“We are arriving in Toronto Union Station. This is the last stop for this train, so please take all of your belongings with you. Thank you for choosing Greater Lakes Transit.”

The Toronto station was easily twenty times larger than the station I had left that morning, and every inch was swarming with people. Harsh lights glared down on the crowd and voices called out to each other in every language imaginable. After six years of living in isolation, where the loudest sound was the wind during a blizzard, the sensory overload was indescribable. It made me want to blow something up: the whole building, preferably. If it was in ashes, at least this crowd of people would be less noisy.

“Delphi Dunn.” A nearby businessman smiled at me, folding up the newspaper that he had been engrossed in just a few moments before.

I looked him up and down. He was of medium height, build, and appearance, with brown eyes and tidy brown hair. Dressed in a dark suit, with a slightly scuffed leather briefcase held in one hand, he appeared to be a completely average businessman, which of course put me instantly on edge. If I had learned anything about disguises at the Academy, it was that anyone looking as nondescript as this man was almost certainly up to something. He reminded me of an eel - the slimy, slippery kind that made a good soup.

He could be the man sent by the Rubes to help me get settled in Toronto, or he could be someone out to destroy my career before it started. Either way, I wouldn’t learn anything by standing here staring at him. “Yes,” I replied.

“Right this way, Ms. Dancer.” The man tucked his paper under one arm and strode towards the exit, the crowd melting away before his purposeful gait.

Outside smelled of gasoline fumes and sweat, but it was better than the enclosed confines of the station. Naturally, there was a black car with tinted windows waiting for us outside. I took a deep breath of the relatively fresh air before allowing the eel man to hand me into the back seat. He slid into the car behind me, shutting and locking the door. With my superpowers it would take only a second to unlock should the need arise, but it was suspicious nevertheless. I raised an eyebrow at the man, which he ignored.

“Death’s Dancer, I presume.”

This voice was female, and upon hearing it I swivelled hurriedly around to examine the interior of the car. I was definitely not at my most perceptive today. I’d been up since 2am, but that was no excuse. Today, of all days, I had to bring my A game. I dug my fingernails into my palms, hoping that the pain would help me shake off the fog I was swimming through.

Aside from the man who had met me in the station, the car had only one other occupant: a woman, startlingly tall even while seated. Her presence filled the car, making up for the complete lack of interesting features in her companion. The woman was not only tall, but rather large in girth, and wearing a magenta blouse paired with a dramatic black silk skirt. Her attire clashed with her serious face and the briefcase placed on her silk-clad lap.

Her briefcase was identical to the eel man’s - brown leather embossed with the letters R.U.B.E., together with the abstract microscope drawing that was the logo of the Researchers United for a Better Earth.

“That’s me,” I said after only a moment’s pause, my entire perusal taking just seconds. The eel man would cause the most problems if it came to that. I would bet his flamboyant partner was mainly there for a distraction. Anything coming from her would be easy to spot.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Well let’s not all talk at once!” She exclaimed, right on cue. “First, I think some introductions are in order. My name is Ms. Ishida, and this here is Mr. Falcus.”

“Nice to meet you.” I gave them my most insincere smile.

“Well, now that that’s over let’s get down to business. We are here, Ms. Dancer, to officially congratulate you on graduating from the Researchers United Academy for Practical Learning and to welcome you to Toronto, your new home. Right now we are on our way to the apartment we have arranged for you, where you may stay for the duration of your, hopefully lengthy, career. Or until something else changes.” A slight, predatory smile played across her face.

A torrent of questions flooded my mind at this tantalizing bit of information, but I would rather have bitten my tongue off than ask them anything. Fortunately, Ms. Ishida answered my unspoken questions before it was necessary to take such an extreme step.

“Yes, everything is arranged,” Ms. Ishida continued. “Once we reach the apartment, we will give you a generous starting allowance. You will have precisely one month from today to prove to us that you really are supervillain material.”

“What happens at the end of one month?” I asked, forgetting my determination to remain silent and aloof.

Mr. Falcus smirked, but Ms. Ishida continued talking, oblivious. “If by the end of that time period you have not succeeded in vanquishing this city’s resident superhero and getting your name in at least one international newspaper, we will be forced to remove you from your role.”

Despite my best efforts to keep my face unreadable, my jaw dropped at this last comment. These pencil-pushing Rubes thought they could threaten me? “I think you’ve forgotten who has the superpowers around here.”

“I think you’ve forgotten that we know everything about you,” Mr. Falcus responded, his smirk never faltering. “And knowledge is power, after all.”

With these sinister words still ringing in my ears, the car screeched to a halt. I looked out the window, expecting to see the apartment building they had mentioned. Instead, we were in a deserted alleyway, with a couple of rubbish bins and a tattered pile of blankets that looked as though it had held a person not too long ago. They had cleverly kept my attention fixed on them as we drove, and now I cursed myself for my distraction. I wanted to prove that I was supervillain material, and I had started off by letting my guard down just because Mr. Falcus and Ms. Ishida were supposed to be on my side.

“Get out,” Mr. Falcus said calmly, pointing towards the door. I stared at him in confusion for half a second before lunging across the space between the two seats and wrapping my arms around his neck. It was entirely possible that this whole thing had been a trap, one that I had been foolish enough to walk into. They were going to make me get out of the car, then shoot me and dump me in the rubbish bin, using that convenient pile of blankets to soak up the blood, before throwing it out as well.

Too bad for them that I had a hostage now, and the tables were well and truly turned.

By the time I had maneuvered so that my back was to the door, holding the struggling man in front of me in an awkward tangle of arms and legs, Ms. Ishida had calmly pulled a revolver from her briefcase and was pointing it at my head.

“If you don’t let go of him right now you will be dead where you sit and no one will ever hear of the name ‘Death’s Dancer,’” she said, just as calm as she had been while introducing herself a few minutes previously.

“If you don’t put your gun away right now I will snap his neck. Believe me, I can do it,” I retorted.

“I don’t doubt you at all, Ms. Dancer,” she said with a smirk that set my teeth on edge. With exaggerated care, she placed the gun on top of her leather briefcase and lifted her empty hands in the air.

“Now tell me what’s going on,” I said, tightening my grip on Mr. Falcus’ neck to underline my demand. Alarm bells were going off everywhere in my head, triggered by her sudden cooperation, as well as the fact that Mr. Falcus had remained utterly silent throughout his abduction. My eyes were darting all around the car, trying to determine where the attack would come from.

As it turned out, the attack didn’t come from inside the car at all. The door behind me opened abruptly and I fell backwards, losing my grip on my hostage. I had forgotten about the driver. I could have slapped myself for making such a stupid mistake, but the ground was already doing a great job of beating me up. My head cracked painfully against the concrete, sending stars darting across my vision.