the case, but I still drank water every now and then as a just in case.

I could still eat and drink and I could probably still feel 'full' if I were to overeat and gorge myself with food non-stop. I just, as far as I could tell, no longer felt hunger and thirst.

"Hey, what's wrong? You're not gonna finish that burger?" David's question snapped me out from my stupor.

I blinked a few times before addressing him. "I think I'll just save it for later." I wrapped the burger back with in the paper it came with. "I'm not feeling that hungry."

David just shrugged before continuing with his meal.

After that, we talked for a few more minutes before we walked out of the burger joint. We said our goodbyes and split up, heading our separate ways.

On the way back to my apartment, I couldn't help but wonder if this was something I should be concerned about. No longer feeling hunger and thirst. The old me would've probably wished for something like that, seeing as there were times when I had to starve due to financial issues.

But now? I felt like I was stuck with a bad credit plan, but instead of slowly losing money, I was slowly losing something else.

"Well, it's something to think about later." I said to myself. I stopped by a rubbish bin and threw my half-eaten cheeseburger away before continuing to walk.

Although I was heading home, I was only planning to make a quick stop. It's late into the afternoon and the sky was turning dark, signaling me that it was time to start training my powers.

I changed out of my previous clothes into a fresh set consisting of the same type of clothing. A pair of training pants, socks, t-shirt, and a hoodie to top it all of. They might look similar on the surface, but I'd done some adjustments to make them more durable for what I was about to do.

Just as I was about to head for the door and leave, the sight of my refrigerator stopped me dead on my tracks. Wordlessly, I walked over towards it and opened it. I was expecting to be hit with a wave of cold air, but I felt no different. Nice. Those 'adjustments' were working as intended.

Huh, I forgot I bought milk... well it's expired now. Not like I'll ever need it anymore anyway.

Hmm... I never talked to them before, should I try...?

Well, there's always a first time for everything.

.

.

.

Knock Knock Knock

The sound of the door latch being opened was heard, but the door itself didn't open fully, leaving only a thin gap for whoever's inside to peek outside.

"...yes, who is it?"

"Hi, I'm your next door neighbor. Hey, uh, listen, I accidentally bought more groceries than I needed and I was thinking of giving them away."

"You 'accidentally' bought more groceries than you needed?"

"Yeah, I know, pretty dumb, huh?"

"Well..."

"Don't worry, they're legit, I got them all from the supermarket and they're still in their packaging, so nothing suspicious is going on here."

"Right...um..."

"There's a little bit of everything in there, and I already checked the dates on them too."

"Oh, um, thanks."

"Right, I'll just leave them right here then. Okay, right, sorry for disturbing you."

"Wait!"

"Hm?"

"What's... your name?"

"Oh, uh, it's Ja... just call me Jack, it's easier to say."

"Jack, huh."

Then, the door slowly swung open, as a young woman revealed herself to the person outside.

"My name's Lucy... just Lucy."

"...nice to meet you, Lucy."

As I made my way out of the apartment complex, I couldn't help but think of how pretty Lucy was.

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CW: Use of derogatory words of a racial background.

"Morning, Jack."

"Hey, Lucy, good morning."

As I locked my apartment door, dressed in a rather distinctive uniform for my new job, Lucy took a quick once-over. Understandably, it drew her attention.

"You don't strike me as someone who works at Fugly's, with how often you work out," she observed, eyeing me with a hint of curiosity.

"You... know about my workout routine?" I raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised.

"It's pretty noticeable," she nodded, crossing her arms. "I see you jogging almost every evening."

Ah, fair point. Not too difficult to spot the guy in a black hoodie doing laps around the neighborhood.

"That explains it," I nodded. "But honestly, Fugly Bob's wasn't my top pick. Just tight on cash and it was the only place that'd hire someone like me."

"Someone like you?"

"Yeah," I realized my wording might pique her interest. "I don't have a college degree and minimal job experience. And as for not fitting the Fugly's look... I'm a firm believer of never getting high on one's own supply."

That earned a chuckle from her.

"I can't argue with that," she grinned. "They don't make those uniforms that small anymore."

She wasn't kidding. They didn't.

There was a visible trend where Fugly Bob's employees needed at least a double-XL uniform. Rumor had it they either hired only plus-sized people or turned their workers into a spitting image of their customers. Fat and greasy.

I usually didn't pay much attention to internet rumors, but after seeing the type of people present for that interview, I was starting to consider it.

We decided to chat while walking.

"You hit the nail on the head," I confessed. "Had to wait until they sent a uniform that wouldn't make me look like I was wrapped in a rice sack."

"Are you off to work now?" Lucy asked.

"Yeah. What about you?"

"I'm heading to the library," she said. "They needed some help setting up computers."

"Nice. Is it for a college or something?" I wondered, pondering the idea of further education.

Honestly, I may just entertain the idea of getting something similar to degree. The documents that came with me during my sudden 'transfer' here came with a standard high school diploma equivalent, but I was curious as to whether or not I could have the opportunity to attend something like college.

"Huh?" Lucy's expression shifted suddenly. "College? What made you think that?"

"Oh," I noticed her eyes widen briefly. "I assumed..."

We both paused.

Her whole demeanor changed abruptly. She seemed tense, her expression turning colder, like she was trying to hold back a glare.

"I'm still in high school," she said sharply, her eyes focused, her tone terse.

"Oh," I blinked, realizing my mistake. "Sorry, you just seemed older than most high schoolers I've met."

"Oh? Because people like me age faster than those where you're from? Not many white people around?"

The silence was piercing.

I was at a loss for words. Her accusation caught me off guard.

"No... that's not what I meant," I said, trying to choose my words carefully.

"What did you mean, then?" she asked, not unkindly.

"I don't think people 'like you' age faster," I clarified. "And about meeting white people... where I grew up, there aren't many of them, you see."

"...oh," her expression shifted to embarrassment and sheepishness.

A passing car filled the silence, and we both processed what had transpired.

"You're not from the US?" she inquired in a very, very small voice.

"Nope."

I couldn't help but grin. Lucy's face turned a deeper shade of red. She dropped her tote bag, attempting to hide her face from me.

"You're looking at a green card holder. Got the papers and everything. Wanna see them?"

Her face flushed more, and she vehemently shook her head.

"No! I-I don't need to see it! I was just... um..." Eventually, she stopped talking, hanging her head low.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"Relax, Lucy, no harm done."

We resumed walking in silence. It should've been awkward, especially for her, but I couldn't help but smile. Walking with her made me realize she was just a kid, despite my initial assumption.

"Well, Lucy, I guess this is where we part ways."

Our walk eventually ended up at a crosswalk. She mentioned about taking the bus to where she's going, so I guessed this was where we'd part ways.

"See ya," I nodded, turning to face the road.

"Wait."

"Hm?"

"You work at the Fugly Bob's near Lord Street, right?"

"How'd you know that?"

"Lucky guess?" She said, a shy smile slowly dragging itself across her face.

"Right... then, yeah, why?"

"Nothing. Just... asking," she seemed still embarrassed.

I chuckled. "Oh, there's your bus. Have a safe ride."

After one more wave, I turned back to the road, waiting for the traffic light to change.

I had never dated. Yup, I wasn't even going to hide it. In my twenty-three years of living, I had never once dated.

At some point, I did consider it, I mean, who hadn't? You see your friends dating, your cousins dating, and you start wondering if it's about time you experience being in a romantic relationship with someone.

But no, it wasn't for me.

I wasn't one to give advice. I'd argue that people shouldn't come to me for advice in the first place. However, if there was one piece of advice I'd freely offer, it was this:

Don't get into a relationship just for the sake of being in one.

Being in a relationship isn't like getting a pet goldfish. It requires more than mere maintenance to keep it healthy and positive for both parties involved.

Despite never dating, I learned this through observation alone. Based on what I observed, too many people expected too much from their partners while not being willing to reciprocate.

It's like expecting a tree to bear fruit without watering it at all.

In other words, people had to put actual work into their relationships if they wanted them to work out. And please, spare me the 'love conquers all' talk.

Just... no.

Where was I going with this tangent? Well...

After that small misunderstanding with her that day, Lucy dropped by the Fugly Bob's where I worked. Guess who else dropped by just to make fun of me while I was in uniform?

David thought it was – for whatever dumb reason – funny to take pictures of a twenty-three-year-old man dressed in a Fugly Bob's uniform while he was taking out the trash.

I swear, if that kid posted it on his socials...

While he was busy doing that, Lucy happened to walk by with a tray of Fugly Bob's double cheeseburger combo with a large shake, no doubt silently judging the scene she was witnessing.

I introduced them to each other, and, as far as I could bring myself to care, it was also when David developed a crush on her.

As a result, I had to deal with a mild case of secondhand puppy love.

"So, uh, Jack... you know if Lucy's single?"

I set my water bottle aside after taking two big gulps from it. I also gave David a side-eye, visually telling him that I found his question to be... strange.

"Look, David, we're just neighbors, and I don't even know her that well," I told him. "And, not to mention, I'm a twenty-three-year-old guy while she's right around your age. A man my age has no business knowing whether a girl that young's single or not."

"Yeah, I guess..." Hm... I could tell he was persistent about this. "But you know how we met!"

"Yeah, you were busy making me look stupid while she was watching." I snorted. "How charming."

"Oh, come on, are you gonna be mad about that? Look, I told you, I deleted the pics already, man! There's no way I'd do you dirty like that!"

I sighed.

"She's a teenager, David, maybe a year or two older than you," I pointed out for him to follow. "I'd be surprised if she didn't secretly find it funny too."

"Nah, man, I can tell she's not that kind of person." Oh really?

"You two just met two days ago."

"True, but she just felt so... mature, y'know?" Aw, now he was gushing. "Like, there was just something about her that made her stand out, you feel me?"

Huh, I'd have to agree with the kid on that, considering I had her pegged for an older girl. I didn't have any good advice to give to David though, so I was tempted to just not say anything.

We had just finished our run and were currently resting on a park bench late in the afternoon. It was another easy day for me, even with the usual 'limiters' I had imposed on myself.

This time, David did comment on my 'improved' performance. I had managed to keep up with his usual pace without losing my breath all the while he was finally breaking a sweat.

I could've done this sooner, but it would've been too suspicious for me to just improve quickly.

"Look, David, I'll be honest with you," I began, to which David began paying attention. "I never dated anyone before, so I'm at a total loss here, buddy."

"Huh, yeah I could see that."

"...I'm gonna ignore that," you little git, "so it's probably best if you ask other people when it comes to wooing Lucy's heart, you feel me?"

David leaned back further into the bench, a sigh escaping his lips. Damn, bro was down bad. For real, for real.

"I guess you're right... still, I can't believe I never saw her despite having been to your apartment several times before," David thought out loud. "Though, to be fair, I've only just stayed outside."

"I get the feeling she's probably like me in that regard," I shrugged, "a loner who likes to keep to herself. When I knocked on her door, she was eyeing me up like I was a suspicious person or something."

"Oh yeah? Why'd you do that?"

"Hm? I had a few extra groceries that needed to go, so I figured it'd be fine to give them out."

Hm? Why are you looking at me like that, David?

"You give out groceries to your neighbors?" David's tone was flat, pure with disbelief.

"Yes."

"Extra groceries, Jack? Who the hell gives away 'extra' groceries in this economy, in this country, and – especially – in this town?"

"Yours truly," I said, while I gave him a big grin.

"...now I see why you end up working for Fugly Bob's..."

"Hey, now, working at Fugly Bob's ain't that bad. Sure, the pay's minimum wage, but it's all about developing a career, kid! Career!"

He scoffed at me.

"I'd sooner trust a homeless person about real estate investments than someone who works at Fugly Bob's about careers."

We continued to talk and exchange words until it was about our usual time to split up. David headed for his home, while I began preparing myself to begin my usual routine of power testing.

Hm... I was feeling a little bit lazy today, let's see if I could move stuff without touching them.

Little did I know, I'd be stellar at doing just that.

When I was a young kid, some of my older cousins would always get into trouble. They were a part of a school gang and they would get caught up in fights with students of other schools. It was a real problem in my community growing up; young teenagers getting into arranged fights with students of other schools.

So much so that there were real government efforts to stop these things from happening.

Efforts were a mix of education and enforcement, more so the latter seeing as it was – apparently – far more 'practical' to have men in uniform, in large numbers, acting as deterence than to have teachers properly teaching young teenagers about the dangers of being in a gang.

But what really stuck with me was seeing one of my cousins on a hospital bed in a coma, his face all swollen and blue with bumps the size of tangerines.

He had been jumped and beaten by a rival gang, if I recalled correctly, and left in a comatose state.

It really shook me up seeing my cousin on hospital bed, not responding even as his mom was crying her her out beside him, and with medical instruments attached to him.

Seeing that image had burned into me the fear of confrontation, which somehow translated into being reluctance to stand up for myself and speak up even when I was wronged.

I figured if I kept to myself, not get into other people's way, and do as I was told people would leave me alone and not hurt me.

But, of course, this wasn't the case.

One day in fifth grade, the scariest thing happened to me. I managed to land myself in a very heated confrontation. What made it worse, it was between me and an older kid two years my senior.

Me being the short and lanky kid I was, was rightfully terrified. It was during recees when it happened, a time when every student of every grade was out to see what would become of me.

He marched all the way to where I was eating in the school's cafeteria and smacked my lunch box right out of hands, making me drop the food that my mom packed for me that day.

Then he proceeded to threaten me, call me names, and got all physical with me. His friends were there to stop him, thankfully, and it also didn't take long until the teachers got involved.

I was so surprised and bewildered by the entire thing that I was speechless even hours after the initial confrontation. I vaguely remembered sitting on a sofa in the principal's office, still shivering, wordlessly.

Eventually, the school had to call both of our parents. The whole thing started because, if I could recall correctly, someone told him that I had been making moves on his little sister, who was in the same grade as I was.

So, then, they brought her in for questioning.

They asked her questions with all of us in the same cramped, air-conditioned counseling room.

'Did he try approaching you?'

'Had he ever flirted with you?'

'Are you close friends with him?'

Her answer to all those three questions? No. Yup. A genuine and, understandably, confused no.

Needless to say, it didn't take long for the guy's parents to apologize to me. Dude was stubborn, but they made him apologize to me in the end while also getting himself suspended.

Meanwhile, the little sister was just confused as to why she'd been called to the counseling room in the middle of class, and why her parents and brother were apologizing to a kid on the same grade as her.

Looking back on it now, it was a memory that I had grown fond of. It did, after all, made me realize that no matter how hard you try, there are just some situations you can't avoid. Thankfully, as heated as that confrontation was, it was something born out of a misunderstanding.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for this one.

"Well, well, look at what we have here... looks like somebody's lost."

There were four of them. They're dressed in their iconic red and black colors with the 'symbol' that they had misappropriated from another culture on full display.

The one who just spoke was a white dude with a metal piercing on his eyebrow, somehow managing to look like a younger, racist version of early-2000's Eminem back when he was still doing drugs.

"So, what's someone like you doing in Empire territory, huh?" The guy was flanked by his friends. Two other dudes and a chick. He had a smile that could only be described as twisted.

What a sick bastard. Just met me and he's already thinking of the different ways he could beat/rob/humiliate me just because of my race.

"ABB turf's over that way, gook." The only girl of the group informed with a sneer, much to her friends' amusem*nt.

...not gonna lie, I didn't know what a 'gook' was, but I'm just gonna infer it's something racist just because a neo-nazi called me one.

"Not a very smart guy, ain't you? Passing through our territory all alone... I thought you chinks are supposed to be smart?"

Now that I know. Hm... not sure how to feel at being called one, to be honest. I never really identify with that part of my heritage so much so to get mad at being called the c-word...

"Hey, you listening to us, asshole?" Another person spoke up, another dude. A taller, lankier dude who was already brandishing a steel pipe he'd been carrying.

It just occured to me that I had been silent all this time. I had somehow found myself in a situation that younger-me would absolutely loathe to be in – still does in a way – with seemingly no way out of it.

My evening jog had landed me in the part of town that people of my skin color and eye shape were not welcomed in.

Not that I see what's so special about this part of town anyway, other than the fact it's mostly populated by certain type of people; it's still the same sh*tty city after all.

Serves me right for not paying attention, I suppose. Oh well.

"He must be so scared he can't speak. Hey Georgie, grab him and take everything he has. We can beat him up and then hand him over to the older guys for a fast track in the Empire or some sh*t!"

"Alright Ron!"

I, myself, was unsure why I was so unconcerned by the fact that four Empire thugs were about to rob me. Thinking about it, I should've been at least worried the moment I saw them approaching me.

Yeah, the thing is...

I wasn't. Not after what I'd been through.

If this was back at my old world then, sure, I would've been scared sh*tless... but this wasn't my old world, and I wasn't exactly the same person as I was back then.

The old me couldn't change the mass and weight of the things around him. The old me couldn't manipulate the personal gravity of a particular object he's seeing. The old me couldn't lift objects five hundred times his weight just by willing it to happen.

"This motherf*cker thinks he's all tough and badass just cause he-GAHACK!"

The old me couldn't do all of that.

Oh no sirree...

But the 'me' now?

Oh yeah, I could do that and more.

"H-Holy sh*t... Cape... Cape! Ca-UGHK!"

"GYAAH!"

"GUH!"

Four bodies found themselves suspended in mid air. The 'leader' was the first, followed by the girl, and then the other two dudes.

Their arms were pinned to their sides, while their legs stuck ramrod straight. They struggled, naturally, but it was all wasted effort.

When I first experimented with my powers, telekinesis was something I initially struggled with. I didn't mean I couldn't lift objects, as a matter of fact, that's the easy part.

The hard part was controlling myself to not crush said object.

I practiced with discounted produce that I sourced from my local grocery store, the bad ones that were on the verge of spoling.

I started with grapes, then moved on to tangerines, then apples, then oranges, then grapefruits, papayas, coconuts, melons, squashes... and eventually pumpkins.

Don't worry, none of the produce went to waste.

As I stood here suspending four neo-nazis in mid-air with the mere power of my mind, it didn't take long until their 'opinion' of me changed. Drastically.

"P-P-Please," the leader, who was now crying by the way, stuttered out. "lemme go man, I-I didn't know you were a cape...!"

"...what if I wasn't?"

He must've not expected that response, judging by the genuine look of confusion on his face.

"I'm not a Cape." I said, trying to keep my tone level. "I don't do... cape stuff. I'm not even wearing a mask."

"W-What?" It was funny seeing his face. Never had I seen sheer confusion mixed with fear that well. "B-But y-you're-"

"Shut the f*ck up Ron!" The girl shouted at her friend with such raw emotion that it surprised me. I wasn't expecting that, holy cow.

Still, I gotta play it up here.

"O-Okay, okay..." the girl talked, her own face marred with fear and leaky eyeliner from having cried herself. "You're not a Cape... w-we get it so let us go, please... w-we won't tell anyone!"

Ah, clever girl...

"Why should I trust you?" I didn't mean it as threatening, but I should've known that pretty much anything I did or said could be considered as one at the moment.

"W-We're just messing around,okay?!" One of the other dude spoke up, the one who brandished a steel pipe to intimidate me, while his friend was quietly crying and begging in mid-air beside him. "W-We won't ever see you again, promise!"

"I don't know about that," I drawled, purposefully playing with my tone, "your friend over there literally told you to rob me and then beat me up afterwards."

"T-That was just...!"

"Didn't he?"

"L-Look, man, we're just-"

"Didn't he?"

CRACK

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

I let the screaming girl drop to the ground, her body making contact with the concrete roughly. Her scream slowly died down, replaced instead with fearful, wet whimpers of pain.

I just dislocated both of her kneecaps, so that's an expected reaction.

"...if any of you scream even a peep, I'll do to you what I just did to her."

That got the two boys to shut up immediately.

The third guy, who had been quietly crying and not saying a single word this entire time, was the most likely candidate to get out of this situation unharmed, honestly speaking.

I took a deep breath.

Here, before me, were four neo-nazis in various state of hurt. One's – probably – going to die if she didn't get any immediate medical help, two of them's looked like they're about to crap their pants, and the last one's for sure crapped his pants.

Not an everyday occurence for yours truly, but this was a different world. Getting accosted by a violent racist group wasn't anywhere in my 'isekai bingo card', but here I was anyway.

The girl, judging by the lack of noise she's making, was probably unconscious. Or dead.

Curious, I walked over to her unmoving body, knelt down and began checking her pulse. Huh, she's still alive.

Now, as for her friends...

What to do with them?

I could just go 'pop goes the weasel' on their ass and that's that, or I could make them promise – again – not to say anything about this encounter.

But why would I risk that last one?

It'd be so easy... just... 'pop' and I could get away from this situation without risking my status as a superpowered individual.

As much as I wanted to trust them with keeping their mouth shut, we all know that's not going to happen. They're bound to talk, pressured by either the police or other members of their... gang.

So, really, the logical conclusion would be to just kill them and be done with it.

It'd be so easy. Too easy.

I sighed.

It'd be easy... but it's not a way I wanted. It wasn't a way I wanted to get used to.

"Listen to me and listen closely." I made sure to float their suspended form closer to me, so that they could do just that.

"I don't want to see any of you here ever again. I'll let you bastards go and bring your friend over here-" I tapped the tip of my shoe on the unconscious girl's head, "-to the hospital or wherever it is you pieces of sh*t go to when you get hurt."

I made sure to scan their faces, meeting their fear-stricken eyes directly.

"But if I found out that the cops or any member of your nazi friends are looking for me..."

I made sure to slowly increase the pressure squeezing around their bodies, just to emphasize my words.

"...you three, just like this girl down here, will learn why having working kneecaps is a privilege and not a basic human right."

Then, I dropped them to the ground. Harshly.

They groaned and moaned, disoriented and in pain from being telekinetically slammed to the concrete ground.

I didn't stick around to make sure they were okay. Immediately, I set off to the direction of my apartment. The walk home, strangely enough, was quiet if not brisk.

Whether it's because it's later into the evening or those four were the only Empire goons out and about this hour of the night, I wasn't sure.

The moment I entered my apartment, I headed for the shower. A cold shower. Being covered in cold water got me in a thinking mood.

I didn't feel a shred of fear being confronted by those racists. I didn't even feel threatened or worried for that matter.

Why is that, I wonder?

The next day, I woke up feeling... different.

It was strange and difficult to put into words, but out of all the strange things that has happened to me... this one I could actually feel changing.

Everything felt so... bland. Drab.

It's like I was listening to the news on TV with the volume on the lowest setting, still able to tell what's being announced to the last detail, but my senses had somehow chosen to willingly ignore it all entirely.

I felt... bored.

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There's something suspicious about his co-worker, Jack.

Never mind the fact that Jack isn't even his real name; rather, it's a nickname he uses plenty of times when referring to himself.

Brockton Bay is home to a variety of people, and its diversity means you can find individuals of different races and ethnicities, most of them being mixed, just like himself.

Listening to Jack speak for the first time, he could pick up hints of an accent, but it wasn't enough to raise suspicion.

He had Jack pegged as an introvert, which turned out to be somewhat true. The guy barely started conversations and would only speak when spoken to.

He hated to bring something as shallow as looks into account, but at first glance, Jack didn't seem like the type of person who would try to socialize or make the effort to do so.

Jack always started his shift already wearing the store uniform, making him wonder if the dude was homeless and didn't own any other clothing.

There's also a matter of Jack's general behavior.

In this part of town, they tend to get shady customers. Whenever it's Jack's turn to man the cashier, he always does it in the same monotone way.

Even when a customer gives him trouble for something completely trivial, he tackles it all listlessly and almost emotionless.

Jack doesn't smoke or drink, so most of his shift breaks are spent on his phone or just sleeping. But, of course, it didn't start to get weird until it happened – Jack getting robbed at gunpoint at the store.

He remembered diving to the floor as soon as he saw the gun, covering his head and praying that Jack would just give the guy the little money in the register.

He was scared, and he wasn't even going to pretend it wasn't. People joke around about getting mugged a lot, but actually getting mugged was not something he found funny.

Through the mugger's shouted demands, he could only hope that Jack did the smart thing and gave him whatever he wanted. And, to Jack's credit, he did exactly that. It's just that – and he's stressing it here – Jack did all that without even breaking character. Nothing. No begging for his life, no begging to not be shot... nothing like that at all. Jack just opened the register, grabbed the bills, and handed them to the guy.

He's willing to bet twenty bucks that the robber himself was confused about the whole thing. So, after the whole incident, the cops got involved, which also meant management had to get involved.

They had them say a few things for the record and checked the CCTV footage for analysis, and still, Jack was as cool as ice. One would think he wasn't bothered at all.

That's exactly it. Jack wasn't.

When he got home after that whole deal, he seriously thought of quitting the job. He was so scared that he didn't have the guts to tell his mom about what happened. He even stayed home the next day.

But, against his better judgment, he eventually decided to clock in for the shift anyway, expecting the store to be closed. So imagine his surprise to find it open with Jack already manning the register.

Jack then took one look at him and said, 'Go change; I'm going on a break' like it's any other day, as if they didn't just get robbed by an armed crook the previous day.

How can he not think of him as a Cape after seeing all that? Any other ordinary person would've lost their sh*t and not come to work the next day, especially for a low-wage job like that. But not Jack. He just went with it and carried on.

This whole thing was wild from the get-go, which was why he decided to just ask the guy straight up whether he's a Cape or not.

He got his answer during yesterday's shift together. Jack told him he wasn't a Cape, just a very depressed dude who's – apparently – quite far from home.

He wasn't going to say it verbally, but he'd believe Jack more if he said he's suicidal rather than depressed. Then again, these two feelings tend to go hand in hand.

Although, he wasn't really expecting Jack to share and talk about himself. He'd been around enough braggarts and blowhards when he's being fed a story too wild to be true. Jack's story was the wildest he'd heard of, but he had no reason to not believe the guy, much less call him out for it.

And, considering that this was Brockton Bay they're in, it wasn't something too out of reach when you have groups like the Empire and ABB around. Especially the ABB; he couldn't see the Empire being involved with someone of Jack's... backgrounds.

All of this, even after listening to what Jack told him last night, still didn't dissuade him from thinking that Jack wasn't a Cape or at least super-human.

He knew how important secret identities were, but he just couldn't help himself. His own experience with Capes had been... sparse, which could be taken as a good thing, especially in Brockton.

He was just expecting someone with superpowers to do... something. Something good.

Jack may or may not be a Cape. If he was, then he's keeping that fact in a box locked tighter than Fort Knox. As for expecting Jack to do something, he did do one thing yesterday.

Jack quit his job.

Naturally, he did the same thing. Why? Let's just say that he wasn't looking forward to working in a place without a guy who could just shrug off being robbed at gunpoint accompanying him anymore.

Jack's really not doing a good job trying to convince him he's not a Cape...

Suddenly asking for help with a workout regime wasn't strange all by itself; it's only strange if you're a suspected Cape.

He didn't know if Jack's aware of it, but it's somewhat of a common trope for Capes who have recently triggered to suddenly start going on jogs, working out, and going to secluded locations to train their newfound powers.

PHO's pretty much filled with stories of this type, to a point where the moderators had to remind these new Capes not to out themselves.

From what he's seen, the mods had their work cut out for them due to how often people would accidentally snitch on themselves.

Granted, however, Jack actually asked him to join him for the workouts, thus giving him plausible deniability regarding his Cape status. And, so far, they'd only been doing very general stamina-building routines and nothing specific.

Unless, of course, Jack's powers had something heavily related to doing cardio. If not, then he didn't see the point of doing all of this.

He had to admit, however, Jack's fitness was not the best.

Yeah, Jack could be considered a scrawny dude, but it's deceptive how unfit he was. But maybe that's just the athlete in him speaking. Maybe.

If Jack's a Cape like he thought he'd been all this time, he couldn't see him as something that'd catch the attention of the public.

In other words, Jack's probably not a very good Cape.

Either that, or his powers were subpar. Or, maybe, he's just thinking too much about it.

Thinking about it, from what he'd read at the very least, Cape powers were as mysterious as the universe itself. There were a lot of theories and straight-up conspiracies as to what influenced them, but it's commonly understood that people who went through traumatic events would undergo something called a Trigger Event that would make powers manifest.

Then again, he's not the best source of knowledge when it came to Capes or powers in general.

He'd say this, however: Jack's really serious about wanting to do this.

Believe it or not, Jack's far from the first person to approach him about training. Other kids his age, especially his classmates, had approached him for coaching.

They'd do it for the usual reasons – to impress a girl they liked, for bragging rights, and all that. Another important thing to consider: Jack's an adult man.

Jack didn't have the same reasoning a teenager would normally have, at least he hoped so. If anything, it spoke volumes when an adult like Jack would set aside his pride and ask a kid like him for help.

Not many adults in his life would do that. Not even his own mother.

So, helping Jack in his workout journey was not a mistake. He started Jack with stamina building, in other words, cardio. Then they moved on to calisthenics, strength training, and – a very underrated form of fitness, in his humble opinion – proper dieting.

While, yes, he took Jack to Fugly's as a way to get a free meal from the guy, it's also an important part of the training program! It's to show that you don't have to pay premium prices on food to maintain a suitable diet and that it's perfectly alright to go for fast food once in a while.

Which was why he only made Jack pay for Fugly's once a week.

But back to the point, all he's saying is, Jack's seriousness more than made up for his lack of fitness. It's been a few weeks of doing the same exact routine, but Jack's still not showing any signs of quitting. What's worrying, however, is that Jack's also not showing any signs of improvement. It's as if the guy's struggling even more as the days go on.

Still, Jack told him that he wasn't going to quit or stop. After hearing that, he couldn't find it in himself to quit too. It was encouraging, in a way. Not even he was this determined during competition seasons.

Throughout the days they jogged or exercised in general, he'd like to say that he'd grown to know Jack a little bit better. For someone who's in his mid-twenties, Jack certainly looked older, though he's willing to guess that being depressed and being so far away from home probably had a thing or two to do with it.

Or maybe it's that haircut. Seriously, the dude needs to go to a barber.

He's right to assume that Jack's somewhat of a recluse and wasn't surprised to learn that the guy had been one even during his teenage years.

No shade on the guy or whatever, but he just seemed like the type, you know? Jack also opened up a little about his family.

He's surprised to learn that he came from a pretty big family, then again, Jack himself told him that it's a common thing from where they're from, even with the current state of the world.

Jack didn't go to college, but he had experience in an office job, which wasn't surprising.

It was enough to get by, but Jack told him he wasn't making a lot of money. No different than most folks here in Brockton, then.

With each passing day they spent training their bodies, jogging across the streets of Brockton or doing calisthenics in the parking lot of a rundown mall, the more they got to learn about each other.

At this point, it wouldn't be wrong to say that he considered Jack his friend, and vice versa.

But what's a good friend, anyway? Good friends don't keep secrets from each other, right? Or maybe it's expected to respect them for wanting to keep one and not bother them about it?

He didn't know.

Some days it felt like the former was true, while on other days, the latter could be considered correct. He may not know whether Jack's a Cape. He's willing to bet his left nut the guy's one, but he couldn't say for sure.

What he did know was one thing:

Jack's a cool dude.

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CW: Racism from racist people.

Believe me when I say this: having super powers isn't all that glamorous.

If you are one of the unfortunate many who happens to have super powers, then you might have subscribed to the idea of 'having powers equals easier life'.

Uh, no?

If you are the type of person to think that way, then let me shatter that illusion of yours.

Although, yes, super powered humans are common, they are by no means the standard. Based on what I've read, if we're talking about the world as a whole, super powered humans or 'Parahumans' are still outnumbered by baseline humans.

I don't quite remember the ratio, but it was pretty substantial. So unless you have friends with super powers of their own, expect to be alone with no one to relate to whatever it is your powers are making you go through.

Then again, you can always go online and vent.

There's also the way you get your so called super powers, too. From what I've read up online, it's still unclear. There's a whole lot of theorizing and speculation, but one thing that's clear is for a person to undergo a traumatic event of some sort for that power to manifest. These are called Trigger Events.

So, imagine going through the worst event of your life only to end up with the power to... uh... grow your hair out a specific length or something lame like that.

What I'm trying to say is that there's a gamble.

But, then again, you get a power at the end of it... and something is better than nothing, after all.

Another reason why having super powers is not all that great is the stigma behind having one. It doesn't take long for the people around you to notice that you have powers, if you don't go out of your way of hiding it.

And once they even start to slightly suspect you're a Parahuman, they're gonna start looking at you differently.

For example: if you have the power to control fire, then be prepared for people to start accusing you for every fire emergency that happens in town. If you have the power to turn invisible, then people are going to assume you're always up to no good 24/7.

Of course, it won't always be stigmas that'll be attached to having powers, there's also a very high chance you'll gain social prestige.

Let's say you have super strength, naturally, people are going to come to you for help and see you as a potential protector. Especially if you're good looking. If you got super smarts, then people are gonna start coming to you to solve their problems and stuff. Things like that.

And the last and final reason why having super powers isn't all that great, in my humble opinion, is the fact that there are too many groups/organizations out there who won't leave you the f*ck alone once they know you got super powers.

Exhibit A: The PRT.

With influence all across the US and Canada, they have a vast stretch of territory to enforce/look after. They make it their job to respond to anything Parahuman related, as it's a part of their name. This ranges from dealing with law enforcement when a Parahuman is involved, or even just making contact with people with super powers in general.

They are a government entity and thus come with the backing and advantage of one. Near limitless resources, money, and pretty much anything under the sun.

Naturally, they're one of the big players – if not the biggest player in not just the Cape scene, but Parahuman society in general.

Their law enforcement nature makes them popular among the regular humans, having the image of a protector against any bad Parahuman entities.

So, inevitably, this creates an interesting dynamic between citizen-law enforcement relation as, technically, Parahumans are still citizens of the country they live in.

Their existence is a necessary one, especially with how... catastrophic Parahuman incidents tend to be.

They're also willing to go a mile for those who had just recently awakened to their powers, bringing them in for power testing and helping them find a place in society: at their side.

Yes. That's right.

The PRT wants a monopoly on every Parahuman – it needs to have that monopoly.

There're ads both physical and digital telling people to sign up for a spot as a hero under the PRT's banner pretty much everywhere. You can't avoid not seeing them. TV, billboards, websites, radio... you can't escape the recruitment pitch.

In the apartment I live in, we get leaflets sent to our doors telling us to sign up with the PRT. Does this mean they know who's a Parahuman? Most likely not. Yet they do it anyway because that's how serious they are in drawing people to their side.

Public relations have a lot to play in getting to where the PRT is at now. Every PRT affiliated heroes have only looked good should they ever make it to the news.

Even in my short time being here, I can't recall hearing anything bad about their heroes. Outside of the internet and basket weaving forums, at least.

Naturally, this meant the societal zeitgeist when it comes to Capes can be summarized as so: PRT Capes equals heroes. Not PRT Capes equals villains.

But... there's a middle ground. Rogues.

Honestly speaking, I'm beginning to realize the fact that I am – in fact – a Rogue. Technically.

Although there is no specific definition, a Rogue is someone who uses their powers for personal gains; usually for business, societal or neutral reasons. Some Rogues are even known to try their hardest not to use their powers at all.

Most of them – or rather us – even work day jobs, like what I'm doing, while some make money strictly off of their powers.

Now, what are the PRT's stance on Rogues? Well, as far as the PRT's concerned, you're basically a villain unless you sign up with them.

You can sign up as a Rogue, but then you wouldn't be a completely independent Rogue, as all Rogues who signed up with the PRT are loosely sponsored by them.

They'll even go as far as to give stipends and offer protection, which might not be a bad gig.

But, remember, the PRT is the one with the upperhand in every exchange. They'll set the terms, make the rules, and lay out the plan.

In other words, you're pretty much an asset they're willing to lose. A dog with a longer leash they're not afraid to have dead.

...maybe I'm just being a downer. Who knows, maybe the PRT has helped Rogues who signed up with them. Hell, maybe being a PRT Hero isn't a bad thing at all.

The pay's probably the only good thing, can't imagine the work hours though, brr!

"Hey, uh, J-Jackie-"

My left eyebrow twitched at the nickname my co-workers have adopted for me. Not turning away from the fryer, where I've currently just dipped a batch of fries into, I responded.

"What is it Joe? The fries will be done in a minute."

"Uh... you might wanna come out here."

I sigh, stopping what I've been doing. Turning off the heating element, I raised the frying basket and latched them on the notch, so they won't get burnt from being submerged too long in the oil.

Wiping my hands clean with a kitchen towel, I walked out of the cooking station and into the cashier section.

What is it now? I swear, with how often he asks for help, it's almost like I'm the one who's been working here longer. And, I swear, he'll only do it when it's just the both of us on shift!

"What is it, did you get the spoon stuck in the ice cream machine aga-"

The words died in my mouth. The reason? Four men in Empire color with handguns drawn and their lower face covered. The one closest to the counter has his pointed at Joe who is quietly sobbing.

I burn their faces into memory.

I shouldn't have picked the night shift.

...should've threatened those kids more.

"There any proper folks working back there I can speak with, huh? I don't wanna be seen talking to... you people."

...the urge to pull a Robert Downey Jr from Tropic Thunder is nigh irresistable, but I manage to resist it. I glance at Joe who is openly crying, his face caked in tears.

"Hey, darkie," the speaker, the closest one, looks at Joe, "you better quit cryin' before I shut you up for good."

Joe, the poor kid, immediately clamped his mouth shut, but it doesn't stop him from crying. His lips might as well have been sewed shut, his cries slipping out in small, pitiful whimpers and whines.

I feel my brain tremble.

"S-Sir," sh*t, I stutter, "we'll give you everything we have, please do-"

"I'll tell you what to give and when to give, that clear?" He threatens me, rattling his piece before my eyes. I nod with my arms raised. "Now, ya'll might've not heard it, but something... unfortunate happened to a fine, young girl a while back... a girl who just so happened to be one of my fine people."

Ah, so it is about those kids after all.

"Her friends, those good for nothing idiots, wouldn't speak about what happened. But something happened. Oh something happened alright."

His eyes, a sickly mix between green and grey, might as well be drilling into me. I stay silent, letting him talk all he wants.

"Her legs. Somebody messed them up real bad. The doctor said it's a miracle she'll be able to walk again. She was in pain, so much pain and afraid, so afraid to the point where she's not willing to speak about what happened."

Should I act now? Joe's here. If I use my powers, I will be outed as a Parahuman.

"But she did say one thing. You know what she said?"

I remain silent.

"The person who hurt her, the dead son of a bitch, was wearing a Fugly Bob's employee's uniform."

...I should be bringing a change of clothes after every shift from now on.

"Another thing we figured out, whoever did that to her wasn't ... one of us. Heh, of course it wasn't." He chuckles, his two friends start chuckling with him also. "What kind of self-respecting person would do such a thing to such a sweet girl, huh? Now if it's one of you people... it'd make more sense."

The air thickened with tension as the man's words hang in the air. I fight the urge to let loose a quip, my jaw clenching against the tasteless remark threatening to escape.

Glancing back at Joe, I can only empathize. I understand why he's shaking on his feet, has tears streaming down his face, and praying.

But for the love of god, I can't feel the same thing he's feeling.

Why?

It's because, unlike Joe, I am not afraid. Fear has no grip over my being, it holds no substance in my mind as of the moment.

"So, care to tell me if any of you... fellas know of any other Fugly Bob's employee who aren't my kind of people besides you two, huh?"

He sneers at us as his eyes hold within them this barely restrained glee, almost as if he's getting a sick kick over saying the words that are coming out of his mouth.

Before me is a tormenter, I realize. He and his friends have been taking pleasure in this entire exchange, seeing my co-workers fearful reactions and taking delight in it.

My eyes glazed over the swastika proudly displayed over their clothing. I doubt they even believe in that symbol they're wearing.

These types of people are the worse.

They don't cling to a clearly hateful ideology because they truly believe in its core value. Oh no. If it's like that, then they're at least worthy of a little bit of respect.

I am willing to bet none of these asshats in front of me truly believe that their race is superior or 'pure' or anything like that.

No.

These type of people become like this because they are willfully ignorant. They live in a country filled with people of many colors, creeds, and kind, yet they choose ignore all the good and beautiful things that comes with it and instead twist it to fit their ignorant and hateful worldview.

If that's not enough, they have also somehow convinced themselves that they are justified in doing what they do as it helps them endure their plight. Their plight being living while under the so called 'threat' of existence.

The real Nazis might have reasons to worry about existence because most of the modern world was out to get their ass back then, on account of them being dicks, . But these guys? What are they threatened by?

A guy with a little bit more melanin on his skin?

How boring.

"I did it."

"Huh?"

He clearly isn't expecting me to just confess. I shrug my shoulders, the corner of my lips tugging slightly.

"That girl you're talking about? I did that to her." I say, perfectly aware of the amount of eyes I'm turning wide, including my own co-worker's.

He looks like he's about to say something judging by the way his mouth is about to move, but I'm not stopping just yet.

"You know what I did? I crushed her kneecaps. It's not as hard as it seems. As a matter of fact, it's easier than it looks."

My audience is rendered silence, their eyes wide while their broad shoulders shake ever so slightly.

"Y-You... filthy litt-!"

Their guns are quick, but my power is quicker. Three neo-nazi trash find themselves eating ceramic tiles, their head hitting the floor so hard it cracked. The floor, unfortunately.

Their guns also hit the floor the moment their owners go down, thankfully none of them went off from the impact. Leaning over the counter, I grimaced at the sight.

They're still conscious, judging by the low painful moans coming out of their mouth. They are just no longer in a state to be standing up.

"J-J-Jackie, y-y-you...?" I turned to face Joe. I sigh, shaking my head.

"Yes, Joe, I'm a Parahuman." Well, the cat's out of the bag. "Not a Cape, though."

"Y-You have powers!"

"Yes I do."

"T-That's... crazy!"

"...not crazy enough, I'm afraid." Not enough to kill these idiots, at least. "Listen, Joe, I don't need to tell you this but I can count on you to keep things on down-low, can't I?"

I make sure to nudge my eyebrows, just so he'll get the clue.

"H-Huh? Oh. Oh! Y-Yeah, totally dude, um, y-you can count on me!" Good kid, smart. "But what about the cameras, bro? Terry's gonna be checking on them and all..."

"I dealt with them earlier." I wave his worry off. "I had to cut the wires in order to do it, though, so we're gonna have to make up something convincing enough for Terry."

"Uh, okay... wait, was that before you knocked them out or after?"

"Before, Joe." I'm suicidal, not stupid.

I vault over the counter, moving to check up on the three bleeding neo-nazis. I use my telekinesis to manipulate their bodies, as I don't want my fingerprints on any of them.

The guns I begin securing next, levitating them away on a table. Meanwhile, Joe joined me on the floor, watching me as I work with wide eyes.

"Damn, man..." his voice full of barely contained wonder, "no wonder you're so quick with moving inventory. I should have you do those from now on."

"Heh, just don't count on it too much. I'm trying to keep a low profile."

"Yeah, guess it's been going well enough until now, huh?" Joe murmurs.

I rip off their belts and hoodies to use as makeshift ropes to bind them with. I mainly focus on the legs and arms, but I can always use my powers to restrain them.

They're still out of it and don't seem to be fully conscious any time soon, so it makes my job easier.

I set them down on the floor again, this time using my gravity manipulation power to pin them in place for added measure. Joe, who I sent to lock the entrance and flip the sign to close earlier, returns.

"So... what's gonna happen now?" He asks me, his voice alone tells me he's still tense over the whole entire thing.

And, of course, he's also scared of me now.

"It depends."

"Huh?"

"You? You're going home. It's about time to clock out anyway, so you're done for the night." I tell him while pulling a chair for me to sit on. "You're gonna go home and pretend nothing ever happened."

"What about you, Jackie?" He asks, quietly.

"I'm staying." I tell him, my voice hollow and absent. "Someone has to clean up the blood and do closing anyway. Not to mention, I'll have to deal with these three ass-hats."

Silence takes over the room. The air grows thick and palpable.

"Jackie," Joe's voice comes out slowly, "are you gonna...?"

Joe doesn't finish his question, but it's obvious what he's asking about.

I turn to look at him, giving him a tired smile.

Afterward, I sent Joe home, slipping him a few hundred bucks to make sure he understands I'm serious about keeping things hush-hush.

I'm not too worried about him snitching. People take Parahumans' secret identity very seriously here, so if he were to say anything that would out me, Joe knows he's going to go through a bad time. Like, very bad.

I cleaned up and did my closing routine as per usual, focusing extra attention on the blood that was spilled on the spot where I used my powers.

I wrapped the guns in a Fugly Bob's branded paperbag, storing them for use later. I don't know what I'll need three handguns for, but I get the feeling you can never have enough guns when you live in BB.

Didn't help with those three idiots, though.

I start to feel like I'm a genius or something.

"So, you mind telling me why you have three unconscious Empire thugs floating beside you, huh?"

Oh who am I kidding with? I'm not a genius. Hell, I can't even call myself smart most of the time!

I thought I was going to be slick trying to sneak three unconscious – I had to put them to sleep by strangling – thugs into my apartment.

Had a great plan of doing it too; float them up so high so people wouldn't notice, which worked!

Up until I actually try to enter my apartment.

Lucy, by sheer luck alone, managed to see me fiddling with the lock on my door and catch me with the bodies. Literally.

"You're not gonna believe me." I say as I fasten the knot securing the last guy.

"Please, try me." Lucy retorts.

I don't have to look at her to tell that she's staring intently at me. It's probably not from animosity, at least from what I can feel.

It's nothing like Spider-Man's danger sense or anything fancy like that. Having those neo-nazis giving me a surprise visit at work left me with an ick, so I decided to get a little bit creative with my powers.

I am able to manipulate my pyschic powers a certain way, thereby creating some-sort of psychic field of a certain size. With this psychic barrier up, I can then sense everything within said barrier.

Well almost everything.

I can sense living things, electrical signals, magnetic forces... but only if they're moving. Everything else that's not will register as a solid object, not unlike images from a 3-D mapping software.

It's also the reason why I was able to get these idiots into my home without being detected.

Along with it, I can also tell if someone's twitchy, sweaty, and whether or not their heart's beating a little bit too fast than normal. I'm not an empath is what I'm trying to say.

Sighing, I invite her further into my apartment, which isn't saying a lot seeing as it's a studio. Still, Lucy makes herself comfortable leaning against the wall nearest to the exit.

Clever, if not a bit too paranoid. Then again, I can't blame her.

"These three... jerks," I begin, settling on the term, "pulled up to the Fugly Bob's I work at earlier tonight."

I can feel Lucy actually, physically relaxing. It feels strange, being able to pick up such a small thing with my psychic sense.

"And why did they decided to do that?" Lucy asks, her arms crossed. Her face isn't showing or telling much, but I can just tell she's desperate to know. "Empire don't make it habit to rob fast food chains."

"Heh, you and I both know these low-lifes would do it in a heartbeat if things are desperate enough."

"As funny as it sounds, things aren't that desperate in Brockton Bay for these guys to start doing that." She fires back.

I shrug. Touche. Sitting on the foot of my bed, I let myself relax.

"A few... days ago, a bunch of Empire teenagers tried to rob me." I start. Lucy, who's smart enough to connect the dots, frowns. "I stopped them."

"And how did you do that, exactly?"

"I... dislocated the kneecaps of one of the kids'." I confess, seeing her wince.

Lucy nods, seemingly to get a clearer picture of the story I've told her. She's biting her lower lip and I'm feeling... anxiety coming from her?

"But you didn't kill them, right?" She asks, tense.

"No." I say in response.

"That's... good." She breathes out, her relief genuine even without my enhanced senses telling me.

Now, it's my turn to act suspicious.

"Lucy," she flinches, probably from how flat my voice is, "you sound like you're concerned about some Empire thug getting hurt. Mind telling me why?"

And now begins the staring game.

I have her pegged as a stoic, no-nonesense type of person before; especially with the way she acted during our first time talking to each other. She can maintain a mean stare, I'll admit.

Her eyes are glued to mine and not in a romantic way at all. It's like she's trying to physically cow me into silence, daring me to press further.

A... brave thing to do, seeing as she's in a room with a Parahuman capable of knocking out three adult men unconscious and keeping them that way.

But, in the end, whether it's because she's aware of how suspicious she's making herself look or by the fact she's now reminded of the three unconscious thugs I have in my apartment, she falters.

"...Jack," I twitch, "can you keep a secret?"

She looks me right in the eyes again. Though, this time, I get the feeling she won't falter.

"...funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing." I remark, dryly.

"I am currently... involved with the Empire." She manages to will the words out of her mouth. I frown, rightfully so. She seems to notice my displeasure. "But not in the way you're thinking."

I keep my silence, letting her do all the talking. She looks like she needs it.

"I have a vested interest in the status of the gangs of Brockton Bay and this, naturally, includes the Empire; especially them, seeing as they're the largest and most influencial organization outside of the government." She lowers her head, continuing, "my interest, mainly, involves their wealth and the amount of... assets they have."

"So, what, you plan on robbing them for every single penny they have?" I try to not sound condescending, but I realize that's just impossible seeing as how... clueless I am at the moment.

"Something like that." If Lucy's annoyed at me for asking that question, then she's not saying it. Unfortunately for her, I can tell via my psychic sense.

"If you don't mind me asking, just how 'involved' are you with the Empire?" I figure it's alright to ask this question, seeing as it's pretty much the core of the reason why we're even having this conversation.

"I can't get into specifics, but let's just say that I know enough to tell you... or... uh... others like you... shouldn't sign up for any clinical trials Medhall Corporation's conducting if you're expecting a fair exchange." She sounds uncomfortable for a moment.

"Medhall, huh? There a lot of Empire losers working for them?" I ask her.

"Medhall is Empire Eighty-Eight," Lucy tells me straight up, "it's pretty much a front for money laundering and everything else the Empire does behind the scenes."

"They also recruit manpower from Medhall, then?" I ask, to which Lucy nods. "Huh, you'd think a pharmaceuticals company would have people... smarter than those tools working for them." Lucy lets out a snort, agreeing with me.

"Remember, everything gang related is kept under the table. Not everyone employed by Medhall will just wear Empire color out in the open – or Empire members at all for that matter." Lucy explains. "I know it's hard to believe considering what I just said before, but it's true."

I nod, albeit slowly.

"You have regular people working who don't buy into the Empire's ideologies, but they're probably sympathetic at best." Lucy continues speaking, as if I won't believe her. "And those kids you said tried to rob you, they're probably just looking for an easy in into the gang."

Ah, so that's why she's relieved when those kids came up in conversation.

"Those three, though," she says, refering to the three unconscious men, "are hardliners if they're willing to pull up into a public space with guns drawn."

I shrug, finding her explanation reasonable.

Hmm, let's see... what to take from this conversation?

We have a young girl who's – from her own words – loosely affiliated with a neo-nazi gang who's in control of a big, important company.

She's also in it for the money; money she'll be stealing from them. If anything, this motivation alone is enough to assure me that Lucy's not one of them.

But that begs the question. Just how important is her position? Can she really pull off what she's set on doing?

"Look," Lucy speaking breaks me off my inner thinking. She looks like she can tell I've been thinking. "I know it's difficult to make you trust me, especially with something as important as this, but I think I can make this worth it for the both of us."

"Oh?" Not even going to bother hiding my interest.

"I'm close to finishing what I've been doing for the past few years." She's no longer leaning against the wall, her entire posture changed. "Days of research and planning, I'll finally be able to justify why I decided to be an Empire member. But... in order to pull it off, I'll need your help."

As Lucy speaks, I feel a sense of coldness wash over me.

I've played enough games, watched many films, and read too much fiction to be able guess what it is Lucy's going to ask me do.

For whatever reason, however, I let her finish speaking.

"Jack, I'll need your help to steal from the Empire."

And there it is.

"We'll split up the haul. Fifty-fifty."

I should've seen this coming, I should've. Yet, for some reason, here I am anyway having to contemplate on whether or not I'll accept her offer.

"Uuugh... my head... where am I...?"

Both of our attention turns towards a third and new voice, one that reminds me why I'm even having this conversation with my tenant in the first place. Looking at Lucy, I ask her,

"If I say yes, will you help me deal with them?"

This is it, there's no going back. If she agrees, then she's an accessory to it.

"...yes." She nods, clenching her fists.

"We can't let them go. They'll rat us out. Me out, I mean." I correct myself at the end.

"They'll also make Empire leadership hyper-aware of the presence of a potential Cape out against them. An attack on kids supportive of the Empire is noteworthy enough for them, but another so soon?" Lucy adds up, pointing out another reason why silencing the three racists out for good is the smart thing to do.

"H-Hey! I-I hear you talking! Let me go, man!" The cries of the now terrified neo-nazi remains ignored. Purposefully.

"...I'll do it." I offer, not like I'll make her do it anyway, since they're technically my problem I brought home.

Lucy gives me a thankful nod.

Sighing, I walk over to where I laid out the racists. Huh, two of them are still unconscious, and the one who's awake now is the same bastard who pulled the gun on me and Joe.

That makes this easier.

"P-Please man, I-I didn't know you were a Cape!" He says through clattering teeth. "I-I didn't even know the bitch who got hurt that well! She deserved what she got for m-messing with a Cape!"

He's being loud, but that's fine. I'm not sensing any other tenants present near my room, and Lucy's right here beside me.

"I-It was an honest mistake, man! Please, I-I'm sorry I pulled a gun at you, please don't-"

The sound of his windpipe being crushed and turned to dust doesn't bother me as much as it should. Wordlessly, I proceed to do the same to his two friends.

They, unlike him, don't get to realize they're about to be killed. So it's safe to say they passed on with relative peace.

With one hand outstretched before me, I must look like some terrible Sith Lord straight out of Star Wars. I retract the hand, my powers along with it.

"...is it done?" I hear Lucy asks.

"Yup."

Silence permeates the room, the window reflecting the still dark and starless sky of this accursed city.

I feel... nothing.

I am fully aware that I should feel something, but I am here to say that I feel nothing.

Eventually, I feel something land on my left shoulder. Turning around, I come face to face with a solemn Lucy.

"I'm sorry." She says. It's all she can bring herself to say.

Huh, it's strange. I know I'm the one who did it, but Lucy's the one who's feeling bad. With that in mind, there's only one thing I can say,

"I'm sorry too."

For making her watch, if anything.

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"So I have to ask..."

"No, unlike you, I'm not a Parahuman."

"Oh."

Huh, and here I thought I'm the psychic... am I really that obvious?

I don't need powers to tell how... high strung my younger companion is currently; anyone looking at her will be able to tell that she's tense from a glance alone.

Can't blame her, I did killed three people right in front of her not even thirty minutes ago.

Yeah... still don't know how I should feel about that, let's come back to that later.

"So..." I begin with awkwardness that shouldn't be coming from a man my age, especially when I'm directing it to a girl much younger than myself, "where to next?"

"Nowhere in particular," Lucy replies almost snappingly, her tone quick and stiff, "we shouldn't head home straight away after doing it, let's walk around town for a bit."

Huh, smart.

She's speaking in codes, obviously. We just dumped the three bodies of the Empire thugs I killed in a dumping spot Lucy suggested herself.

I was in favor of just throwing them at sea and let them sleep with the fishes, but she insisted we do it this way.

Hey, I trust her. She both looks and sounds like she knows what she's doing, age be damned, I'll defer to her judgement when it comes to something like this.

The both of us had to be quick with hiding the bodies, having to wrap them in large trashbags and truss them up to make disposing them easier.

Thankfully, psychic powers made quick work of all that. We also took great care to stick to quieter streets, prefering dark alleyways and going through empty construction sites. It also helps that Lucy knows her way around the area, even more than I do.

Dressed in a hoodie jacket, Lucy also wears a non-descript baseball cap over her hair. Meanwhile, I'm wearing a plain white shirt and a pair of jeans. I forego any outer layer, because I no longer feel the effect the weather will normally have on me thanks to my powers.

"In that case... do you mind if we stop by somewhere for a while?" My question draws upon her confusion, causing me to placate the worry I'm sensing is growing from her. "It's got to do with my co-worker who was there with me when those thugs happened, Joe."

"He saw you use your powers?"

"Yup. Got front row seats and all." Immediately, I can see her attitude change.

"What are you planning to do with him?" Lucy asks, her voice hushed, sticking close to me as we walk. "You're not gonna... you know..."

"No, god no." I shake my head quickly. "I just need to check up on him and tell him I won't be working at Fugly Bob's anymore."

"Huh. Can't you do that over the phone?" Lucy asks, to which I shake my head.

"Normally I'd go phone my supervisor directly, but it'd be suspicious if I just call him in an ungodly hour of the morning and the security cameras are all dead over at the place I just quit."

"So to avoid that you're going to ask your friend to quit for you?" Oh don't give me that look, you're beginning to remind me of a certain latino track star.

"I know it sounds convoluted, but if I get Joe to tell Terry – that's my manager – I quit, it'll set up a buffer for the suspicion."

I just hope that Terry doesn't start suspecting the poor kid of being the one who messed with the cameras, I hope he doesn't start suspecting anything at all.

"Okay..." Lucy says that, but I'm still not sure if she's onboard with my idea. "You know where he lives? It's, like, three in the morning so your friend's probably already asleep..."

Hm, that's a great question Lucy, let's try something shall we?

I've mentioned that my powers are, as far as I'm aware, tied to my emotion. This has been proved to me in more than one instances.

When I wanted to improve my physical abilities, I managed to use my powers to enhance my physical abilities via manipulating the way my muscles work and all that.

When working out no longer – pun not intended – worked out, I used my powers to give the clothes I wear a stronger gravitational force so I could use them as training weights.

When I needed to move things without the use of my limbs, my psychic powers manifested the ability to telekinetically manipulate the things around me... including people.

With that last one, especially, I've got at least two instances where my powers have 'responded' to a specific emotion; anger.

Yes, believe it or not, people get angry when they're confronted with threats to their lives.

My telekinesis wasn't born out of anger or anything like that initially, I had just wanted to experiment moving things without touching them.

But the moment an emotion like anger was used in concert with it is when, I found out, it worked easily than any other attempts before it.

Breaking the legs of that punk girl was much easier than moving those pumpkins into one neat stack, and crushing the neck of those three nazis was much easier than doing those two things combined.

Where am I going with this?

All I'm saying is that I've come to the conclusion that it isn't only the emotion I'm feeling that allows me to better utilize my powers, but rather it's the desire behind it that truly allows it to manifest in the first place.

TL;DR, my powers will most likely respond to my desire and then manifest a specific way for me to utilize it.

"Uh, Jack, you there?" The concern in Lucy's voice manages to snap me from my thoughts. "Do you know where your friend live?"

"Oh, uh, sorry for dozing off." I apologize, brushing her worry, "and, uh... no, not exactly."

"What do you mean?" Lucy asks, confused. "How are you going to talk to him if you don't know where he lives?"

"Don't worry, I just might have the thing..."

Okay, so, here goes nothing.

Closing my eyes, I slow down to a stop, carefully positioning myself so as to not obstruct the sidewalk.

I want to find someone. A person. A co-worker.

This person is a human. Male. Young. He is of African-American descent.

He lives in Brockton Bay, probably nearby.

His name is Joe Hall.

PING

My senses expand, covering entire streets, roads, buildings, blocks, before eventually dispersing.

It's not so much different from creating a psychic barrier, only this time it's spreading across a much greater range and I'm actively searching for one specific thing; or person in this case.

But unlike creating a psychic barrier, it doesn't last for very long, only until I've found what I'm searching for. That's fine.

I open my eyes, a smile slowly forming on my face.

"Hello, you alright?" Lucy waves a hand right in front of my eyes, trying to get my attention.

"I'm okay, sheesh, don't be impatient." I shrug off her gesture, rolling my shoulders forward.

"So," Lucy begins with her arms crossed, "what's all that about, huh?"

"My powers." I say in a low tone. "I just used it to find where Joe is."

Upon hearing that, Lucy's eyes grow wide and I can tell she's doing everything she can not to gape like a fish out of water.

I hope I don't get used to getting this kind of reaction out of people though. Why, one might ask?

Well, if that's the case, then that'll mean more people will know I'm a Parahuman.

I must say, though, I do enjoy the reaction I'm currently getting.

It's now later in the morning and I, luckily, managed to check in on Joe.

As expected he's still shaken up, but he promised me that he won't blab about what happened at the workplace.

I also took extra precautions and laid out instructions on what to do if management starts suspecting him.

I won't go into details, but it involves him just straight up denying everything they throw at him.

Contrary to popular belief, you can't just accuse someone of doing something without evidence. I mean you can do that, but then it won't look good in court when you can't back it up.

If they say Joe's the one who messed with the cameras? Good luck finding any footage showing any of that. As far as they're concerned, the cameras just shut off with their cables cut.

And, here's the kicker, they're not even going to bother assuming Joe, or me for that matter, is a Parahuman. That's because once anything Parahuman related happens, the PRT gets brought in.

Trust me, that's not something a business like Fugly Bob's wants to deal with.

So, if things go smoothly, they're just gonna act like it's a freak accident, they'll take my resignation from Joe as something official, and go back to their usual operations because a corporation can't be bothered to waste money to investigate sh*t.

That's what I'm hoping, at least.

Who knows, all of this might just come and bite me in the ass some time later in the future, but I'll let future me deal with that.

At the very least, it brings me great comfort to know that Joe will keep the knowledge of my powers to himself. Not only because he's a stand up guy for doing it, it's also because of something called the Unwritten Rules.

Yeah... I've... somehow missed that important part of Parahuman life despite the amount of reading I've done.

"So, this... heist you're looking to do, what's the potential payout?"

For once, it is I who's intruding on someone else's home. I'm not sure if it counts, though, since Lucy's apartment is basically identical to mine with the exception of a few things like decor and furniture.

I sit myself on a beanbag chair that has no problem supporting my weight, even if it looks like it's about to swallow me whole.

The windows are all covered with blinds, letting no natural light in and there are also LED strips posted on the walls, taking the role of the room's primary light source.

"Let's not call it a heist, it's nothing as corny as that."

While I can do with a little bit more fresh air and sunlight, Lucy is pretty much unbothered being cooped up in this LED lit haven of a room.

She is currently focusing her attention at her computer, her fingers hitting against the key-caps making clicking and clacking noise that some might even consider ASMR worthy.

I can't see what she's doing specifically, but I'm sure it's related to whatever it is she needs my help doing.

"We're going to rob the Empire of, at the very least, five million dollars worth of assets."

Okay, not going to lie, that's indeed a lot of money. However, I notice the choise of word used.

"And what are these 'assets', exactly?" I ask while subconsciously activating my psychic barrier to survey the surrounding area. Can't be too careful.

"It varies," Lucy admits, "but cash money gathered from any prostitution rings, dog-fighting rings, protection rackets, and smuggling rings will be the vast majority of it."

She takes a moment to turn around, addressing me with a cool look.

"So you don't have to worry about having nothing to show up at the end of all of this," she says, reassuring me, "you'll get more than your fair share."

"That's good and all," I begin, while scratching the back of my head, "but I can't see the practicality of having five million dollars in cash."

Does the name Pablo Escobar not mean anything in this world? What about Narcos? Oh, wait, Netflix isn't even a thing here. Oh well.

"True, but we can get accounts made for us." A resounding click can be heard echoing the room. "It's quite common actually. A lot of Capes – mostly Villains and Rogues – don't have the means to make money officially, so they developed a workaround by opening an account with a Cape known as The Number Man."

"Whoa, are you serious?"

"Yeah, why would I joke about this?"

She'll have to excuse my surprise, then. I've gotten used to the whole cops and robbers facade that most Capes are doing that I forget that, despite everything else, these people are stilll... people.

As in, they still need to get the bag. Make dough. Or whatever

"So, about most Capes not having the means to make money officially, what do you mean by that exactly?" I find myself asking Lucy.

"There's this bill called the NEPEA-5 bill which strictly limits Parahumans from, essentially, making a living out of using their powers that was passed back in the nineties." Lucy begins. "Rumor says that it's originally proposed to directly target and oppose an organization managed by Capes, but people mostly associate it with protecting the job market for regular people."

That... makes sense, actually. Wow.

But, I guess, I can picture how... 'unfair' it will be to the non-powered population if they have to contest with Parahumans.

"Still, it doesn't mean they can't have a job, right?" I ask.

"True, but pretty much every business-minded Parahumans see it as the government screwing them over." Lucy continues while typing. "They can't use their powers freely to make money as a result of this bill being passed."

"I get the Villains being upset, even the Rogues, but I can't imagine the Heroes doing any worse than anyone else." I audibly wonder.

"Hm, I can see why you'd think that." Lucy chuckles, though not mockingly. "A state sponsored and recognized Hero will still have to go through the legal hurdles that comes with it, but not as much as someone who plans on being a Hero independently. There's not a lot of Superhero teams that isn't PRT backed simply because it's almost impossible to make good living doing it; it's just not possible if money's the focus."

Again, makes sense. One might argue that Heroes should be doing what they do without expecting anything in return, otherwise it's not genuine.

Yeah, I can see why most Capes here are Rogues if not straight up Villains.

This reinforces my initial opinion about the PRT having a monopoly on everything 'heroic' simply because they have the means to pay these actors comfortably.

"Speaking of the PRT, just expect them to gatekeep the hero label since everyone that isn't them is a Villain." Lucy says, almost warningly.

And, there you go, straight out of someone else's mouth for once.

"Listen," Lucy turns around, this time she's properly looking at me, prompting me to sit up straight, "I get the feeling that you're very much against people associating you to being a Parahuman, but if we are going to do this, there's no escaping being a Cape."

I fail to suppress the frown from forming on my face, something Lucy notices.

"I'll admit," I start slowly, "I'm beginning to have second thoughts about all of this."

Lucy immediately tenses. I can understand why she'd feel that way. I can still, technically, walk away from all of this.

We haven't done anything too serious yet, aside from killing and disposing those three thugs, to be considered too far gone.

The Empire is still in the dark about who's responsible for hurting one of their own, but I doubt it'll stay that way for long, especially with the death of three more.

To Lucy, she has everything to lose here. She already risks a lot admitting that she's – technically – a part of the Empire. Meanwhile, I'm still elusive to them but I'm also risking myself for choosing to trust her.

"I really don't like this game of cops and robbers that society has gotten used to," I raise a hand, sensing that Lucy's about to cut me off, "and it's not because I think I'm morally superior or anything like that."

She backs down after my clarification.

"I just don't like the attention that kind of life brings; secret identities be damned." I say, stressing the last point. "I don't want to feel like I'm obligated to act a certain way just because society labels me for being on team blue instead of team red or vice versa."

I'm sure Lucy can relate to what I'm saying, but I'm not done talking yet.

"I appreciate you helping me with the bodies, but I need to make it clear that I'm not going to be your attack dog that you can just... sic at anyone." I try to sound as neutral as possible, making my voice non-threatening. "How I use my powers and when I use them should only be my concern and mine alone."

Lucy... stays still. She is, no doubt, digesting what I've said. I can't say I know what's going on in her head specifically, but I can guess that she has to rethink of a few things.

"Alright," she finally says, much to my relief, "but you'll still help me, right? I-I can't do this by myself, at least not if I want it to go as smooth as possible."

I can sense her heart beating faster and the clenching of muscles from her. Remember, I tell myself, she's afraid.

"Yeah, I'll help you." Only then I allow myself to grin. "Can't say I don't find the thought of having a few mill' in the bank attractive."

She snorts, a small smile slowly forming on her face. I can feel her muscle unclenching and her heart-beat steadying.

She turns back to the computer, but this time, she gestures for me to come over.

"Okay, look here," I walk over to her, peeking over head to look at the computer screen, "I've gathered information about people who I think are important enough to get us what we want."

She shows me a browser window with chat history, several of them to be more specific. I glaze through the messages, just taking in the gist of everything.

Seems to be from a private chatroom, judging by the lack of online handle or username. Isn't Lucy concerned about that? Hm, I'll have to trust that she knows what she's doing.

One thing stands out to me, though. The people she's been chatting with? They're all men's name.

"These are the only people I think are useful," Lucy tells me, "they're not very high up in the pecking order, but they should get us to what we want."

"How do you suppose we get them to do that?" I ask the tech savvy teenager.

"Two ways." She says. "One way will be blackmail. Fortunately for us, that wouldn't be too hard to do."

Her tone dips down, and I'm sensing her body tensing all of a sudden.

"I've..." she begins with great difficulty, "...managed to get close to them as a way to dig up dirt about them. I'm... not proud of what I've done to get them."

"..." I see her shiver, hugging herself for comfort.

Sheesh, poor kid.

"You sure they'll crack from having their dirty laundry aired out?" I turn to look at her.

"From what some of them have been doing behind Empire leadership's back? Definitely." Lucy says coldly while still hugging herself, to a point where it gets me blinking.

"And the other way?" I say, trying to steer the mood elsewhere by picking up the conversation.

"It'll involve you." I pick up the grim in Lucy's voice.

"Me and my powers, you mean?"

"...yes." She says, looking away.

I think I can guess what she's suggesting. Good old fashioned grab and bag.

"Well, it shouldn't be too hard to find where they are, seeing as you know these people..." I trail off. "Grabbing them from whatever despot they're holed up in will be the hard part, though."

"Shouldn't be too hard for a Parahuman," Lucy says, shrugging her shoulders. "Like I said, they're not very high up in the pecking order, so you're not going to be seeing them around Capes. You'll have to deal with other thugs at most."

"Can't be too careful." I say with a grimace.

"True."

We let silence take over the room, the both of us thinking our respective thoughts.

While the thought of not having to deal with Empire Capes is reassuring, something's telling me that I shouldn't count that scenario out of the picture just yet.

Murphy's Law and all that.

"Alright, we'll go with the second option, no point beating around the bush wondering they'll fold to blackmail at this point." I break the silence, drawing Lucy's focus, "Empire's bound to learn about the three bodies we hid, anyway. Hopefully, this will make your 'friends' jumpy."

"They'll be very careful with just about anything now though," Lucy points out.

"They'll be careful, but afraid." I say back to her.

"So this is it then, you're gonna debut as a Cape?" Lucy asks me, her eyes reflecting how serious she's taking this, which is to say very serious.

I shake my head.

"No. Not a Cape." I tell her, much to her visible confusion.

Power thrums from within me, a sensation that I can feel coursing throughout my very being.

I can feel it growing, and I can feel that growth quick. My mind is filling with ideas on how to better use my powers, ideas that I can't wait to explore on my own.

"An Esper, Lucy," I tell her, "I am an Esper."

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When I was a kid, I had a very memorable experience.

It's... an experience that, although never bothers me, still exists at the back of my mind and can take over my memory any time it wants till this day.

I won't go as far as to say that it changed me or anything dramatic like that, but I guess I'm a liar if I say that it didn't, at least a little bit.

What's the so called event, one might ask?

Well, believe it or not, seeing your strict and normally taciturn father bawl his eyes out when they lower the coffin containing his mother's body was quite the sight of an eight year old.

My memory about the day was minimal and hazy at best. I can barely recall which of my relatives attended the funeral, I just remember that most of them were there present.

The crying part didn't really register to my young mind at the time, I vaguely remember just standing there with my mom holding my hand and crying while dad was on his knees crying his heart out.

I think I was more confused with my father crying than the fact that they're lowering grandma's body into the dirt.

The priest who presided over the whole thing also happened to be a distant uncle of mine, one I wasn't aware I even had. I can also vaguely remember him tearing up.

I don't know if it's just kids being kids, but seeing an adult cry was just wrong to me at that age. I'm sure I'm far from the only person who felt that way.

After all those stern scolding to stiffen up that upper lip and hearing that boys don't cry over and over again, I guess I was just confused to see the adults in my life breaking the very tenets they expect their kids to follow.

Meh. I'm older now, I know more and understand things better.

Still... it gets me wondering.

Those three thugs I killed back in Lucy's apartment, I wonder if their families or friends will have a funeral done for them when they notice they're missing?

Even if they're racist assholes, they're still human. They're people. A person with a life and other people who care about them.

Sure, they're not exactly good people, but no one sees themselves as the villain in their own stories... at least that's what the counselor in high school told me.

If not a funeral, then they'll at least have people cry for them. They'll have people who will probably feel sad for their passing, people who will remember them fondly despite them being terrible human beings.

I wonder, will the people you know do the same for you?

"...please... don't... kill me..."

His name is Clyde Winchester.

A fancy name for a neo-nazi, but that's just my opinion.

Not even an hour ago he was drinking booze, smoking pot, and gallivanting stories about how he showed a 'n-word' in their place. He sounded so proud of what he did, didn't even hold back when describing the way he made the poor person cry to the point of begging for life.

A life he did not spare.

He was going on and on about how he 'shot that n-word in the head', before throwing the body in a ditch somewhere downtown. I could tell he felt pretty smart, telling about how he did it in the night where no one was going investigate.

So, after hearing all that, it's just a little bit funny to me that he's doing the exact same thing his victim did.

Here he is, in front of my feet, all beaten to the point of black and blue, with multiple broken bones and a shattered tibia, begging for his life.

I'm guessing it's occuring just how ironic it's all to him now.

Crouching, I bring myself closer to the man begging for his life. I take my time, not worrying about any further interruptions as I had dealt with all of them.

"...you know why I'm doing this, Clyde?" I ask him.

"...wha..."

"It's because I'm after money." I tell him. "The money you use to buy guns for the Empire, to be more specific."

I can tell he's been rendered silence. Even through his bruised and swollen eyes, I can catch a glimpse of sordid realization occuring within his eyes.

"F-For money...?" He wheezes out through collapsed lungs, spittle of blood launches out of his lips. "Y-You... killed... my friends... for money...?"

If he isn't in mind-shattering pain, he would've shouted. I'm sure of it.

He's confused and rightfully so. Here is a stranger who just stepped into his building, took care of his men, and put him through the worst beating he's ever been through and ever will.

This stranger didn't say anything as he dispatched his fellow racists, what's more, this stranger also happened to be a Cape seeing as he was able to do everything without even lifting a finger.

He broke down the door into the building by throwing the two guards outside through it, shattering it into wood splinters.

Then he just walked on through the hallway, as if he didn't just do what he did. This person then, even as multiple armed men rushed to confront him with weapons drawn, simply moved as if he was just entering a relative's house for a visit.

And then, when they decided to open fire at him, the strangest thing happened.

The guns he and his friends were holding were suddenly crushed as if they had been put through a hydraulic press, injuring everyone in the process. Then people start falling like anvils dropped from the second floor.

Then, they were all floating, only to be thrown against every wall, ceiling, furniture with strength so great it either broke the bones inside their bodies or the thing it's being thrown at.

And all of this without lifting a single finger.

A Cape, Clyde and his friends must've realized, they're dealing with a Cape. They should call for backup.

But at that point, it's too late.

His friends are either dead or dying, no one is in any condition to do anything other than lay hopelessly on the floor.

All of that happened so fast it might as well be a blur. And it was all done by one person.

More than confused, it'll be more accurate to say that he's afraid.

Very, very afraid.

"...y-you're insane," the man at my feet gasps out, "t-they'll catch you, t-they'll know what you did..."

"And how will they ever do that? How will they know it's me?" I ask back to the dying man before me.

"...Cape... Empire has... powerful Capes," even in this state, he manages to sound smug. Is he really that confident about them or is he just being delusional? "T-They'll find you... and they'll catch you..."

Hm...

"Well that's not good at all." I sigh. "But that's easily fixed. Here."

I reach out my hand to him, pressing my pointer at his forehead.

I steel myself for what I'm about to do, if only because it's far, far worse than the act of killing those three men.

"Yield."

My mind expands, no longer bound by natural means.

But I quickly reign it, before it can spill out completely.

Instead, I direct all of that will and power to the dying man before me. Into his mind, specifically.

...ever since I called myself an Esper, I've wondered about the more... questionable part of my potential. By that I mean my mind-altering or mind-manipulating power.

Correction, being an Esper alone is already considered as mind-manipulating. But what I've been doing with the telekinesis, psychic barrier, psychic ping... that was all me manipulating my own mind in order to make those feats possible.

Now, it's time to do it the other way.

I intrude upon Clyde's psyche, not unlike a thief in the night. The already delirious man can do nothing as I invade through his consciousness.

I am not prepared for what I'm about to see.

I see light. I see night. I see shapes. I see people.

I see joy. I see sadness. I see pleasure. I see pain.

Everything that Clyde Winchester ever felt from the moment he achieved cognitive consciousness, I am currently witnessing.

Even up until now... beaten and bruised half to the point of death.

Yet, despite seeing all of this... I feel nothing for this man. Not a single thing.

I withdraw my finger from his forehead, seeing the blank and vacant look on his face.

"Clyde, you will not remember who attacked you tonight," I continue, not expecting a reply, "you will not tell anyone anything about what happened tonight, you will..."

I pause.

"...you will try to turn your life around, apologize to the people who you wronged and seek forgiveness."

Clyde's unresponsiveness remains, like I intended. Standing back to full height, I turn to make my way deeper into the building.

My feet carry me as if I had been here and spent a majority of my time here, just like Clyde. I reach a door, opening it leads downstairs to a basem*nt.

Wordlessly, I descend the dimly lit staircase into the dark basem*nt. I don't bother turning on the lights, relying instead of my extra sensory perception. One can say I 'see' better with it.

I walk unbothered even with the all the clutter around me. I know where I'm looking, I know what I'm looking for.

I reach the corner of the basem*nt, stopping on my tracks. In front of me is a large wooden shelf filled with random objects and appropriately sized items, dusty and aged.

Without any movement on my part, I will for the shelf to move. It levitates just high enough to avoid friction, I direct it aside to expose the wall behind it.

Said wall just so happened to have a hole in it. As far as hiding spots go, this one isn't even that bad.

I crouch down and begin reaching into the wall. It doesn't take long until I find something. That something being two duffel bags filled with exactly five hundred thousand US dollars in Empire cash.

I pull the bags out from the hall in the wall, unzipping it to see its content. Obviously, I'm not going to count them here, so I'll settle for a little peak.

Satisfied knowing that there is in fact money inside the bags, I head back upstairs.

I'll be lying if I say I'm not nervous. Although I made sure to be quick and as quiet as possible, there's really no telling if these punks have people outside who were out on a milk run set to return any time soon.

I walk through the house's narrow hallway again, stepping over every bodies I encounter along the way. Once I reach the front door, I open it and take a step outside.

The cold night air greets me and I breathe in deep before exhaling. I'm not sensing anyone out on the streets nearby, but I'm not very keen on sticking around to find out who's out for a late night walk either.

I circle the house to the backyard, vaulting over the wooden fence into another person's property. Now, here, I actually have to sneak. That means staying away from the windows and stepping carefully.

Not long after, I'm back at the street.

That doesn't mean I'm in the clear, though.

I came here dressed in a black hoodie with a surgical mask on, in other words, I had to dress up as your stereotypical first-time Cape that all the forums are fond of making fun of.

I ditch the hoodie and mask, stashing it inside the duffle bag. I am, however, wearing a baseball cap on my head because why not.

I continue walking until I reach a more crowded street, still I'm not in the clear yet.

Downtown, especially around the south-east part, can be quiet at night with minimal police presence. It's because everyone's so damned sure that they'll get mugged if they're out at night.

The police? Like they actually care...

It doesn't mean I'm not being careful. Currently, I'm actively using my psychic barrier to scan for my surroundings. As I expect, there are a lot more activity going on in every dark corners and alleyways, activities I ain't too keen on taking part in.

It's not until ten to fifteen more minutes of walking until I reach my destination.

A laundromat with a small parking space next to it.

A car is parked on said space, a grey sedan with barely legal tinted windows. Sighing, I walk up to the front passanger side of the car, not surprised to find it unlocked when I pull the handle.

"You're quick."

I blink.

"...is that a problem?" I ask the girl currently sitting in the driver's seat.

She frowns at me, confusing me even further. I see her rolling her eyes, stepping over the central console to occupy the front passanger seat I am planning to sit on.

"You drive."

"I don't have a license."

Something hit me in the chin. I catch it.

"Now you do." Lucy tells me, snapping the door shut.

I am left speechless, eyes blinking again. Looking at what's in my hand, I am greeted by the sight of a New Hampshire driver's license with my face on it.

How in the god damn...

The sound of car horn going off snap me off my thoughts.

I roll my eyes. Got it. Drive now, questions later. Sheesh.

Let's just hope it's not a manual...

"Well, it's not five mill but it's money alright."

I stop the lid of the glass just centimeters away from touching my lips, lowering the water-filled container while I cast raised eyebrow at the young girl who has her eyes glued to her computer scene with her back turned to me.

We returned just a few hours ago. We did the smart thing of driving around and not going straight back to our apartment building, just in case someone's tailing us.

After making sure we weren't being tailed, only then did we head back towards our 'headquarters'.

I proposed we both each keep one bag and catch a short nap before discussing anything further. I only suggested that for Lucy's benefit, seeing as she needed to rest while I didn't.

"Still nowhere close to how much we need..." is the barely audible comment my partner in crime lets slip out of her lips.

Yeah... about that...

"You know Lucy," I begin, drawing her attention away from her computer, "I'd be more than fine with half a million."

Maybe it's just me being me, but five hundred thousand bucks is a lot of money. It's probably not a lot of money when you're in a gang, but for someone like me? That's more than enough, I'm confident.

But... judging by the way she's looking at me, something's telling me it won't be enough for Lucy.

"You promised me you'll help," her words come out tense, like the beginning of a flight or fight response, "are you going to go back on your words?"

"Whoa, now, who's going back on whose words?" I say, raising both hands up. "Calm down, I was just saying I'd be fine with half a mill..."

Her glare lingers for a few minutes, before eventually receding. She then opts for silence, making things awkward and uncomfortable.

I relegate myself to my new favorite spot in this room. Which is in another person's apartment. And said person happens to be a girl way younger than me. Not good, I know.

But can you blame me? This bean bag chair is crazy comfortable. I should consider getting one...

"So... what's next?" I ask the girl who's busy typing away on the computer. "Where're we going to get the remaining four million?"

"I'm... getting to that..." a click resounds, audible across the room, "...there."

Wordlessly, I stand up and walk over to Lucy.

On the screen is a picture and a name, a pairing I'm slowly starting to get used to.

"This one's going to be a tough one, not gonna lie," I raise an eyebrow, detecting the genuine concern in her voice, "we're going to intercept a secret Empire transport."

"What're they transporting?"

"If we're lucky, money. If we're really lucky? Guns."

"Guns?" Lucy nods at me. "Why do we want to rob Empire guns?"

"Well, aside from the fact that they're always in high demand in Brockton and we can get people to buy them for marked up prices, it'll deprive more Empire thugs of guns at the street level."

Can't say I find the idea of that appealing... but, then again, this is Brockton Bay. People are going to find ways to carry heat.

Gun laws are much stricter now that Capes have entered the norm. The government's been making no less than great effort to crack down on firearms since even before I got here.

From what I've read, it's a losing battle for both citizens and law enforcements.

People have never needed a proper means of protection than ever before now that Capes are a thing.

There's even been shift of mindset over gun ownership as a whole. By that I mean people are starting to consider that maybe, maybe, it's a lot better to end up in a room in jail than a bodybag in a morgue.

Especially with the off-chance you're being accosted by a Cape, who'll definitely blow the proportions out of the water...

Meanwhile, on the law enforcement side of things, it's a whole different ball game.

The US government – at least when it comes to Capes – operates under the rule of de-escalation. There's a whole buzz about it online, but I can't be bothered to remember everything, so here's the gist:

Rather than letting people carry guns to protect themselves, they'd much rather people rely on law enforcements. This is all done under that de-escelation policy I mentioned.

The government believes that having a gun introduced into an already stressful situation like a, let's say, mugging will only serve to escalate the scale of conflict further, thus increasing the likelihood of harm for both parties involved.

As a result of this, it is now – sort of – illegal to carry a gun in most US states. Brockton's included in the list, but like I said, it doesn't stop people from packing heat anyway.

This is where it's a loss for law enforcement as people are just openly ignoring the rules you've been asked to enfoce. And it's not like you can do anything about it either.

What, you think people are going to hand over their gun when you ask for it just like that? Hell no. They'll either tell you to f*ck off or shoot you right then and there.

What sucks even more for the police is that, in Brockton's case at least, it's going to be damn near impossible to NOT try arrest people for carrying... because people are carrying, more often than not.

"Let's say we get guns at the end of this hit," I begin, "where're we gonna store them? You know who's gonna buy those guns off us?"

"You leave that to me." Lucy immediately says, dissuading my apprehension a little bit. "I've got a place we can store them safely away from both Empire and the police. As for who's going to buy them off us... shouldn't be too hard to find a buyer in this city."

"...I know I shouldn't even have to say this, but, you do realize that it's a bad idea to sell them back to the people we stole them from, right?" I say wryly, shooting Lucy a dry look.

"Of course, who do you think I am? I'm not going to do that."

"Yeah, it's a dumb que-"

"I'm going to sell them to rival gangs."

...what?

But before I can comment on it, Lucy gives me a look that practically screams 'trust me on this, I got it'. Shrugging, I keep myself from talking, choosing instead to let the girl take the lead.

"The reason why we're doing it that way is because this job's going to double as a set up. If you take a look at the screen, you'll see the ugly mug of one Jimmy Botez."

Uwaah... she must have some real grudge against Jimmy.

"Jimmy's Clyde's friend. Where Clyde's the book-keeper, Jimmy's the gun-runner. He's responsible for coordinating and the transporting of goods to and from every small Empire stash houses."

"So why didn't I see ol' Jimmy last night?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah. I was expecting you to hit two birds with one stone with that, but I guess not everything can go smoothly." Damn, she actually sounds disappointed there. "The raid last night should already be making rounds among Empire's rank right about now, but it's fine, we can still go along with the plan if we move soon."

I nod along, not like I can offer much to the table other than my word and skill here. I trust Lucy with the planning and she trusts me to carry out those plans on the field and so far it's working well enough, so let's not change that.

Doesn't mean I can't give advice, though.

"Let's do it tomorrow, you need rest." I say, stretching my arms.

"If you need rest I understand," Lucy says, giving me a sideway glance, "I'm not the one who just raided an Empire safe house and took out a bunch of Empire thugs in less than an hour."

"No, no, you need rest." I let myself make a point by placing a hand on her shoulder, feeling her flinch the moment my hand make contact with it. "Please."

"...okay."

I let go of her shoulder, crossing my arm. Hm... I probably shouldn't have touched her so easily...

"What are you gonna do?" Just as I'm about to turn and leave, Lucy asks me a question that stops me from doing exactly that.

"I'm going to go... practice," I test the word in my mouth, "yeah, practice."

"Practice what?"

"Oh, you know," I make a gesture at myself, "stuff."

And by stuff I mean powers.

"Oh. Alright." She seems satisfied with my answer, probably isn't expecting me to explain everything to her anyway. Which is good... since I'm not too sure on what 'practice' really is either. "Take care, and try not get spotted."

"Heh. Will do."

Once I'm outside, I let myself breathe in that smoggy Brockton air. The sound of the city comes to life fully now that it's later in the morning, I get the feeling that the aftermath of my actions last night is slowly being felt by the resident of this city.

I'll check the news later, for now, let's head of to 'practice'.

Wait, before I forget...

I peak my head back inside Lucy's apartment.

"Oh, by the way, when the hell did you have time to make a driver's license for me?"

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Let me tell you a little secret.

I'm something of a coward.

Yup, I'm never going to admit it out loud, but I can be a coward at times.

There're a lot of things I'm afraid of, things that I'm sure other people share. For example, I'm afraid of pain.

The idea of feeling pain alone is enough to make me wince and even shiver a little bit. It's not enough to make me want to run away and head for the hills, but it's just enough to make me reconsider making choices that will lead me to experiencing more of it.

I'm willing to bet that it has a lot to do with me being a rather sickly child growing up, thus having to see the doctor multiple times and get my blood drawn.

The earliest memory of being jabbed with a needle was when I was in the third grade. I had contracted typhoid fever, a big deal for a child my age, and had to be admitted to the hospital for weeks.

The nurse had to draw my blood to get the lab work done and I remember it being the most painful thing I had to go through.

I remember crying and screaming my lungs out in the ER, having to hold my mother's hand and gripping it so hard to the point where I was probably hurting her.

The needle, I remember, felt cold as it broke through the upper layer of my skin. That distinctive sharp pain still fresh even until now, a sensation that my younger self quickly grew to dread.

With high temperature rocking my body and an immune system that was severly weakened due to typhoid fever, my recovery was slow.

I can vaguely remember promising myself that I wouldn't get sick anymore so that I didn't have to go through something like that ever again.

Of course, that's not the case.

Ever since that first time, whenever I'd get sick to the point where it's necessary to jab me with a needle, I'd be dreading every visit to the doctor.

Even when it's for something as a check up, I'd dread every single moment.

Thankfully, my fear of being hurt via needles went away as I grow older... but I've developed something called white coat hypertension, which is a phenomenon where a person's blood pressure readings are higher when measured in a clinical setting compared to when measured in a non-clinical setting, due to the stress or anxiety associated with the medical environment.

Now, needles don't bother me as much. Hell, they don't even hurt anymore.

But, now that I'm here in Brockton Bay, I have other things that I have to worry about hurting me.

"Hm... I hope this works..."

So how do I go about making myself feel less pain? Well, there are multiple answers to that question.

Wearing armor is a solution... just not the kind I want. Armor, no matter how good, is not something I want to rely on. Which is why I'm trying to figure out if my power can provide me with the solution I need.

"Steady..." The sensation of slowly being enveloped by an invisible force feels strange, but something I quickly get used to. "Not too much now..."

The air around me shimmers through supernatural means, my powers shrouding my form in an invisble layer of energy.

Slowly, I float above the floor, kicking off the dust in the room. Frowning, I willed for the flow of energy to slow down and stabilize, so as to not make a mess of my home.

This fine tuning of power goes on for minutes, my brain requires a lot of concentration just to keep up the Psychic Shroud that I've manifested.

Eventually, I feel confident enough that I can both keep up the shroud and stay afloat without eviscerating everything in my direct vicinity.

"Huh..." I say, wondering, "it feels... weird."

I grimace.

It's like I'm covered head to toe in rubber.

Well... as long as this keeps me from getting, then I don't care if I feel like a giant condom.

"Now... let's see if this works."

Here comes the scary part...

Remember the guns those three Empire thugs left behind? I gave them to Lucy for safekeeping, but I also asked for one of them to bring with me.

Through the use of my telekinesis, I bring out the gun from the bag I store it in. As testament of my ever growing love for psychic powers, especially telekinesis, I make the gun point its barrel at me through the use of my mind alone.

I smile, feeling proud of the dextrous display.

To think it wasn't long ago when I struggled to not crush a grapefruit...

"Glock 17... seventeen rounds... 9mm..." I say to myself, analyzing the firearm without even touching it.

Not that any of that mean anything to me, never touched a gun in my life.

Which is funny, because technically, I'm about to use one without directly touching it.

I gulp.

Here goes nothing...

BANG

The trigger is 'pressed' and the gun goes off.

I reflexively close my eyes, the sound of gunshot deafening my ears, further enhanced by how echoey this empty warehouse I've made my ad hoc shooting range.

I let a few second fly by before eventually slowly opening my eyes. Quickly, I begin inspecting my body.

"No hole, no wound... phew, it works." I say with a smile, extremely relieved that I didn't nominate myself for a Darwin Award. "Still... just how did it work, exactly...?"

I wasn't able to see what happened to the bullet on account of me having my eyes closed. I consider shooting myself again, but I get the feeling that I'll just close my eyes again in reflex.

But, f*ck it, right? I already tried shooting myself, what's another try at this point?

"Take two...!"

BANG

I try. I really try... but I just can't help closing my eyes! And f*ck is it loud! Holy sh*t... I should've packed some earbuds or something.

Still... no hole, no wound, and – most importantly – no pain.

Hm... I can record myself with my phone and see the video recording, but I have a very strict rule of not recording myself using my powers. I'm not going to make it easier to incriminate myself, thank you very much.

And before anyone says 'oh, you can just delete the video after you're done looking at it' well, yeah, there's this thing called meta-data and who knows how good people are at data recovery in this world?

"Well, I guess I'll just have to save it for later." I shrug. Oh well.

I still have time before the next operation – god, it's so cringe calling it an operation – so let's see if David's up to hang out.

Without looking, I telekinetically fish out my phone from my bag, floatin it over to my direction. Thoughtlessly, I reach for it—

SHRRK

"...eh?"

-only for it to be ground to dust before I can even grasp it in my hand.

"..."

Without looking at a mirror, I can tell my mouth's hanging so far low I might as well be catching birds. Eyes wide as dinner plates, I am left blinking at the sight of ruined electronics and scrap metal that used to be my phone.

I'm not proud to admit it... but it takes a while before I find out what happened.

"Ooookay..." I sigh, dropping the useless scrap metal to the floor, "it's less of an armor and more of a disintegration field."

I turn off the shroud – Disintegration Shroud – and slowly float down to the floor.

Geez... now I have to buy a new phone, great.

"I know you told me before but I still can't believe you quit your job at Fugly's..."

Hm... surprisingly, Samsung is still a thing here... maybe I shouldn't be too surprised, seeing as Apple's alive and well.

"And it wasn't even that long since you started working there!"

The latest model is expensive, though... maybe I should go with last year's model? Yeah, it's a no brainer. Even in a different world, these companies still operate the same way.

"Hey, are you listening to me?" David, feeling frustrated from being ignored, finally addresses me directly.

"I heard you," I say, "but I wasn't listening, not really."

I hear the teenager sigh, something I notice he's been doing lately. Maybe he's in a bad mood or something?

It's midday and it's technically a school day, but I have 'requisitioned' David over here to help me shop for a new phone.

I had to find him first, since my phone's no longer an option. It's not hard when you have a super power that lets you find people. So, I caught him right in the middle of walking to school.

Thankfully, David's not very difficult to persuade, even if it means having to skip school and commit truancy.

Hell, he looked like he's happy when I sprung the offer... still didn't stop him from nagging me on the way here, though.

"Then what about all that talk about needing money then, huh?" David asks, raising a very valid point. "How you gonna get money if you don't have a job, huh? You find a new job yet?"

"Something like that..."

Then, I grimace. Ugh. Looking at David, I was right to do so. He's looking at me with that 'is he for real' look, like, he's got a bullsh*t detector built in him right out of the womb or something. Sighing, I have no choice but to spin a tale for him.

"Okay, maybe I don't have a job lined up just yet," I tell him, "but I've saved up the money I got from working at Fugly's. Relax, I can afford a new phone."

The highly perceptive teenager is still staring at me, like I'm some sort of kid who's lying about dipping his hand in the cookie jar. Eventually, he shakes his head.

"...fine, let's just get you your stupid phone already." He says, head dipped low, before casting his gaze aside.

I frown. Something must be really bothering him... and something's telling me it's not a topic I can just ask openly.

Maybe I shouldn't have asked him to come? Nah, he sounded way too happy to be ditching school... maybe it has something to do with school after all?

Lord Street Market, commonly known as just the Market by the locals, is an open air market in Brockton Bay.

It's basically a very huge parking lot, surrounded by grass and with stalls set up on it. Kind of reminds me of the bazaars I used to visit when I was younger back in my old world.

The stalls here could be rented by anybody, ranging from anywhere between fifty to three hundred bucks, and were used to sell all sorts of trinkets from foodstuffs, electronics, Cape memorabilia, and even pets.

Heck, I saw a kid trying to sell his pet rat a few stalls back.

Obviously, I'm aiming for something secondhand. I looked up phone prices brand new and immediately noped myself out the website. Once again, I am reminded of what decades long of sh*tty economy could do to a country.

Right now, I'm browsing this dude's stall. He's got a nice collection going on, most of them in good condition too.

There's just one problem...

"Oh, c'mon dude," David goes off, not hiding his irritation, "eight hundred for something that came out like, what, three years ago? You're kidding, right?"

The guy manning the stall vehemently shakes his head, his rough features highlighted further by the frown he currently has on his face. His arms are crossed over his fantasy dragon printed t-shirt.

"I'm giving you a good deal there, kid," his eyes dart over to me, "tell your little brother, man, for something like that and at that good of a condition? It's basically a steal!"

The man's very strong Boston accent does a lot in reinforcing his image of a stubborn salesman, but it does little in convincing us of the claims he's making.

"He's my friend," I correct him, "but I gotta agree with him; eight hundred bucks is a lot of money for something that's three generations ago. You sure I can't get this for five?"

"No way," the vendor denies ardently, "sure it's a little outdated but the specs are still up to date with what's out in the market now."

Yeah, well, I'm not going to argue with him on that front. I am haggling because I know I can get that phone for cheaper.

"And I'm running a business here," he says, trying to sound empathetic, "I got overheads to cover, you know it."

"Uh-huh, I'm guessing most of that goes to that box of half-a-dozen Dunkin's?" David gestures to the opened box of half-eaten treats.

"Aw, shuddup kid," the vendor snaps before sighing, "look, I can't give you anything lower than eight hundred, and that's final."

"What about five-fifty? You'll go for five-fifty, yeah?"

"No."

"Six?"

"Try harder."

"Six and a half?" I try for the last time.

"...six and a half." The guy gives me a stink-eye, but relents.

"Deal."

We both shake on it.

Storing my newly purchased phone inside my bag, I make sure to hold it close to me. Although this place has people patrolling it, including several Capes if I'm sensing correctly, you can never be too careful.

Why, yes, I am indeed using my powers to scan for threats.

It's a variant of my Psychic Field, one where I can scan the layout of the area I'm in along with the people that are within it.

I'm not concentrating as hard as I'm supposed to when I'm searching for something in particular, but just having the Psychic Field up and running is enough for me to be aware of what's around me.

To the point where, if I want to, I can walk with my eyes closed and not bump into anything.

We walk to the benches, where we can both sit down and rest. My rest is less of a physical need, but more of a mental one as I need to prepare myself for what Lucy has planned later tonight.

"David," I begin, asking the boy who just sat down on the space next to me, "may I borrow your phone?"

"Huh? For what?"

"I need to send a text." I tell him with my palm open.

"Sure..." He hands me his phone and I waste no time in typing in numbers. "Who are you texting?"

"Oh, just Lucy."

"Pft!" Ah, yeah, I was expecting this kind of reaction from him. "L-Lucy? You know her number? And you're using my phone to text her?"

"Hm? Yeah, we're neighbors." I tell him casually, shrugging my shoulders. "It's for emergency. You know, just in case either of us left the stove on while we're away, or something like that..."

I take my eyes off the phone screen to stare at David.

"It's definitely not because I'm interested in her or anything like that, so you don't have to worry your sweet little head."

"S-Shut up..."

I chuckled, handing his phone back to him. Ah, to be in love.

"There, now you have her number," I point out, poking him at the side playfully, "you literally don't have a reason to not ask her out now. Don't say I didn't help."

"Oh shove it..." he says that, but I can feel his heartbeat rising. I can tell that bro's happy, a hundred percent. "Hm? Why did you text her to 'rest well'?"

"Hey now, you're reading my text? That's rude." I say without any real heat.

"Is she sick or something?" Ugh, he's actually concerned for her... damn it kid, you're actually down bad for her, huh?

"I don't know," I tell him, lying through my teeth, "I saw her taking out the trash this morning and she wasn't looking so fresh. She got bags under her eyes, she was extra pale... probably stayed up all night playing computer games or whatever it is you kids do nowadays."

"Alright, old man, whatever you say." David finally calms down after hearing my answer, I can feel it through my powers. "...you think I should visit her? Bring her something to help her feel better?"

Uh... how should I respond to this?

On one hand, I want to be supportive and say, yes, he should do that... but with whatever's currently going on, I don't think it's a good idea to have David anywhere near the apartment apartment.

"Hm... I don't know," if it sounds like I'm confused, it's because I am, "what if it's actually something serious? What if it's contagious? I think we should let her rest."

"You think so?" I nod at his question. "Alright then..."

"That doesn't mean you can't text her, though."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"You sure took your time."

Ah, yeah, I should probably apologize to her for that.

Looking at the sky, it's already dark out. My little outing with David took longer than expected, mainly because I wanted to know what's bugging him.

Wasn't very successful on that front, I'm afraid. It's all on me, I was being indecisive. I should've just be fortright and asked him straight up, but I just had a lot on my mind.

Standing in front of both our apartment doors is noneother than Lucy herself. She looks well rested enough, indicated by the fierce scowl on her face. If she has enough energy to glare at me like this, then she's probably got proper rest.

"Sorry, got a bit caught up with something." I apologize, raising a hand.

"Hm, with your friend David, huh?" I don't like that tone she's using... "What, couldn't decide which phone to choose?"

"Something like that," hey, if she's giving me attitude, it's only fair if I return a little bit back to her, "but no, seriously, I'm sorry. I should've called you, but I figured you could use the rest."

I can tell she's still upset at me, but a sigh from her is enough evidence for me to know that won't take my tardiness personally. After all, she's just on edge as much as I am, with everything going on...

"...thank you," she starts, "for being considerate... but I can take care of myself."

To that, I nod.

She opens her room's door, entering the dark place of dwelling only to emerge back outside a minute later with a familiar looking duffel bag over her shoulder.

"What's with that?" I ask, gesturing to the bag.

"My gear." She says as we walk towards the stairs. "Not all of us are Parahuman, some of us have to rely on plain old equipment."

We make our way down the stairs, heading out of the complex proper and into the streets.

"We expecting trouble?" I ask, side-eyeing my younger companion.

"We're starting one." She tells me grimly.

"Oh."

Reaching the place where we parked the car we used as getaway the other night, I was just about to enter the passanger side, only to be stopped by Lucy.

"No. You drive." She says, already opening the passenger side door. "To the docks."

I sigh.

Once inside, I do all the pre-driving routine. Turn on the engine, buckle up, turn on the A/C, lower the handbrake, and only then I step on the gas pedal.

"Empire always get their goods transported to the docks, they have their own place to conduct exchanges and supply drops there. It's all under Medhall, of course, so no one bats an eye." Lucy explains. "If we're lucky, we should be able to catch them in the middle of the act."

"What about this guy of yours... what's his name again?"

"Jimmy Botez." Lucy supplies helpfully. "He'll be there, but he'll be heavily guarded after what happened."

"Hm. We can't risk him slipping away."

"True," Lucy agrees, "which is why we'll move quickly. We'll sneak in and take out everyone in our way."

Whoa, alright, wasn't expecting that.

"Not worried about civvies?" I ask.

"Dockworkers know not to intervene when it comes to back-door business deals," Lucy says, "if we see anyone, then they're most likely complicit in whatever's going on."

I nod, taking in the information that has been provided to me. It makes sense, I suppose. It's not like you have to hire outsiders when you can just use your own men to do all the dirty work.

Speaking of dirty work...

"How do we deal with them?" I ask. "Lethal? Non-lethal?"

"...I'll leave that to you."

Okay, so I'll stick with knocking out people and maiming them. Good to know.

"How are we going to get the goods out of there? In case you haven't noticed, we're in a sedan with not a lot of space in the trunk." I point out. "And before you expect me to drive a truck; I can't."

Those things don't come in automatic and I can't drive a manual, okay!

"Then I'll drive." Oi, don't think I don't see you rolling your eyes at me. I swear, kids these days... "You'll be busy dealing with Empire thugs anyway and making sure we're in one piece, so leave the getaway to me."

"And then where do we go?"

"I have a place where we can stash everything somewhere in the Trainyards," is it just me or is she getting annoyed with me asking these questions, "from there, we'll split up and lay low; for a few days if we have to."

"...okay."

"Any more questions you need answered, Jack?" Oh, I was right, she is annoyed at me asking too many questions.

"Just one," hey, she's asking, "what if there're Capes?"

I don't receive any immediate answer. For once, my question leaves her thinking, probably mulling over whether or not we should do this whole thing.

"Then we'll just have to be very careful."

Right, careful, we'll just have to be careful...

Here's hoping.

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"Bad news, one of our safehouse just got hit."

"Which one?"

"One of the many we got over at Downtown, one we used to store our earnings from selling guns."

"...Kaiser won't like this."

In the E88, Cape identities can be something more of an open-secret.

This only mostly apply to the senior members, but even the fresher and greener ones are aware that most of their leadership aren't regular people like them.

Still, everyone is required to refer to a masked member by their Cape identity for the sake of maintaining privacy and secrecy.

Due to this, almost every super-powered members of the E88 operate exclusively in their Cape identities. That way, the authorities and the greater public will not be able to associate them for being a part of their, admittedly, polarizing organization.

However, all of that subtlety goes out the window when your Cape costume is just you shirt-less with a pair of loose-fitting pants and wearing a metal tiger mask.

Stormtiger doesn't care much about what goes on outside his circle, even among the E88. He's mostly involved with the dog-fighting and regular fighting rings the E88 controls, rarely ever stepping his foot in other aspects of the organization.

If it's not directly related to fighting, then he's not going to bother to get involved unless ordered directly by Hookwolf or Kaiser himself.

Speaking of Hookwolf, his fellow E88 Cape and technically 'boss', is out of town. He doesn't know the specifics, but it's an assignment from Kaiser himself, so it should be something important.

That leaves him in charge of the day-to-day operations, making sure everything's running smoothly.

Stormtiger closes the chiller door, taking out a tall can of Budweisser. He's just about to drink a cold beer, until one of their non-Cape members interrupts him.

It pisses him off, but the gravity of the news quickly buries whatever annoyance was in him.

"Anybody know details about the hit?" He asks the E88 thug, cracking open the can of beer.

"Not really and it's not good." The tone combined with the expression on the guy's face tells him that it's serious.

"Everyone's beat up to hell and the place was a mess; whoever did it stole the money that was stashed there, and the cops were called so they pretty much searched the entire thing from top to bottom..."

"Anyone dead?" Stormtiger finds himself asking, having yet to drink his beer.

"That's the strangest thing; no one's dead! All of them were either so close to being dead or wished they were, but none of them died. They just have... broken bones and everything..."
Stormtiger chooses to ignore the way the guy shivers. "The police bagged everyone who were there, they're in police custody and there's nothing we can do at the moment."

Well that's worrying...

E88 controls most of Downtown. There are pockets along the border of the Docks where their presence aren't as prominent, but that's only because they're constantly clashing with the ABB over them.

To keep E88 influence prevalent in these territories, a stable E88 presence is required. Not only to deter ABB presence from setting up shop, but also to make money via protection rackets and other means.

They can't just send their Capes to respond to every single rival gang encounter because, one, that's how you get the PRT involved and, two, that's how you get Lung's undivided attention.

As much as he hates to give those... animals credit, they do boast a sizeable crew. Nowhere near the number of Capes the E88 has, but they more than make up for it by being savage and downright murderous.

And it's the lack of those two things in the attack/raid that makes him think the ABB wasn't responsible for this.

Still, can't hurt to ask.

"Was it ABB? One of their Capes?" Stormtiger asks.

"We're still not sure," the man shakes his head, "but if it is the ABB, I reckon it's got to be Oni Lee."

That's the same conclusion he's come to if it's the ABB who did it. Lung wouldn't bother leaving anyone alive and calling the cops; he'd also burn the entire block down to a crisp if he felt like it.

Now, as much as a mystery Oni Lee is, this doesn't seem like his handiwork.

He's seen Oni Lee fight before, and unless there were dead bodies scattered in pieces or the bomb squad was called into the scene and the entire block was cordoned off, then it wasn't Oni Lee.

"Or a new Cape..." Stormtiger murmurs.

"New Cape?"

"Possibly." He drinks his beer, letting it watefall into his mouth through the opening of his mask. "Someone who doesn't know the status quo. Someone who just recently Triggered. Maybe not even ABB."

"That's nuts. You'd have to be suicidal to pull something like that in our turf..."

'That... and also strong.' Stormtiger thinks to himself.

Whoever was responsible for the hit on their safehouse, they have got to be a strong Parahuman. If what Tommy says is true about all of their guys having left dying with multiple potentially fatal injuries like broken bones, then—

"Wait a minute."

"Yeah?"

"A few weeks ago." Stormtiger quickly says, setting down his beer can on the counter. "Wasn't there an incident about a bunch of kids who got sent into the hospital? Kids we'd typically recruit? One of them with broken bones, potentially fatal?"

"Now that you mention it... yeah!" Tommy exclaims in realization. "You think this and that are related?"

He's tempted to say yes, but it's too soon to say anything. Besides, there's nothing he could do about it anyway. A Cape he may be, he's technically on the same pecking order as Tommy here.

So unless the higher-ups decide to do something, he's just stuck thinking over it.

"Why aren't we sending any of our people to find whoever did this, Stormtiger? W-We got the Capes for it, don't we?"

"That's what I want to know too... but if I have to guess, it's probably a combination of not wanting to stretch our numbers so thin and Kaiser's efforts in building a... friendlier image within the general public." Friendlier to the kind of people they're protecting, at least.

The E88 may have more Capes than any other Cape organization barring the PRT, but it still doesn't afford them the luxury of having Capes posted at every single street corner of every territory they control.

Not 'own', but control. You don't own a territory, you fight for it and fight even harder to keep it yours. Especially when you live in a city like Brockton Bay...

"Kaiser won't let this go, will he?" Tommy asks. "We lost quite a bit of money from that stash."

Stormtiger finds himself frowning underneath his mask.

"...what Kaiser will do is up to him," Stormtiger grunts, "your job – and mine by extension – is to do as you're told and follow orders. Until someone like Hookwolf, Krieg, or Kaiser himself tells you to do something, then you better sit still and shut up."

The beer can falls apart into two pieces, spilling what's ever left of its content on the counter.

Tommy gulps audibly, he knows when not to proceed when talking to a Cape, fully aware of the consequences of speaking too much or out of line when in the presence of one.

Although Stormtiger is right in saying that they're technically in the same totem pole of hierarchy, all of that means nothing when it comes to individual power.

The Cape in front of him has the ability to slice through material and make things explode through the use of condensed air with a single thought. Meanwhile, all Tommy has is a poorly maintained Glock 17 chambered in 9mm and none of the training to use it properly.

Not much of an equalizer there...

Ob's stürmt oder schneit, Ob die Sonne uns lacht—

The sound of a phone's ringtone going off cuts through the rising silence, killing the tension in the room. Stormtiger, realizing that it's his phone that's ringing, is quick to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Mitch, I heard the news. How bad is it?"

"One safehouse got trashed, everyone in it were beaten to the brink of death and under police custody, and all the money was stolen." Stormtiger begins explaining what he's been discussing with Tommy.

"...all of it?"

"All of it."

"We know who did it?"

"No, but I smell Cape.

"ABB?"

"Unlikely." Stormtiger grunts. 'That'd be too easy.'

"...what's Max's response?"

"As of now, nothing yet." Stormtiger snorts.

"...when I get back, we'll get to the bottom of this. Meanwhile, make sure to organize with Cricket, Victor, and Othala; whoever you can reach out to. We cannot look weak."

"Got it, Brad."

"Good. I'm just about to wrap things up here. If my flight isn't delayed,I'll be back tomorrow." A pause. "And keep your nose and ears sharp, don't let anything like this happen again."

"Yeah."

The call finally done, Stormtiger stashes his phone back into his pocket.

"Tommy?" He says, calling the only other person in the room by name.

"Y-Yeah?"

"I want to talk to those kids." He says.

"About that... last time I heard, they wouldn't speak a peep about what happened." Tommy reveals with a grim look on his thuggish face.

"What do you mean?" If it isn't for his mask, Tommy would've seen him raise his eyebrows.

"The doctors and police tried questioning them about the attacker, but they just wouldn't say anything. Like... they're afraid or something."

Afraid, huh?

"All the more reason to talk to them." Stormtiger grunts. "And while I'm doing that, you and the rest will be making sure everything's running as usual here."

"Y-Yeah, okay..."

He dismisses Tommy out the lounge before taking another can of beer from the chiller. Taking off his mask, he cracks the can open, indulging in his beverage.

"'Keep your nose and ears sharp'... feh!" Mitch scoffs. "Like they aren't."

She can't sleep.

No matter how hard she tries, she cannot sleep without them injecting her something first, and only then will she go out like a lightbulb.

It's been weeks since she's admitted to the hospital. Despite trying her best to remember how she got here, she can't seem to recall the briefest of memory.

But maybe that's for the better.

Because every time she even tries to remember how she got into this predicament, her mind replays the event that transpired in that alleyway.

Her breathing quickens, getting shallower with each breath. The darkness of the hospital room aids her mind in playing tricks on her, enveloping her vision in the same darkness she finds herself greeting the moment that pain rocked her body.

She begins to twist and turn on the bed, sweat quickly pouring out of the skin of her back. Her fingers and hands grip the hospital sheets tightly as she feels the tell-tale sign of pain slowly echoing within her bones.

It starts slow, beginning from her legs and traveling up to her abdomen, the sensation not unlike fiery ants crawling.

Then it somehow intensifies. With each passing second, she can feel the entirety of her pain receptors being overloaded by a pain she only has been subjected to once, but continues to endure in the form of these phantom-like trauma.

She cannot scream, she cannot yell. Not like it helps with the pain anyway. All she can do is endure it until it subsides and cry silently.

With the pain, she feels regret plaguing her mind.

If only she hadn't left her family in the countryside. If only she isn't involved in a gang. If only she hadn't gone with Ron that day to rob people.

If only... if only...

'If only... I was stronger...'

That night, a girl triggers all by her lonesome in a dark hospital room.

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"Oh, there they are."

As it turns out, we are lucky after all. So very lucky.

Instead of having to deal with a warehouse full of E88 goons and, potentially, Capes, we're presented with the opportunity to catch up to a convoy of E88 vehicles carrying goods.

The correct kind of 'goods' too at that. I don't know how Lucy's so sure this particular convoy is carrying the right stuff we're after, but that's a question for later. Now, I have to stop that convoy.

But calling it a 'convoy' is too generous...

Two white unmarked vans are being escorted by two sedans, both also unmarked with window tints that are of questionable legality are what makes up this so called convoy.

They couldn't have been more suspicious if they tried. Honestly, I'm impressed that they're not being stopped by police. Then again, this area – the Docks – is a very infamous gang territory.

They're moving slow and following traffic rules, probably to make them seem less suspicious. It doesn't. It didn't take long to find them too, both thanks to Lucy's excellent directions and my own Psychic Sense.

She mentioned something along the lines of a van or several vans with vehicles escorting it, I just use my powers to scan the contents of the vehicles and that about covers up the first half of the whole job.

'Now comes the other half...'

Standing up from my perch, I let my powers flare.

The convoy is on a main road with a four way intersection ahead of it and, no surprise here, they're speeding up to avoid getting caught up in a red light. Although it's not busy at this hour of the evening, there are still a fair number of vehicles on the road.

I focus my powers on the traffic lights, manipulating the internal circuitry inside them and causing them to malfunction.

What happens next is exactly how I hoped it'd happen in my head. With the traffic lights glitched out, a localized traffic accident happened.

The lead sedan was hit by a grey pick up truck, causing a solid T-bone collision. The van directly behind the lead sedan is then forced to make a sudden turn, swerving into the pavement before hitting the brick wall of a building, and finally coming to a stop.

The second van isn't so lucky either. The driver has enough time to hit the brakes, but not enough to bring it to a safe stop. The tires screech as the van skids and slides across the road. It turns as it slides, causing it to flip multiple times before eventually landing on its left side.

Only the last escorting sedan is left unscathed, the driver skillful enough to hit the brakes just in time before it suffers the same fate as their friends. At the same time, while this is all happening, I blow up the transformers on the utility poles within the vicinity, causing a small scale power outage that disables the street lights in the area.

Immediately, I act.

Jumping off a building isn't so scary when you know you can fly. And boy can I fly. The Disintegration Field I have set up around my body negates any air resistance I should be feeling when I normally do this, it only allows me to get into the thick of it faster.

I land on the ground, making sure to let that part of my body uncovered by my Disintegration Field. I land not too far from the last escort car and already its passengers are quick to get out of it.

"sh*t! Cape!" One of them shouts the moment he sees me, catching the attention of his fellow Empire members. I prepare myself for retaliation via bullets.

It's like a switch has been flipped in my head. I guess I've grown used to the threat of being shot that my body immediately knows when it's about to go down.

Without lifting a hand, I let my psychic powers flow and dominate.

Before they even can reach for their poorly holstered firearms, I have already set them off with my mind.

"f*ck!"

"AAH!"

"GAH!"

"FUUUUCK!"

Four gunshots go off simultaneously, followed by four distinct screams of pain and expletives ring out, indicating the success of my action. Four Empire goons fall to the ground with blood pouring out from the waist down.

This is what I meant by poorly holstered firearms, all of them kept their guns strapped to their waistband.

Wordlessly, I begin to make my way over to them, keeping a relaxed yet brisk pace. One of them, I see, still has the sense of awareness to react. He quickly moves to fish out his gun that has just went off, but he isn't quick enough.

With a single thought, I slam him back into the asphalt, the back of his cranium crashing just hard enough to keep him down and out for the count.

One of his friends sees this and quickly attempts to crawl his way out to safety. Yeah, right, as if anywhere but outside my range is 'safe'.

"W-Whoa...!" He finds himself lifted into the air, dropping his gun and whatever else he has on him, "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"

And then he's flung across the street to a brick wall just hard enough to make a loud 'thump' sound. He is no longer moving.

"F-f*cking... w-who the hell are you?"

I walk over to a guy who's on the ground. Unlike the rest of his friends, he's still got enough willpower in him to bear through the pain.

He glares at me, his angry expression twisting his already ugly mug into something even uglier if that's even possible.

Hm? Wait, isn't he-

"Jimmy Botez?" The widening of his eyes and rising of eyebrows are enough indicators to confirm his identity. "I finally got to meet you, Jimmy. I've heard all about you..."

"H-Huh?" What sounds like genuine confusion laced with a little bit of fear slips out of Jimmy's mouth. "Why would you ABB f*cks care about who I am, h-huh?"

Ah, looks like the disguise is working.

See, Lucy has the genius idea of dressing me up as a rival gang member. She insisted that I go along with it because it'll do well to keep up anonymity and hiding my identity. It also has the benefit of directing E88's anger at a rival gang.

So, yeah, she wasn't kidding when she said that we're gonna stir sh*t up.

The mask I'm wearing, which is just a cheap plastic mask painted in the colors of this rival gang I'm not too knowledgeable about. It's pretty cringe and lame, honestly.

I feel like a Christmas ornament on account of it being red and green.

"Why do you think, idiot." I say back, playing up the role of the thug I'm trying to be. "Now... Where are the goods?"

It might seem weird to ask the question after inflicting this many damage, but Lucy and I aren't taking any chances here. Besides, we're both prioritizing speed. This needs to be done as quickly and cleanly as possible.

"Bastard...!" Even when he's scared and in pain, Jimmy's still calling me names. "Y-You're the guy who trashed our safehouse... definitely! You're making a big mistake, asshole!"

"Whoop-dee-doo, you figured it out," I say while rolling my eyes, not like he can see it, "what, you want a gold star for that?"

"You..." He hisses hostility at me like a cobra. "Empire isn't going to let this go... first the safehouse and now this... you're a dead man walking, you hear me?!"

"..."

I choose not to humor him. Instead, I call upon my powers and make him levitate, pulling his floating body close to me. I increase the pressure I have over his frame, squeezing him into silence. Only when he's close enough do I release a tiny bit of that pressure.

"I'm taking your sh*t, Jimmy."

"...bas...tard...!" It annoys me that, despite the position he's currently, he still finds it in himself to insult me. "You... don't know... these are important things, things that... people will go to war over...!"

What?

I'm thankful for the mask covering my face, otherwise he would've seen the confusion taking over my expression.

What the hell does he mean by that? War?

sh*t, no time to wonder about that, gotta get the goods. Now.

"Do I look like I give a f*ck?" I ask while applying just a little more pressure on Jimmy at the same time. "Now, stay down and shut up."

"Hrrrk!"

I drop him back to the ground. Then, I quickly make my way to the downed vans. I begin with the one closest to me, the one that's turned over its side.

A quick pulse of Psychic Sense is enough to tell me the people inside are still alive, although struggling to make their way out of the wreck.

Well, let's help them with that, shall we?

The van is easily put upright through the means of psychic powers. Unfortunately for the E88 members on the driver's and passenger's seats, they're suddenly telekinetically pulled out from the vehicle and slammed to the pavement.

"Gah!"

"Oof!"

Their groans of pain are indicative enough to their well-being.

Opening the baggage area, I can see four wooden crates stacked inside. I don't have time to scan through the contents, moving quickly to the other much further van.

This one, the driver's already unconscious. I waste no time with them and go for the contents of the van immediately. To my relief, it's also filled with loot, just of a different kind.

I count five, no, seven duffle bags. This time I make the effort to check its content via Psychic Sense.

"Jackpot."

No one can say I'm smiling on the account of the mask covering my face. Taking out a burner phone that Lucy gave me before all of this, I dial a specific number. I let it ring for a few seconds before turning it to scrap by crushing it telekinetically.

Then, comes the busy part, I begin moving the duffle bags and the crates out of the two vans out on the street. Looks like E88 think it'd be smart to divide their cargo into two separate vans, not having their eggs in one basket and all that.

Unfortunately for them, I'm quick and efficient when it comes to moving things.

"Just in time too."

A familiar looking grey pick up truck, with its front grills in caved in on account of initiating a T-bone collision, pulls up right beside me, barreling through the wrecked vehicles on the street.

The window of the pick up rolls down, Lucy's head peeking out of it with a harsh look.

"Get them in!" She shouts through the respirator over her face. "Now!"

I levitate all of the stuff I pulled out on to the truck bed, making sure not to drop them too hard and then cover them with a tarp. The truck's suspension helped with dealing with extra weight, thankfully.

I rush to the passenger side, practically launching myself into the seat as Lucy hits the gas before I can even sit. The truck's high-beams are on, lighting up the dark road due to me blowing up those transformers earlier.

"Good thing we switched the sedan for this truck, huh?" I ask Lucy, both as a way to express relief and ease out the tension that has been building up in me.

"A four by four pick up truck with a reinforced chassis and a four wheel drive isn't cheap, Jack." She tells me, snappingly. Unlike me, she has to drive, so I'm not offended by her tone of voice. "This is coming straight out of our paycheck."

Besides, she sounds like a female Bane due to the respirator she has over face.

"We can always use the truck for future 'jobs'." I say, shrugging my shoulders. "Consider it an investment."

"Yeah, right." I don't have to look at her face to feel her rolling her eyes. "Were you able to do it back there?"

"Yeah, I was, no worries."

That burner phone I turned to dust while I was busy checking out one of the van? It's a diversion.

Somewhere, Lucy won't tell me where but it's in an E88 controlled warehouse located in the Docks, a remote improvised explosive device exploded. She assured me it's nothing too dangerous, just enough to get the attention of local powers and authorities diverting it their way.

"Good," Lucy nods, "that should keep the cops and the ABB off our backs while we get everything to the drop spot. But keep your senses sharp, ABB have eyes and ears everywhere in the Docks."

"Already on it and like you said, we're mostly clear. Not a lot of people out this time of the night, and I can say that distraction of yours is doing its job judging by the amount of traffic converging on it." I say to her.

"You can sense all that happening all the way from here?" Lucy has to take her eyes off the road to look at me, disbelief showing even on her half-covered face.

"Yup, it's within my range." I confirm. "Never knew the Empire had a warehouse so close to a gas station, I guess that explains the number of emergency services I'm currently sensing. Two fire trucks... and at least five, no, six police cruisers."

"...Jack, your powers are bullsh*t."

"Oh, believe me, I'm still learning all about it."

I hear Lucy sighing, exhaling all the tension from her body. I thought she'll be more used to this than I would, but it seems that I'm wrong. Maybe she's never thought it'd be this... hands on, if that makes sense?

I get the impression that she's a 'behind the screen' type of person, the Otacon to my Snake, if you will. She's clever and smart, which also extends to her resourcefulness judging by the fact that she managed to get this truck on such a short notice.

I guess it's appropriate to say that we're playing to our strengths. I would've been completely lost on what to do without Lucy's planning and carefully laid out instructions and Lucy wouldn't have been able to execute said plan without me and my unique skill-set.

TL;DR, we make a pretty good team.

"Oh yeah, before I forget," I suddenly speak, grabbing Lucy's attention, "your 'friend Jimmy back there, he said something about the things we just nabbed being something people might go to war over, you have any idea what that means?"

"They're important gear, I'll say that much." Lucy responds, sharply. "I wasn't told very much, but if you're worried we're potentially transporting bombs or a nerve gas or something like that, don't worry."

"No, I know they're not bombs or anything like that... I think." I say, unsure of myself. "If they are, then they're unlike any bombs I know. Which isn't a lot, in case you're wondering."

"You can tell what they are?" Lucy asks me, curious.

"Oh yeah, it's my power. I can sense things through materials, pretty neat yeah?"

"...you're not using it to perv on me, are you?"

At that, I give her my most scandalized look.

"Oh, don't look at me like that." Lucy rolls her eyes. "What kind of guy wouldn't use an ability like that to perv on girls, huh?"

"My kind of guy." I clap back at her instantly, to which she merely snorts dismissively.

Then things get quiet. We're quite far away from the crime scene, but Lucy's still careful enough to drive discreetly. Our priority is to get to the drop zone or whatever without having the authorities or local gangs on our tail.

As my mind is about to drift to la la land, I feel something... existing just at the edge of my sensory field, only to disappear in a blink. Curious, I roll down my side of the window.

"What are you doing?" Lucy asks, her voice tense.

"Just checking." I say.

I let my Psychic Sense flare out, this time far extending beyond my usual range. I try to search for that feeling—sensation I felt earlier, scouring every street corner mentally.

In the end, I am unable to find it or recreate that sensation.

Rolling the windows back up, I give Lucy a reassuring look.

"I thought I sensed something," I then quickly say with a follow up, "no, I don't think we're being followed, I'd know if we are. It's probably just someone who went out of my range; we're in a moving truck, after all."

My explanation seems to have worked in reassuring Lucy, goes to show that we can never keep our heads down until the job's finished.

Just in case, though, I'll refrain from taking a quick shut-eye. Although...

"Hey, what does the ABB stand for?"

"Pan-Asian supremacy. Imagine E88 but with Asians." Lucy pauses. "No offense."

"None taken, but what I meant was, what's the acronym stand for?"

"..." Well, I'm waiting here. "It's... the Azn Bad Boys."

"..."

"..."

"Oh, you're not kidding."

"Everything clear?"

"It's all clear."

Lucy rolls the window back up, driving the truck into the pound – a rundown chop-shop somewhere in the middle of the Trainyards that is now used to store junk among other things. I stay behind to close the gates while being extra aware of my surroundings, making sure that nothing has been following us.

As expected, nothing sticks out. And by that I mean I'm not getting the impression that anyone – or anything – is actively searching for us.

It's close to two in the a.m, but there are still people out and about. There are still vehicles actively driving down the streets, but I don't feel like they're converging to our location specifically.

I can sense anything up to a kilometer of range, I can point out things with pin-point accuracy if I concentrate. So far, my senses – both psychic and gut – are telling me we're in the clear.

I make my way to where Lucy is, floating my way to cut down travel time. She's parked the truck inside shop, turned on what little lighting available, and already started to unload.

"Let me help you with that." I say, prompting Lucy to look my way and stepping back.

I let my telekinesis do its job, lifting up our 'loot' out of the truck bed onto the floor. I place the wooden crates first, stacking them on groups of two. The duffle bags, on the other hand, can stay on the truck for now.

"Thanks." Lucy says.

"You're welcome."

"Want to do the honors?" Lucy asks me, gesturing to the crates. I oblige.

The crates look tricky to open, but my control over my telekinesis is excellent to the point where I'm not worried of damaging anything. I rip off the metal nails keeping the crate lids shut, setting them down on the truck bed.

Then I peel off the lids, letting them down on the floor. Now, all of the crates are opened, showing us the contents.

I cheated and already knew what's inside of them already, but seeing them with my own eyes, I must say that I'm a little bit lost.

"Huh, these don't look like any guns I know." I say, scratching the back of my head.

Not like I know anything about guns in the first place, anyway. All I know about them is how to shoot one particular type and the fact that they tend to be pointed towards me in high stress situation. Especially that last part.

"You're not the only one..." Lucy says, stepping forward to get a clearer look of the goods.

"Heh."

"What's so funny?" She asks me, her tone clearly not amused. She's examining the cache, not paying attention to me.

"The American not knowing guns." I say with a smile, not even hiding my amusem*nt as I join in her inspecting the contents of the crates. "That's got to be a first."

"Oh ha ha, funny." Guys, I don't know about you, but I think she doesn't find it funny.

Curiously, with all the focus and attention she's giving these... guns, Lucy's not touching any of them. That naturally means I will follow what she's doing and not touch them.

Besides, I'm getting the feeling that our job isn't quite done yet.

To start with, the guns in the crates aren't like the guns I've seen on... anywhere. They're more like prop guns used in sci-fi films, but realistic and convincing enough to look expensive.

Adding to that, there's no ammunition in any of the crates. No magazines either. I don't know if that's normal, but I find it odd that none of these long guns carry any magazines.

"These aren't like any of the guns I know because these aren't guns. Not normal ones, at least." Lucy says, standing back up.

"Huh? Did we get the wrong package?" Please tell me we didn't just do all that for nothing...

"No," Lucy shakes her head, adding to my confusion, "we got the right one. They told me we're going to be getting something a little bit different than usual, they just didn't tell me what it'd be specifically"

Huh?

"Who's they?" I ask, crossing my arms, my head tilted to the side.

"Our buyer." Lucy says, looking at me in that same unbothered and aloof manner. "What, you'd think I'd risk doing all of that without securing a buyer for all of this?"

"Well..."

"Don't answer," Lucy interrupts me, raising a hand while pinching the bridge of her nose with her other one, "just know that I'm... taking our well-being into account. Big risk doesn't always translate into big rewards, especially when it comes to this kind of job."

She's... right. I'd rather not swoop in and engage gang members directly like I did, but the nature of the job lands itself to be risky, especially since we're banking on a quick bag and grab type of scenario.

The disguise I have – still wearing, by the way – is only superficial. If any of those thugs happened to be one of the guys I encountered on the safe house raid, they'd be able to tell that I'm the same person on account of my build alone.

A mask and a hoodie can only do so much, that's why people sh*t on them so much as a costume to hide identity.

"It's one thing to piss off a big gang like the E88, which we've definitely done after all we did." Understatement of the freaking year right there. "They might not be good with getting caught off guard, but they can definitely investigate and track us if they really put their all into it. Not having a buyer at this stage of the job is just waiting for that to happen."

"I guess..." As usual, I'll defer to her here. "Who's our buyer, then?"

"A local villain group," Lucy says, drawing my curiosity, "they go by the name Undersiders. Ever heard of them?"

"Are they a big deal in Brockton?"

"Enough to have their own fan-page on PHO." So not really, seeing as they'll give pretty much anyone wearing a costume their own fan-page over there...

Still, can't hurt to find out more about them.

"The leader she..." Lucy lets the word drag on, hesitation showing on her face, "...had a hand in helping me figure out the shipment we just raided."

"Oh." I hum. "Are they, like, bad at doing the whole villain thing, then?"

"Huh? What makes you say that?" Lucy asks, genuine confusion on her face.

"Well, if they're any good then they would've just done the whole thing themselves." I say, pausing. "Wouldn't they?"

Lucy goes silent, which prompts me to follow suit.

Something isn't right here. Either that or maybe I'm reading too much into this. Eventually, Lucy snaps out of her trance, shaking her head clear.

"In any case, we've done the job. They'll pay us for the... guns and that's what matters. I'm more interested at what's in those bags over there."

"Here, let me." I say.

I float the bags, all seven of them, over to us. Lucy gives me a grateful nod before beginning to inspect one of the bags.

I hear the sound of a zipper opening, followed by an appreciative whistle. Again, I already know what's in those bags, so I just stand back and let her have her moment.

"There's got to be at least... two hundred thousand in each of the bags." I say to Lucy, even as she's already opening up the rest of the bags. "That's another one and a half million, more or less. You know how much are we getting for the guns?"

"Around six hundred thousand." Lucy answers, still inspecting the cold hard cash we've nabbed from the E88 convoy. "But deduct that by two hundred thousand for the truck."

Six hundred thousand for guns is a lot of money... but two hundred thousand for a truck?!

"Damn, that's expensive." I find myself blinking repeatedly at that revelation. "And we just used it as a glorified bumper car, sh*t, I hope we got insurance for it."

"It's probably stolen," Lucy snorts, "good luck claiming it."

"Damn it."

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Living in a world where superpowered people are real might just be a fantasy that a lot of people have back in my old world.

With how well super-hero movies and comic books are received, it's only natural that people's imagination work to idealize such worlds. Even how dark most of them can be, people still view living in such worlds as something positive generally speaking.

Especially when they get to have their idealized powers.

So isn't it weird that a world like this still has superhero comics, when they're perfectly aware that real life isn't as how most of these comic books portray them to be?

I have with me a comic book issue of Superman. It's one of the old school ones, a type of medium that I'll admit I don't have a lot of experience with.

It's in sub-par condition with the pages lightly faded and yellowed from age, not to mention the dust it's collecting from being locked up in this garage for who knows how long.

It's still wild to me that this world I'm in shares a lot of popular and media culture as my old one, at least up until a specific point in time.

Based on my research, the first Parahumans started appearing in the late 80's. Naturally, this meant society as a whole has to undergo a great shift in direction that covers everything from entertainment, economy, and especially politics.

After that time period, the world's view of superheroes change. They no longer idealize the super-powered people in the pages of a thin book after having experienced firsthand the things these characters can do in real life.

I don't blame them.

It's no surprise then that DC or even Marvel are no longer a thing here. Superhero movies still exist, yes, but they don't really portray the characters I'm familiar with.

Instead, they've now taken their old roots of being propaganda to prop up the government, a group of people, or individuals.

"Lucy, don't you have to go to school or something?" I ask her. Since tomorrow's a weekday, won't she have to quickly leave for school in the morning?

"Why would I do that?"

"So that thing about you still being in high school is a lie?"

"...not a lie, technically."

Lucy looks away from me, but there's no way of hiding that redness coloring her face. I look at her with an expectant look, figured I'm owed an answer to my question.

She, after a while, turns to look at me with a small scowl.

"Look, I'm smart enough to be in college, alright? I'm just... not in one, yet." She says in a tone that brokers no argument. "Besides, I don't see how it's any of your business whether I'm in school or not."

"Hey, I'm just asking," I say while shrugging, putting down the Superman comic book I've been reading to past the time. "I don't want to worry about them sending a truant officer to search for you. In case you've forgotten, you're my neighbour. Meaning, I'm gonna be the first person they suspect should you ever go missing."

This is how these things go, Lucy! Haven't you watched a crime documentary before? It's always the weird, anti-social neighbour!

Wait, did I just diss myself?

To my surprise, Lucy lets out a dry chuckle. The type that tells me that she barely finds any humor in the things I've said, but cannot help to laugh anyway.

"Like they're ever going to do that." She scoffs, disdain staining her tone. "I don't know how you do it in your country, but most schools here don't care about their students to the point of sending someone to check up on them. At least the ones over in Brockton, barring a few."

I can't say I'm surprised to hear that. This is basically Arkham City but with Kaiju and no Batman. Or at least I think there's no Batman, who knows.

"The most they'll do is mark you as absent and go on with their life, as if they don't have a lot on their plate to begin with." Lucy's words paint a rather familiar yet somehow foreign image to me at the same time. "Or if you're involved in gangs or have the tendency to commit crime, they'll send the police over your way."

Okay, no longer familiar, yikes.

"It's like... this city, no, this world is making it harder and harder for people to genuinely care about each other with how miserable it is." Lucy speaks, her voice notably much softer than before. "Ever since we figured out we can shoot lasers out of our eyes, take a bullet to the face without dying, and make complicated technology appear out of thin air... we've been spiraling down into, I don't know, chaos? If that's a even a suitable word for it..."

She pauses, turning to look at me.

"How does it feel having powers, Jack?" She asks. "Is it is as scary as I think it is?"

I don't immediately answer her, the question ringing in my head. I never know she considers it as 'scary'... does she find me scary?

Oh who am I kidding, of course she does. Even now, she's sitting on the opposite end of the garage with her back towards the corner. The fact that she's near a window means that it'll be easy for her to do an exit.

...that or I'm just reading into things too deeply again.

"I... can't speak for every Parahuman out there, but personally, it's..." I trail off, struggling to find the correct word to use. If there is even one. "...it's like I'm slowly becoming a different person."

"...what do you mean?"

"Well, I... uh... I don't know." I blink several times, breathing out. "Before I got my... powers, I don't know if I could've done half the things I do. I mean I obviously can't, but I'm not just talking about knocking out thugs or lifting things with my mind. I'm talking about... you know."

I make the a slicing gesture across my neck.

"Oh." Lucy looks down. "...I understand, I guess."

"You've... erm..." How do I say it without sounding like an insensitive prick?

"It's... a while ago." I can barely hear her murmur. "It was either me or them. I chose them."

I sense the finality in her voice.

"But, other than that," I quickly say, before the mood turns even dour, "I don't particularly feel any different. I can say I'm still the same person, I just have these... abilities that I have to live with. And that every time I use them, I'm slowly learning a new part of myself that I never know existed."

I mean it's inevitable, right? Even if I don't feel like I've changed, of course I'm going to think and feel differently now that I can do the things I do. I hate to make it sound dramatic, but it's like being a whole different person.

"Are you going to start being a Cape anyway?"

"No." I shoot down Lucy's question almost immediately. "I told you before. I don't... fancy the idea of playing the games society have set up for people with powers."

Lucy's face holds a frown, as if she's been told a bold-faced lie.

"You know that it's not convincing hearing that while you're dressed like an ABB thug, right?" Lucy points out.

"Hey, I'm not the one who insisted on wearing this color, okay?" I grumble. "But... if there's ever a point in time I'll have to act as a Cape, it'll only be just that. An act or a ruse."

I think that's reasonable. I've pretty much resigned to the fact that I'll have to wear a mask should I ever have to use my powers in public or within other people's vicinity.

My identity is not something I'm willing to compromise. Even if it means being treated like a Cape, I will guard my identity with every single fiber of my being.

But, mark my words, I refuse to go along with the status quo.

"Still, that means you'll need to mask up, right?"

"...I guess, yeah." I pause. "Why the sudden interest?"

Lucy shakes her head, slowly turning to look at me. Even in the dimly lit garage I can see her eyes holding untold feelings, barely kept and contained.

"...will using those powers be the reason you'll be wearing a mask, or will wearing a mask be the reason why you'll be using those powers?"

"...I don't know." I answer honestly.

"...hm." Lucy makes a non-commital noise. "A lot of Capes adhere to the latter, just so you know. I just... wish that someone realize that the former is there too."

After a while, Lucy drifts into sleep. I can hear her soft breathing and feel hear steady heartbeat all the way from here. She sleeps with her back against the wall, a gun clutched underneath the jacket she's using as a blanket.

"'Will using those powers be the reason you'll be wearing a mask, or will wearing a mask be the reason why you'll be using those powers'... geez, like I can answer a question like that on the spot..." I sigh, sinking into my own spot, dragging my back down the wall. "Welp, time to do my homework. Let's see... Undersiders, eh?"

I spend the next few hours browsing the web on my new phone.

"Someone's coming."

"Must be our buyer."

It's midnight, apparently the agreed upon time for us to meet our buyers. Lucy's woken up from her three hours nap while I was busy acting as lookout.

We tidied up a little bit shortly after arriving here, just to make the place more comfortable. I stacked the crates in the middle and Lucy insisted on stashing the bags elsewhere, just in case anything funny happens.

She's back to wearing her respirator, covering only the lower half of her face. I would've prefered a full-face one, but whatever. As for myself, I raise up the hood and don back the plastic mask.

"They're moving fast." I inform Lucy while looking her way. "How do you want me? Nice and friendly or silent and broody?"

"I want you to stay on your toes and be ready for anything." Lucy tells me, sounding more focused and business-like now that she's got time to rest. "They're a villain group, after all. Who knows what they'll do."

"Let's just hope they're just here to buy from us, yeah?"

I'm not sensing a vehicle or something like that approaching. Instead, it's far smaller yet much faster than most vehicles, quite agile too.

The presence I'm sensing is almost near the gates of the garage, I thought they're going to take their time to open it, but – to my surprise – they instead jump over it?

Huh?

A loud thumping noise can be heard coming from outside of the garage, don't need enhanced senses to hear that. Lucy is standing behind cover next to the entrance of the garage, which has its rolling shutters rolled down, and ready to raise it once the code is given.

Clank clank clank clank clank, clank-clank.

Several knocks, or rather clanks, to the tune of a famous jingle are made by rythmically tapping the metal shutter must the agreed upon code; because as soon as she hears that, Lucy moves to open it.

I move and just about to offer to help, but Lucy gestures me to hang back and let her do it instead. While she does this, I'm taking into account the number of people we're about to meet.

Four... no, five, including the... dog? Huh?

The shutter lifts open, opening the garage to the world outside. I get to see just who our buyers are.

"Hope we're not late," one of them, a young blonde girl with long hair dressed in black-purple spandex with a matching black domino mask, steps forward with a disarming smile on her face, "we saw a lot of activity going on in the streets on the way here, I trust that was all you?"

Lucy steps forward, not bothering to greet our 'guests'. She stands with her arms crossed, projecting the image of a confident and stone-faced mercenary.

"Getting your 'package' wasn't exactly a quiet job," Lucy answers, her voice somehwat distorted by the respirator she's wearing, "had to come up with a distraction and it worked."

"Oh it worked, alright." Another one speaks up, the voice obviously that of a young male. "It worked so well that cops and E88 are crawling the streets like headless chickens. You know how difficult it is to not run into headless chickens or for them to not run into us? Let me tell you, it wasn't easy."

This one is dressed like a character from a renaissance faire, with leggings and loose fitting shirts and all. He has a Phantom of The Opera style mask, probably made from the same material as my toilet.

"He's right," a gruffer, lower tone spoke up, his voice even more distorted than Lucy's. It's... echoey and seems to reverberates, weird. "You stirred up law enforcement and local E88 presence back there. Might want to do the transaction quick and go our separate ways as soon as possible."

A taller male dressed in biker leathers with a full-face motorcycle helmet with the likeness of a skull speaks up and I agree with his sentiment of wanting to get things done fast. He's like a weird mix between the Yautja from the Aliens movies and Ghost Rider.

The last person who has yet to speak is hanging back and giving headpats and neck rubs to their car-sized dog. Yes, car-sized, roughly the size of a Toyota sedan.

They're wearing a dog mask that looks like it comes from a dollar store. They also wear a heavy jacket with a thick fur collar, faded out jeans, and a pair of heavy boots. Not quite the punk-rock look I personally vibe with and... is that dog food I smell?

"Alright then, let's get down to business shall we? Show us the goods."

Lucy leads them inside while I stay and walk along with her, keeping my senses sharp and attention focused on the other three.

Although the blonde has a gun hidden in a holster on her person, it's the one in the opera mask and biker gear I'm more cautious about. That staff theatre boy is carrying, is it some sort of magical wand? And I can't sense any weapon from biker guy, is he some sort of martial artist god?

Dog guy... or rather girl, as I've figured out judging by the bumps on her chest, is definitely staring at me. Her face, covered by a mask, is facing my way. It's been like that ever since they stepped into the garage.

"Here you go." Lucy shows them the crates, all stacked and presented neatly. "We had to crack the lid open to check what's inside."

"No worries," the purple themed girl reassures Lucy, "it's the smart thing to do, otherwise I would've questioned your intelligence if you hadn't done that. Regent, Grue, open them."

Judging by the clenching of jaws and fists from Lucy, something tells me that what blondie just said isn't appreciated.

Then they get to work. Regent, opera guy, and Grue, biker guy, begin inspecting the crates along with blondie. Meanwhile, dog girl is still just standing there... staring at me.

"This is it, Tattletale, everything's accounted for." Grue says from a kneeling position, standing back up to his full height.

"That's great, for a moment I thought we'd be out here for nothing." Okay, now, even I'm getting irritated by this purple wearing blonde, or Tattletale, as I've just learned. As if sensing my attention, she turns to look at me. "Hm? Those colors... are you a member of the ABB?"

Her face drops that easy-going and smug smile for a moment as she seems to regard me with the same kind of attention that her dog mask wearing friend has been giving me all this time.

"He's not." Lucy interrupts, snapping blondie's attention towards her and away from me. "It's a disguise."

Tattletale's poorly covered face – c'mon it's just a domino mask – shows a small and brief frown over it, before flickering back to that smile that I'm starting to find nothing short of annoying.

"Huh, as I thought. Smart choice, but very bold." There's no hiding the mocking and scolding tone in the girl's voice. "You know how vicious the ABB can be when someone who isn't one of them wears their colors, right? If you're unlucky, Lung himself will melt you before you can even see him coming."

Her smile turns into a grin that makes her face all the more punchable.

"If you're very unlucky, he'll torture you first before he melts you."

I'm convinced. This girl is talking because she likes the sound of her own voice a little too much. That or she's actively trying to piss Lucy, and by extension me, off.

I slowly turn my head to look at Lucy, who's I'm pretty sure glaring daggers at Tattletale.

Lung. I did a quick search on the internet about the ABB earlier and, I have to say, I am not looking forward to meeting someone like him. Reading the reports on him really hammers home just how wacky and f*cked up this world really is.

If what Tattletale says about the ABB not tolerating anyone masquerading as one of them is true, along with the implication of threats to go with it, then we are possibly already in trouble.

"...we'll deal with him ourselves." Lucy says, her hands balled into fists.

"I'm sorry? Deal with him? Hah!" Tattletale actually lets out a laugh, holding her stomach for support. "You don't just 'deal' with Lung, sister. He fought an Endbringer one on one and survived. He drove off the PRT and everyone else when he first came here, even now they don't dare get in his way. What makes you think you can, quote on quote, deal with him?"

Sensing the increase in heartbeat coming from Lucy from the moment Tattletale opened her mouth, I quickly place a hand on her shoulder to stop her from doing something she'll regret.

Lucy whips her head back at me, allowing me to see the fury barely contained in those eyes of hers.

...this Tattletale chick got one hell of a lip, doesn't she?

I shake my head, visually telling Lucy that whatever she's about to do isn't going to help us. Lucy's eyes convey irritation and anger, barely restrained fury that she desperately wants to release on the purple wearing yapper before us.

Look, as much as I want to give this girl a piece of my mind myself, this isn't how we want to do things.

I increase the pressure on her shoulder, shaking my head once again. This time, Lucy takes a moment to look at me, before lowering her head while simultaneously releasing a long, winded sigh.

Poor girl.

I, slowly, pull Lucy back while taking a step forward at the same time. I let my will guide my powers and imagination form its shape.

'We'll deal with the ABB if it comes to it.'

Four people jerk in surprise, as if someone just poke them with a hot iron poker. Tattletale's expression does a one eighty and morphs to one of someone who's been caught off guard, taken aback by the distorted projection of my voice that – for her – seems to have come out of nowhere.

Her friends are surprised too, suddenly on alert as they get into defensive stances. A snarling sound, not unlike that of a canine animal, can be heard from dog girl as well as her pet.

Seeing a demonic dog the size of a Toyota is enough for me to start charging my power—

"Okay, stop, stop!"

—but I stop when Lucy starts shouting.

No longer behind me, Lucy has her arm spread apart as if to separate our side of the room from theirs. I can feel hear heart beating fast, she's scared.

"Look, let's just finish the transaction, okay? We got the goods you want, you have the money. Let's just all... finish things up so we can go home."

Nobody moves, the sudden breaking down of peace earlier still has them on edge. Eventually, people – including myself – relax, returning the mood into something more comfortable and livable.

"...right," although I just met her, a frown seems foreign on Tattletale's face. I can feel her eyes zeroed on me, before flickering towards Lucy once I notice. "Bitch, bring in the money."

'Bitch' a.k.a dog girl slips her hand underneath her mask and let rip a cringe-worthy whistle.

The large demon dog who's slowly encroaching us before walks into the garage. On its sides are black heavy duty duffle-bags, three of them, and a quick scan with my powers confirms that they do indeed carry money.

They lay down the bags before me and Lucy, the zipper opened to reveal its contents.

"There you go," Tattletale speaks up, having recovered from her brief moment of shock, "six hundred thousand dollars in unmarked cash. You're welcome."

...calm down, Jack, you don't want to reveal everything...

Lucy turns to look at me, giving me a knowing look.

"It's all there." I say, using my powers to quickly count the bills.

"Rude..." the remark comes from Regent.

'Can never be too sure.' I clap back, telepathically, causing him to flinch due to the unexpected nature of my skill.

"Good." Lucy reaches over to the bags, carrying them on her person with great skill. "That means we're done here."

"Hey, wait-"

I let Lucy walk away to put the bags away on the truck bed with the others while ignoring what Tattletale's about to say.

Meanwhile, I take a step forward, crossing my arms in front of the Undersiders with my foot tapping on the floor.

'We're done here.' I repeat what Lucy said, enjoying the way their body flinch every time I speak telepathically.

"...tch!" Tattletale's eyes are glaring at me, her lips which were previously smiling, are now permanently scowling. She turns to look at her friend, Grue, who gives her a 'what can you do' gesture.

I got the feeling they aren't really fighters.

I looked up their track record of being supervillain thieves and none of them mentioned any violent outcomes or dangerous fights being instigated by any of the Undersiders.

This makes them 'hiring' us to steal from the E88 convoy more sense to me, because something like that would require a heavy hitter in their group, something their little band of thieves seem to be lacking... based from what I read.

'I don't know what you were planning to do originally, but let me tell you that you wouldn't be getting away with it as long as I'm here.' I glare at them from behind my mask. 'This should go unsaid, but don't look for us.'

The sound of truck engine revving is an indicator for me to finally pull back and join Lucy in the truck. We pull out from the garage and out of the area immediately, careful not to hit any of the Undersiders on the way and driving the opposite direction from where we come.

"...are they gone?" Lisa asks, her voice notably subdued and level.

"Brutus can't smell them anymore." Rachel says, attending to her dog who is responding to her gestures familiarly.

"You guys felt it every time he... speaks, right? It's like your entire body's been dipped in ice while having a gazillion needle pricking you at the same time." Alec expresses his displeasure of the experience by shivering and hugging his staff close to him. "Eugh, let's do as he said and not look for them."

"That was a close call, Lisa. He could've been a danger to all of us, no, we know he's a danger now." Brian says with his arms crossed, his voice dipping into that usual reprimanding tone.

"Oh spare me the scolding, Brian." With a roll of her eyes, the blonde girl shifts her attention to the crates of weapons they have just 'bought' from the two people who were just here moments ago. "We got the weapons that the boss wants, that's all that matters..."

"Still... can't believe the boss man willing to spend six hundred grand on them," Alec comments, grabbing a nearby stool to sit on, "these must be some premium firepower."

"Not only that, Alec," Lisa says, "these are the best of the best, the kind of stuff even most world governments don't have."

"They're Tinker tech guns." Brian supplies helpfully.

"Yup, very illegal Tinker tech guns; the kind that'll get us locked up for a very looooong time should the cops ever find them." Lisa mutters. "Let's just move them back to the hideout, someone will-sh*t."

"Someone will sh*t? Who is it? Is it you? Certainly not me." Alec barbs playfully from where he's sitting. Lisa, not appreciating his humor, opts to glare at him.

"We forgot to ask them for the truck..." Brian says, groaning.

"If it makes you feel any better, we weren't in any position to demand anything back then." Lisa reminds her co-worker. "We're gonna have to move these things out of here quick and quietly. That means we'll need a truck."

"Alec, go with Rachel and steal a truck." Brian instructs his teammates.

"Aye, aye." Alec lazily and playfully salutes. "Let's go Bitch, we got a truck to steal."

Bitch says nothing, instead, she's bringing out treats to give to her dog. Alec, sighing, hooks his finger on the girl's collar – her shirt collar, not an actual collar – and begin dragging her off outside.

Meanwhile, Brian and Lisa are inside, still checking stock of their new inventory.

"The boss is still gonna be pissed even if we get him the guns back." Brian says, his voice carrying displeasure. "If only the guys in charge of getting these hadn't messed up and let these fall into E88 hands in the first place..."

"Well, that's Toybox for you," Lisa points out, going over the guns again. "They'll do everything but shipping, unless you ask them to make you a teleporter or something like that, then you'll be the one picking up your own package."

"The guns are already paid for, right? The boss doesn't strike me as the type who'll just throw away that much money, even if it means getting them back." Brian asks with his arms crossed.

"Funny you say that," Lisa speaks up, "it's actually cheaper for the boss to pay those two six hundred grand to steal these back than it is for him to run back to Toybox and get a new set made. Six hundred thousand is nothing compared to the ten million spent having these made."

Brian can't help but swallow air after hearing the amount. Lisa snorts, somehow able to sense her friend's shock.

"Tinkers, amirite? They can charge you more than an arm or leg, especially when they're the only ones who can make it." Sarcasm drips heavily from Lisa's voice. "If only our powers let us make that much money, eh?"

Brian shakes his head, still can't let go of how expensive the guns are.

"Speaking of powers, Lisa, did yours manage to get anything out of those two?" Brian asks the blonde, his tone casually.

"..."

"..."

Brian turns to her, confused by the lack of answer.

"Lisa? Your power?"

Lisa Wilbourn, a.k.a Sarah Livsey, a.k.a Tattletale just realized something.

Slowly standing up, she turns to look at Brian and he lowers his hands, turning alert. She can't blame him.

Their eyes, despite the mask, meet but it's not enough for her friend to know the question that has just popped into existence in her head.

Why didn't her power activate while those two were here?

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"Ah… sh*t, not now..."

I say to myself as I wipe the red liquid of life that is slowly pouring out of my eyes, preventing any from spilling onto my clean and freshly laundered shirt. I can't have something like that happen to me at the moment, nuh uh.

Why? You might ask…

Well…

"You took your time in toilet, eh boy? You say your name Jack?" The heavy Cantonese accent almost makes me feel like I'm back at home, only this time it's in English instead of- "Oi. You listen to me?"

"Yes, I am!" I stand ram-rod straight, my body reacting by itself due to years of experience being scolded by old Cantonese ladies.

Your boy's back again trying to get a job.

Now, you might be asking 'why are you even bothering trying to get a job? Aren't you basically rich?' Well, to that I say, not yet.

See, as it turns out, it's very difficult to launder several million dollars. We didn't quite reach our goal of five million, but I managed to 'convince' Lucy not to be greedy and at least get whatever amount we have into a Number Man account.

She grumbled a lot, but saw reason eventually. Which is a good thing since I'm running low on savings. Rent, getting a new phone, and shopping for new clothes will do that to you.

Especially in this type of economy…

So, as of yesterday, Lucy's been hard at work getting our accounts set up. And since there's nothing I can do to help her that wouldn't be a bother, I decided to be a responsible adult and find a job.

For myself, of course.

But it's not so easy. See, I can't exactly apply to anything like a fast-food chain or convenience store anymore since those kinds of jobs require you to submit to a background check or something similar.

After what happened at my latest job, I'm a bit worried that my previous employers have written me up that'll make these big corporations reject me on the spot or - even worse - somehow result in them doing an investigation on me.

So, for that reason, I've decided to try for small businesses like this Chinese-American take-out place located south of the Docks, just near the border of Downtown.

"You have loud voice, good for shouting orders to kitchen. You will be waiter, hao ma?" Damn, it really is like home. Being told what to do/you'll be doing without even asking for your opinion is very nostalgic. Either that or the smell of food being made in the restaurant.

Kind of a mix of both.

"Actually, ayi," I catch her eyebrows rising from me calling her aunty in Mandarin, "I was thinking of applying for the delivery driver position?"

"Delivery driver?" She asks me, her voice conveying that 'are you serious' tone that I've grown to be used to. "You know how dangerous being delivery driver, ma? You can get shot, get robbed."

Well, if anything, I appreciate her being honest about the job risk.

Like I said, this place is located in the middle of Downtown and the southern Docks region. It's one of those places that are often busy with gang activity, with the usual suspects being the ABB and E88. Raise your hand if you're surprised.

Despite that fact, this place is still standing and business is far from dead. Rather, it seems to be the opposite. The place has a reputation for serving good food at an affordable price.

Naturally, it being a restaurant serving Asian food, people assume it's a front for ABB. But, if you have a pair of functioning eyeballs, you should be able to see the 'NO GANGS ALLOWED' sign plastered on the front door.

"I know, ayi, but it's the highest paying position you have open." I just can't help sounding sheepish while speaking for some reason. Is this the power of being near an Asian aunty?

"Aiyaaah, you young people and money, it's always money." Wow, it's just like home. "Hao ba. If you want to be delivery driver, you go be delivery driver. We sell more food that way, more money come in."

God, it's like I'm with my relatives again.

"So… when can I start?"

The next thirty minutes are spent with me signing a few papers. Auntie Yue, as I've come to learn, also helps me with getting to know the rest of my co-workers; and by that I mean she shouts loud enough for the kitchen staff and floor staff to hear that I'll be working here.

"You start tomorrow." Auntie Yue tells me, already jotting down orders in Mandarin while she has her left ear occupied with the landline. "Come here early morning, around six a.m or so. Don't be late or you fired, ming bai ma?"

"Ming bai le. Ayi, jai jian."

Before I can even step outside the restaurant, Auntie Yue is already shouting out orders to the kitchen. I get the feeling that I'll be very busy working here, which is cool since that means there's money to be made here.

Even better, I'll be making five dollars more than I did at my old job by the hour, and that's before tips.

Looking up, I shield my eyes from the sun's blinding rays, frowning at what I'm seeing. No, not the sun, but the slow gathering of thick gray clouds forming in the distance.

"sh*t, I need to take in my laundry…" I can't call Lucy since I reckon she's busy at the moment. And since it's still in the morning with people out and about, I can't just fly my way home. "Oh well, might as well make an exercise out of this."

Today marks the ninth week or so of me being in this new world. Looking back, I still can't believe that this all happened. I wish I could say that I'm not homesick, but I'll be lying.

As much as I want to say that I'm now used to living here, I still find myself feeling like a stranger not unlike my first few days here. It's a weird feeling to have, I'm not sure if there are people out there who can relate, though.

I mean, I'm a dude who got transported from another world into this one, what's weirder than that?

The cracking of thunder above brought me out of my musing. Frowning at the storm literally brewing above me, I hurry to leave for home.

"Sorry for dropping by unannounced…"

"Jack, you're my neighbor. I can literally hear you every time you open your front door. What's up?"

It might sound kind of strange, but I no longer feel awkward stopping by Lucy's apartment. Taken out of context, it sounds very messed up, but I can say that it's totally nothing like that.

It's just that messing with one of the country's most notorious gangs and almost coming to a head with a villain group naturally helps develop the bond between two people, surprisingly.

"I brought food," I say, setting down the plastic bag filled with steaming hot take-out food, "hope you like fried noodles and crab rangoon."

"What's the occasion?" Lucy asks while going over the food. "Wait. Is this food from the Golden Koi?"

"Yeah it is." I say, a little bit surprised myself by the question. "Why, you know the place?"

"Well, duh," I watch with no little amusem*nt as the normally aloof and collected girl begins unwrapping take-out food like it's Christmas presents under a tree, "who doesn't? They stopped delivering a few months ago because the gangs were making it too dangerous, it's like a local tragedy."

"Damn, the last guy really got shot after all…" Is that why no one said anything to me when I asked about it?

"Huh, what do you mean?" Her eyes then narrow, realization kicking in. "Wait, don't tell me…"

"Yup, I'm the new delivery guy for the Golden Koi."

"Huh…" Lucy's expression shifts from gradual suspicion to that of a content smile. "That means no late delivery if you're the one doing it. Great!"

"Don't get too excited," I tell her, my voice taking a playful tone, "I can't just fly and deliver people's food just like that."

"What? That sucks." Lucy says, sitting down on the floor holding the unbroken pair of chopsticks in one hand while her other one is holding an opened styrofoam container filled to the brim with noodles. "Did they at least give you a scooter?"

"Well… you see… that's part of the reason why I'm here… hehehe…"

God, this is so embarrassing.

"Hm?" With noodles sticking out of her lips, Lucy blinks in a way that's not unlike a barn owl. She swallows the food she has in her mouth, before wiping her mouth with the sleeves of her jumper. "What do you mean?"

"They're supposed to let me use a scooter… but the thing won't start working." I told her. "I had to do my first delivery on foot and they tell me I have to keep doing it that way until they get the damn thing fixed."

For the rest of the day, they just make me do standard kitchen hand stuff. Not the kind I'd normally do, but it's not something I couldn't handle.

"So? You can fly and deliver food at the same time." She points out with a rare smirk on her face.

"Obviously, but I don't want to make a bad habit of doing that." I sigh, crossing my arms. "What if I get spotted delivering food while it's daytime, huh? And, not to mention, people will get suspicious if I do my job too quickly!"

Not to mention, it'd be really lame to use my powers like that. I'd rather not use it at all, to be honest.

"So, what does it have to do with me?" Lucy asks me, after inhaling a stream of noodles. Boy can this girl eat…

It's kind of relaxing to see her let loose like this, actually.

"I just wanna know if you'd let me borrow the sedan to deliver food." There, I just said it. It's like when an older brother has to borrow money from his younger sibling.

"Can't you just wait for them to fix the scooter?"

"I can, but I don't think it'll be any time soon." I say with a frown.

The Golden Koi might be one of the few family owned restaurants that are thriving, but I can tell things are only like that because the owner is smart with money and frugal with spending it.

You have to admire it, really. As Lucy said, the prices are reasonable when compared to what other similar establishments are charging yet the quality of the food isn't compromised.

It's been that way even before the recent decrease in customers they're experiencing, I can say it's about to change seeing as I'm working there now.

People, generally, feel safer when they eat food inside their own home. Especially in that part of town.

"Hence the bribe, huh?" Lucy gestures to the food she's currently in the middle of eating.

"You got me." I say, raising both of my hands.

"Sure, why not." Lucy says, smiling. "Might as well put that driver's license to use, huh?"

"Sweet." I say with a smile, giving her a thumbs up. "I owe you."

"Really? No take backs, then, how about free food every day?" From her tone, I can tell that she's joking. But, judging by the fact that she's devouring her food with such gusto, I'm not sure if that's the case.

"Sure." I'm entitled to one meal as a part of the staff's food each day anyway. Since I don't really eat anymore, I'll just have them bag me mine before I leave for home. "Though you might wanna get something different every time."

As delicious as noodles are, trust me I know how delicious they are, it can get pretty boring.

"Obviously," she says to me through a mouthful of noodles, "man, if this is a perk of being friends with a Cape, I should've tried to befriend you sooner."

"Not a Cape." I corrected while shooting her a pointed, but ultimately, playful look.

"Right, an Esper, then." Lucy rolls her eyes. "Gee, I don't get why you're so hung up with the label. But… we are friends, right?"

Right after she asks that question, I am greeted with a rare sight of a shy Lucy. I can tell that it takes a lot of effort from her to ask that question. It's… nice.

"I don't see why we can't be friends." I tell her with a smile. "After getting to know you and the things we've been through, I think I'd like you as a friend. God knows I need more of them…"

"I don't want to sound rude, but outside of that David guy from a while back, you don't know that many people, huh?" No offense taken, but damn does it stings.

And 'that' David guy? Bro, David, you gotta work harder man!

"Yeah. David's the only other person I can consider a friend." I say, my tone dipping in tone. "I can't really get into specifics, but being here in the States wasn't my idea. Let's just say that it involved… less normal means."

The look on Lucy's face tells me that she understands the subtext. She probably has her own conclusion to arrive at, but I can tell she got the idea that I'm here out of ordinary means.

I realize that I'm, basically, having the same conversation I had with David with Lucy. I don't know if it means anything, but it seems that I've grown used to lying to teenagers.

"Anyway," I say immediately, before the mood can change for the worse, "I don't want to sound impatient, but I have to ask, what's the ETA on that Number Guy account you're working on?"

If it's about literally anything else, I probably would've sounded a bit rude and way more impatient. But, in my defense, this isn't like opening a savings account with a bank just down the street.

"It's Number Man," whatever, same difference, "and it's almost done. I've heard about big-deal Capes getting theirs in just hours after making their deposit, but we're not exactly that are we?"

I don't know Lucy, you tell me?

"'Depositing' the money itself was a hassle," Lucy sighs with a small hint of misery, "they need you to drop off the cash at an undisclosed location, alone. They also take a three percent cut for first time deposits, but it's up to five percent for every future transaction from that point onwards."

"What about interest rates?"

"About the usual," Lucy shrugs, "but it's worth the fees and hassle, seeing as every transaction you do cannot be traced back to you and you'd be able to make payments to anyone anywhere and at any time."

That's pretty neat. I can definitely see why it's popular with Capes, both heroes and villains.

"So, what, do we just wait for the papers to arrive at the mail or something?"

"We'll be picking it up ourselves," she then continues, reading the confusion plastered on my face, "it's just how he operates. Don't worry, we won't be meeting anyone or anything like that. He'll send me a private message with the exact coordinates and location of our new financial documents."

That seems too ordinary for a world like this. For a moment, I thought a drone or something similar would deliver it to our doorsteps.

"Well, let me know when we can go to pick them up, then. I guess I'll go now," I say, clasping my palms on my knees, using them as support to stand up, "got an early day tomorrow."

"The car key is on the key rack," Lucy says, "you know the one."

"Yeah," I walk to Lucy's door after unhooking the car key from the key rack, already twisting the knob open.

But, just as I was about to leave for my own door, I turned to look at her. "Oh yeah, just text me what you want me to bring back for you. Try not to send any after five, it usually gets busy during those hours."

"Okay!"

Exiting Lucy's apartment, I take the ten steps that will take me to my own front door. For a moment, I consider entering and just spend the rest of the night browsing the internet to do more research…

But I decided not to.

"Let's go for a jog. A quick jog."

I guess I need to say it out loud to bring myself into actually doing it, but a late evening run is no longer as dangerous as it was back before now that I'm better at using my powers.

I just hope I don't have to use them tonight.

"This her?"

She swallows the air building up in her throat, feeling sweat pouring out her back and neck.

"She's one of them… the only one who'll talk anyway."

What do you mean she'll talk?! She's only here because they wouldn't stop bugging her at the hospital! Even the nurses and doctors threatened to call CPS – her parents couldn't be bothered, the worthless bums.

And to hell with Ron, Georgie, and Biff; to hell with the three of them. They can choke on a rock and die for all she cares…

"Hm… she doesn't look like much, are you sure she's useful?"

She feels her muscles clenching and locking down, frozen on her chair from what she's just heard. How can she not?

After all, before her, two of the E88 most violent and notorious Capes are talking to each other while doing a perfect job of sounding and looking intimidating.

"Even better." She can hear the eagerness in Stormtiger's voice, making her heart beat faster. And not in the way one would normally think. "She's triggered and now she's a Parahuman."

"Huh. Isn't that neat?" Hookwolf says, in his bare-chested and half-naked glory, while eyeing her up and down. "What's your name, kid?"

She debates not answering, but quickly realizes not a second later that it isn't a good idea to piss off the man with the most body count in the E88. Shakily, she turns her head to face him, even trying to maintain a semblance of eye contact.

"T-Tanya… My name is Tanya."

It might've come out as something from a squeaky toy, but she doesn't trust her body's ability to represent itself at the moment. Her nerves are in a tizzy and she still hasn't talked to anyone outside of the E88.

"Tanya." Hookwolf repeats the name, as if testing it. "That's a pretty name, a name that I'm sure a young woman like you will grow into."

Young woman? She's seventeen for god's sake! She's a child!

"So my friend over here says you triggered." Hookwolf says, ignoring the inner turmoil she's feeling. "Why don't you tell me all about it before we get to the real reason why you're here?"

Again, she considers not answering the absolute hardliner sitting on a steel chair in front of her.

Everything she's heard about Hookwolf - any E88 Cape really - are all second-hand accounts that've been embellished and construed by other people, she's never seen anything these people can do with her own eyes.

But sitting there in the same room with not one but two of them doesn't make them any less intimidating.

What about her powers? She has powers now right? Can she use them to get herself out of here?

…is what she's thinking, but the Stormtiger's presence behind her blocking the only exit and entrance to the room quickly shuts down any idea that involves using it. Not to mention, she still hasn't understood her powers fully.

So, for now, she'll stick with just answering whatever questions these guys have.

"A-Around a week ago," she misses Stormtiger's subtle reaction, "I… triggered at night."

"...what do you think caused you to trigger, Tanya?"

His question draws out feelings of unpleasantness and pain right out of her.

She can feel the pain she felt in that alleyway rocking her body in an instant, causing her to let out an ear piercing scream as well as fall out of her chair.

She falls, her body continuously blitzed by pain despite nothing being done to her.

Hookwolf and Stormtiger are watching this without any hint of concern, both men looking unbothered by the fact that a little girl is currently writhing in pain right before their eyes.

For what must've felt like an eternity, the pain slowly recedes, skittering away after devastating her. With ragged breathing, she makes the effort to pull herself up, only to fail.

This takes multiple tries before, eventually, she manages to use the steel chair she was sitting on as a crutch.

"Why the hell did you just scream all of a sudden?" Hookwolf's question sounds far too calm to be a demand, but knowing him, it can't be anything else but that.

"I… haah… can't help… haah… it…" She gasps through harsh breathing. "Every time… I try to remember… pain… happens…"

"That's a new one. So, you're telling me that every time you try to remember who sent you to the hospital in the first place, you just feel pain?" Hookwolf asks in his deep and threatening voice. "Like some sort of shock collar on a rabid, unruly mutt?"

She grits her teeth, gnashing her molars against each other. She is conflicted between the remaining sensation of pain she's feeling and the slowly boiling anger that rises from the desire to punch a hole straight through Hookwolf's chest.

"But you're not a rabid mutt, no, you're something more pathetic." Hookwolf nods a gesture.

Stormtiger stomps forward, gripping her harshly by her hair and pulling it so he can hold her head to look up. Hookwolf steps out of his seat, slowly walking towards her. She can only struggle under the grip, hoping that her desperation would activate her powers.

"You're just a scared, whiny, and pitiful pup."

His face may be covered by that twisted metal mask shaped like a wolf's face, but there's no hiding the disgust and anger underneath it. His voice may not sound like he's screaming, but it impacts and cuts just as well.

And, somehow, it pisses her off.

"...!"

"...!"

What followed is a sudden flash of amber. Both men are forced to react, jumping away while covering their eyes from the blinding flash of light.

Somewhere in Brockton Bay, an Esper just finished his late night run and went to take a piss only to realize that he no longer needs to pee. Anymore.