Nearly a month after Danger Close, Mateo and I sit eating ugali and fish sauce from a Kenyan shop near the junk yard. I mindlessly flip through the channels on TV – the signal comes in with a bit of static on our hijacked screen. It can get all the local Houston, Vanguard, and PK channels, and even a couple from Austin.

“I don’t get it,” Mateo says, poking at his untouched ugali. “It’s like bread?”

“It’s like a cloud and bread had a baby.” I rip it apart to show him the consistency; somewhere between grits and bread. “Paul thinks it’s like eating paper towels.”

Mateo nibbles at his piece, chewing it in appreciation. His look changes from appreciative to disgusted. “Paul’s right.”

“It’s meant to be dipped in stuff.” I show him how by dipping it in the fish sauce and eating a chunk.

He copies me and takes a chew with the fish sauce. He scowls and spits out what he has in his mouth to my amusement.

“Not a fan?” I ask between chuckles.

“Can’t we just have ramen?”

“Maybe next time. I’m not made of money.”

Flipping the channel again, the TV blares with jangly guitars, tinny drums, stirring strings, all cacophonous in announcing a new collection of Vanguard sponsored musicians. A man, his goatee clearly dyed black, his skin orange-tan from cheap spray, dressed in a starch-stiff dress shirt and an old world cowboy hat, croons a song about capes. Images of Megajoule, Bedevil, and other important Vanguard capes scroll by. Hell, some of the capes are performing on the album.

I grimace at the overproduced twang. Mateo looks over at me like he’s just smelled something horrible.

The cowboy disappears with his song as I switch to a ballet performance.

It’s been like this for a couple of weeks. I promised Paul I’d keep my head down, so I’m keeping my head down. Mateo’s hand is getting better. It’s not yet healed enough for him to join me when I go out, but the day is coming soon when he’ll be able to take his splint off. He’s even resting his plate on his injured arm (which he shouldn’t be but I’m not his dad).

I finish off my meal and bring my plate to our little kitchen to scrape the tiny bits in the trash. Of course, Pawpaw follows me and whines at my leg, begging me with his beautiful eyes and wagging tail to give him a morsel. And of course, I can’t say no. I hand him a bite; his little food dance brings a smile to my face.

“Ay! Gabe! The TV!” Mateo cries out. He’s alarmed so now I’m alarmed – I practically warp over the counter to see what’s got him freaked out.

The city’s media director, Tim Prince, smiles at the camera, and it feels like that smile could squirm under my skin. I’ve never liked the way he looks at the camera – like he’s about to fuck it. So weird. But he’s got broadcaster good looks, even he’s clearly wearing makeup to cover up some skin issues. “Good evening, Houston. I’m Tim Prince, and here are this week’s updates. Tonight, the capes have announced that Home Run, the mask whose image circulated social boards and news channels earlier this month in connection to the death of Danger Close, has been elevated to cloak status.”

A cloak? And Home Run, huh? That’s the name they’re giving me. I turn it over in my head. Not bad.

Mateo slaps my arm, a big dumb grin on his face. “Look at that! They’re so scared of you they’re putting you on the TV! They’re calling you a cloak!”

Tim’s smile never falters, never changes. “The Vanguard advises everyone to report to a disentanglement station for pathic disentanglement from Home Run. In the meantime, fear not, citizens, because the Vanguard has sent one of their best and brightest to protect Houston. Bedevil, former teammate of Megajoule, arrived in Houston earlier today to begin an investigation into the cloak. If you see her around town, don’t hesitate to wave hello, and be sure to visit the Houston Shrine to pick up merchandise.”

With Tim’s lovely little advertisement, they show a picture of Bedevil. In the picture, she’s young, bright, golden hair flowing wildly as she flies, arms outstretched like wings. Then, they cut to an interview outside the Houston Shrine with her and the difference strikes me on the skull: she’s in layers of make-up and it’s still not enough to hide the bags under her eyes, the mark on her cheek from a fight, and her natural smile now a fake replica of the real thing. It wouldn’t be hard to convince me they killed the girl and replaced her with a depressed clone.

I chuckle. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

“Bedevil, you just came from Miami, right?” one of the reporters asks. “You dealt with the Thunder Prince there? How did you manage that?”

“He was just a small fry!” Even with a fake smile, her laugh is gorgeous, like bells tinkling.

“You’re here to investigate the mask Home Run?” another asks.

“Guilty as charged,” she says, giving a cocky grin. Like it’s a foregone conclusion she’ll catch me.

“She kinda bad,” Mateo says, studying the screen intently.

I shoot a glance off his brow. “You’re too young to talk like that.”

The TV clicks off. Paul somehow snuck up on us, probably as we were staring at the hot cape on the news. His face his twisted with rage, turning him into a hideous gargoyle, and I think he’s about to start shrieking at me. But, suddenly, he exhales, and the demon is banished. His anger is still flowing through the room, though. “Hope you’re happy about that, kid.”

“Hey, I didn’t have any control over that,” I growl.

“Yeah, you did. Don’t get the capes called on us while I’m gone.” Paul throws me another dirty look before leaving on his nightly errands.

“Old fucker,” Megajoule whispers in my ear. “He doesn’t know what it will take to save the world. He resents you just for being who you are.”

I can’t take it anymore. The pressure behind my eyes, the building agony of anger. I grab the TV remote and hurl it against the wall.

“Woah!” Mateo shouts as it shatters to pieces.

I can’t bear to look at him or anyone. I can only get up and march my ass outdoors.

#

I come to terms with my fate over a cigarette. I draw the curtains over our porch, so I can sit outside without having to worry about a drone capturing my face.

I draw the cigarette from my pocket and fill my finger with heat. A little flame sprouts from my fingernail.

My lungs don’t feel it; they never have. At least I can taste and smell the charred sweetness.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Mateo says, appearing at the door.

“Rarely,” I reply. I didn’t want to smoke in front of him. But now that he’s here, I shrug and continue.

Mateo watches me. “Yeah, you don’t seem like a smoker. My pa smoked like a chimney. The smell was in his clothes and his hands.”

“Yeah?” I ask, wanting to encourage him. He looks happy thinking about his pa.

But he doesn’t dwell on it long. “Do you like it?” he asks.

“Doesn’t do much for me. It’s more the ritual I find comforting. Like making a cup of coffee in the morning before Paul wakes up. You know?” Not the good coffee, though, just whatever I can find on the street. I remember the lab had real coffee, and though I never got to taste it, the smell was rich to the point of making me cry.

Mateo shakes his head. “I’ve never had coffee. I used to see it get shipped off by those big robot ships. The ones that look like drones but bigger. They’d come pick up huge crates of it and fly off. Before I left home, there wasn’t any more growing.”

Just another thing the world’s lost.

I part the curtains a little so we can see the sky. We sit together quietly, watching Houston roll on through the night, shining in defiance of the darkness. The colors in the sky shift and dance from violet to green to the blue at the bottom of the ocean, always tinted by the crimson hue coming from the Null Domain. The world reminds us that there are bigger things than cigarettes and coffee. I’m told that long ago, the sky looked different, but the Affect Haze changed how it looks.

Then Mateo does what all boys his age do when they know there’s something horrible going on and they want to try and fix it. He says, “Pshaw” and shrugs like it’s no big deal. “So they called you a cloak,” Mateo says. “Is that a really bad thing?”

I shake my head and draw in way too much of my cigarette. I meant to make it last, but now it’s half gone. I exhale and say, “It means they’re gunning for me. There’s capes, there’s masks, and then there’s cloaks. Cloaks are the scary monsters, the things that go bump in the night. The supervillains and the creatures that could never get along in society.”

“Why do you care what they call you? They’re an evil empire,” Mateo says.

I snort.

“I’m serious! This cartel boss my dad liked a lot used to say the Vanguard is trying to survive the world, while the rest of us have to survive the world and the Vanguard together.”

“No such thing as an evil empire.” I’m not confident in what I’m saying, though. Every day I’m confronted by the Vanguard’s shittiness. It’s just… I don’t know. I can stand against one cape, maybe even a dozen. I don’t know if I can take on the entire system. “People are evil.”

“They made you, didn’t they?” he asks, staring at me much more earnestly. “You and your brothers.”

His question hits a sore spot and rekindles my anger. I can’t even bear to think of my brothers.

Mateo senses this and turns away from me. He grows dismayed and says, “Sorry.”

I turn away and fall silent.

“What if the Vanguard ordered you made?” Mateo asks.

“Then I’ll kill the person that made the order,” I say. “If that’s Oracle, then fine. But you know killing her wouldn’t get rid of the Vanguard, right?”

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Mateo shrugs. He scratches at the edge of his splint, and I can see how little it bothers him. It will come off soon. And then I’ll think about making my way to the lab. “Let’s see what the future brings, I guess.”

#

To avoid Paul for the next couple of nights, I go out, not on errands, not on anything important. Just to feel the pulse of the city. I know it’s foolhardy for me to be out, but I know the city and its dark spots well enough that I shouldn’t be seen by any capes or drones. I just want to check on things, is all.

Which leads me back to Saw Off and Lugs. To their shitty autogarage with its rusting walls, rusting doors, faded bricks. With the smell of sewer in the air. All of it stinks, but I suppose the best place for a mask to hide is in the trash.

No drones are hanging in the area, no capes skulking about. I reach out with my thermal sense and confirm that at least one person is home. From the size, I’d guess Saw Off. Thankfully they’ve been untouched by the whirlwind kicked up after Danger Close.

The direct approach is best. I knock on the rusty door. The heartbeat inside picks up and panic starts seeping out through the windows. Saw Off is no master when it comes to hiding her more excited emotions.

After a few seconds, she comes up to the door, a shotgun shell in her hand, ready to load into her power. “Who is it?”

“Open the door, nerd,” I bark, rapping on it again. “And don’t you dare think about shooting me through the door, you’re just gonna annoy me.”

“No Name?” The sliding eye slit reveals Saw Off’s eyes, minus her usual camouflage makeup. Her heartbeat speeds up even more. “You’re alive!” The door opens with a groan and she ushers me inside. She’s traded her baggy cargo pants and army jacket for a fuzzy sweater and pajamas, and her hair is loose and free to her shoulders. “You- You fucking hypocrite!” Saw Off punches me in the arm, with little impact. “You left us! Why the hell are you back here? Especially after that stunt with the Danger Close?”

I sigh, knowing full well I’m in the wrong here. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Saw Off stammers. “You’re… what?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I must be hearing things because-”

“How do you manage to fit all that fucking attitude in your short ass? I’m not gonna say it again.”

Saw Off barks a laugh. “That can’t be right. No Name, saying he’s sorry? Mr. Holier than Thou, Mr. The Capes are Gonna Come Down on Your Head?”

“How many of those do you have?” I ask. She shakes her head, and only then do I see that her make-up is smeared by tears, and her eyes are puffy and red. Only then do I realize… “Where’s Lugs?” I ask, a pit already forming in my stomach.

Saw Off spits, wipes at her eye with her thumb, and says, with a crack, “Gone.” Her negative emotion pierces me. Like falling into knives. “I can’t find him.”

I grimace beneath my mask. Just like the other masks that have been ghosted off the street. “Shit.”

“He wouldn’t leave me.”

No. I’ve only known them for a little while but I know that. “We can go look for him?”

“I know what happened to him.” Saw Off scowls at me. “The same thing that’s happening to every other mask in this damn city. We’re getting picked off by someone.”

“You don’t think it might have been the capes?” My battle with Danger Close… maybe it’s bringing the entire world down on my head, like Mega said. Except it’s not just me under the rubble.

Saw Off chews on that for a second, then shakes her head. “Nah. He’d be showing up here all mind-screwed and trying to convince us to lay down and die. And then the capes would bust down our door. They’d go pew pew or zap zap and we’d be dead.” She side-eyes me and adds, “Or maybe just me.”

“Man.” I sit down on one of her grimy couches and lean back into it. I growl out “Man!” again, as if it’ll change anything, as if there’s some man I can find and punch in the dick to make this alright.

Saw Off leans against the ping-pong table, her arms crossed to shield herself from all this bullshit, her face pinched up like she’ll pop if she relaxes. “He was the closest thing I ever had to a big brother. Closest thing I ever had to a dad, really.”

“Hey, he’s not gone. We can find him. I’ve got somewhere to start.”

Saw Off’s surprise floods out of her. “You’ve got a lead, huh? You know who’s taking masks off the streets?”

“An Affect slaver named Pandahead.”

She snorts. “Fuck kinda name is that?”

“Wish I could share your blasé ‘tude, but I’m having a hard time forgetting the human smoothie he made.” I stare at the roll up garage doors, and for a second, I can hear the body heat of the fresh corpses beyond. I shake my head, scowling, willing this apparition away, and it goes.

“Gross. What makes you think Lugs ain’t ended up like that?”

I don’t want to give away all of Mateo’s story yet, so I dance around it: “From what I learned, the whole thing was an accident. No one was supposed to die. Danger Close himself even admitted it to me.”

“Before you killed him.” Saw Off looks down at me. “You know what they’re calling you?”

“I do.”

“So I guess you got a mask name now, Home Run.”

I grumble. I don’t like the sound of it. I didn’t choose it.

“So… you know where this Pandahead is, so we can ask him real nice-like where he took our Lugs?” Saw Off asks.

It chafes me to admit that I don’t know, so I shut my mouth. She gathers enough from that and continues, “You’re saying you’ve got nothing?”

Not nothing. I’ve got a kid who barely knows anything, but at least it’s a start. But I’m wary to tell Saw Off about him and get him wrapped up in all this. He’s a kid, he shouldn’t have to engage in mask violence. “Next to it.”

Saw Off slaps the table. “That settles it then. We’ve got to find someone who knows about this Pandahead. And I’ve got just the terrorist organization in mind.”

It takes all my effort to restrain my anger so she doesn’t feel it. And I fail anyways, because she groans at me, and adds, “C’mon, man, you gotta admit we’re small fries. Capecide set aside, we’ve got nothing. Hell, I wasn’t nothing but a kid when Houston got whatever it’s called by the capes. I don’t know anyone from before that, and I’m guessing you don’t either. Lugs was the only one with those kinda connections.”

“Why can’t you see this is a bad idea?”

“It’s not a bad idea to care about the future!” she shouts. “We can’t live like this, like fuggin’… like rats! I can’t stomach another year of it, hiding our powers, who we are, just so we don’t get swallowed up. And if I have to go to the Front on my own, without you, and we find Pandahead, I’ll do it. If that’s what it takes to get Lugs back!”

I stand up and match her energy, shouting down at her. “So what are you gonna do when you get in over your head? We stay out of the way, and that’s how we’ve survived all this time! That’s what Lugs would say if he were here!”

“And now he ain’t, so what good is that?” Saw Off glares up at me, and I worry for a second she’ll try her luck in a battle. Not that I couldn’t handle it, I just really don’t want to fight her. Instead, she shakes her head. “You know what, if you’re still gonna be bullheaded, you can go be bullheaded somewhere else.” She points to the door.

I go without another word, my heart hammering, my fury roaring, all the heat inside me begging to be used with my flaring emotions. Rather go than do something I’ll regret.

Once again, I find myself standing outside someone’s door, frustration mounting inside me. Hear that kettle whistling? Hear that water boiling? My own temples are like a vise grip, smashing down my brain. I just want to find some relief from whatever it is that’s got its teeth in me, but everywhere I’ve turned, I’ve found nothing but someone slamming their door in my face.

As I stand there, fuming, a whisper enters my perception, striding toward the garage. I freeze, watch, and wait, expecting all the city’s capes to come crashing down on me. But they don’t.

The shadows of the street gather, assembling themselves into a single shape—Megajoule. He locks his gaze on me. His green eyes burn with glee. “I think you should do it.”

I wish I could strangle him right this second. Mostly because that’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard. “What?”

“I said I think you should do it.”

“No, I heard you, Joules, but what happened to keeping our head down and finding the people from the lab?”

Megajoule groans and throws his hands into the air. “C’mon, are you dense? You remember Pandahead. Finding him is a piece of finding the people from the lab.”

“Even if that means we have to join up with the Front?”

“Tell me, kid, how far have you gotten on your own this last month? And how far do you think that brat is gonna take you?” He’s taken to calling Mateo ‘that brat,’ lately. “Nowhereville. That’s where. But the Front… well they’re organized, they’ve got structure, people all across the city. You could use that, Home Run.”

“Don’t call me that.” I don’t like it, I don’t think. It’s another name slapped onto me for lack of a better one.

“Like it or not, it’s gonna stick now. The city knows you by that name.” Megajoule steps up to the door, seems to grow in height so that he’s looking down his nose at me. “You get that? The city knows you. Your only reason for not joining with the Front was infamy. And guess what?” He jabs at my chest with an immaterial finger. “You’re infamous already.”

Part of me wants to shove him, even knowing I can’t, and the other part sees his reasoning. But what I don’t understand is his motivation. “Why do you want me to do this?”

Megajoule shrinks back from me. He looks thoughtful for a second, and then his gaze sharpens. “This world is broken, it is disappointing. It needs to be saved from itself. Burn it down and rework it. You can’t do it alone.” His piece said, he vanishes into mist, the heartbeat disappearing into nothing.

I stand there for a few more seconds, not wanting to make the decision. But it’s becoming increasingly clear that if I want to make any progress, I’m going to have to meet the Front. I don’t have to sign up, necessarily – maybe we can work together once and then go our merry ways.

I knock on the garage door again. Saw Off is already ranting on the other side, her voice muffled through the wall. She pauses at my knock, then shouts, “I told you to go the fuck away, Home Run! What else could you want?”

“The Front. Where are they?”

#

Saw Off calls it the chapel that isn’t a chapel.

Whatever it is, whatever it was, it’s now an overgrown field. Piles of rubble lay in the footprint of what used to be a large building. A broken obelisk stands over a pool turned green from algae, serving as a sort of entrance marker to the park.

It’s been two days since I agreed to go with Saw Off to meet the Front. And now, I’m in a part of town unfamiliar to me: Montrose. I usually don’t cross this side of Houston. I feel exposed. The kaleidoscope of color, tarp, and plastic that drenches the Shells is replaced here by squat wooden houses and brick shops. Thankfully there’s some trees, but other than that, it’s wide open. If there was a drone patrolling nearby, there would be little in the way of cover.

“This can’t be their hideout,” I mumble to Saw Off, who is currently chewing her way through a bag of cheese chips.

“This is where that Silent lady told me to meet.” Saw Off shows me a little card with a date and time covered in orange dust from her fingers.

I take the card with a frown and confirm the date and location. There’s even a little scrawled map to help us find it. Nowhere else it could be but here. And yet, there’s nothing, no one, just the quiet lot ahead of us.

A gentle ringing tone fills the air. The water in the pool beneath the obelisk ripples.

I reach out again with my thermal senses, and then I realize something – I’m not getting anything from the lot. There’s always little fluctuations, especially with water, but I see nothing inside that place. “They’re shielding it.” Likely from the Affect in general and not my senses in particular.

“Let’s make it happen, captain.” Saw Off dusts her hands off loudly and then jumps to her feet.

“Wait!” I hiss, but she’s already striding across the street. “Are you an idiot?”

She flips me the bird.

“You’re gonna make me regret this whole thing!” I jump up and chase after her, until we’re standing on the grounds of the chapel that isn’t a chapel.

Before I catch up to Saw Off, the woman named Silent steps out from behind a bit of rubble, an old school saber pointed at me over Saw Off. She wears the same outfit she wore that night in Tom’s Garage, a leather jacket and a motorcycle helmet. “Just gonna walk in without saying howdy?”

I get between Saw Off and her – Saw Off might be tough but she’s not invincible. “I’m judicious with my howdys.”

Silent shrugs and lowers her rapier. “I expected two, but not this two.”

“Lugs got taken,” Saw Off says.

Silent sheathes her blade and instead lifts up a plastic wand with the same rainbow circuit design as the PK Dampener cuffs. This wand is the source of that ethereal ringing note. The water of the pool ripples out from Silent’s position.

“That from PK?” I ask. “Where’d you get your hands on it?”

“It masks our Affects and helps keep drones off our trail.” Silent rattles this off like it’s the most boring information.

I knew not to underestimate them, but I’m surprised they’re carrying stolen Affected tech. PK Resonance is the last true corporation in Foundation, able to somehow employ people in building their technology. This runs counter to everything I’ve learned about Affected gear. When a builder uses the Affect to make something, only they can make it, and when they die, everything they built goes with them. PK bypassed that somehow.

“I thought you weren’t interested in the Front,” Silent says to me. “What changed? Got a taste for killing capes now that you’ve laid one out… Home Run?”

“I’m not interested in your shitty little group. But I bet you’ll know where I can find a guy named Pandahead.”

Silent’s Affect betrays her in that moment. Shock and fear. She tilts her head and asks, “How did you hear that name?”

“You know him?”

“Of him.” She nods at me. “I think you should meet Epione, then.”

The chapel that isn’t a chapel is a ring of rocks, surrounded by rotten wood benches. A single wall still stands, and on this wall rests an entirely black canvas.

Silent walks up to the canvas and runs her fingers along it, demonstrating that it is simply a painting. I do the same. The canvas is flexible, just a little, bending beneath my touch.

“Saw Off is here with Home Run,” Silent says, her head tilted to the side as if she’s talking over her shoulder.

The black painting changes, deepening, becoming a dark hallway leading into nowhere. I can barely see it take shape, but it does, looking like I could step up into it.

Silent proves it by walking up into the painting. She disappears into the inky blackness. I glance back at Saw Off, sure my eyes bursting through my goggles, but she just shrugs. “Okay, sure, like that’s not absolutely insane.”

A hand pokes back out through the painting, motioning us to follow.

“Ladies first.” Saw Off punctuates this statement by shoving me in the back, and while I absorb the force of her shove, when I turn around to snap at her for it, I trip and topple forward into the black paint.