Dylan walked slowly away from the scene of the fire. He couldn’t really muster up the energy to go faster. Several people stared at him, and quite a few ducked off the street and walked away when they saw him coming. It seemed like more people knew who he was, now. That made sense, as the information had more time to disseminate.
Dylan found that he didn’t really care, at the moment, what people thought of him. He wasn’t feeling as glum as before, but it was still hard to reckon with the fact that, in some sense, he’d failed. That hadn’t happened before. Sure, it hadn’t all gone perfectly. Most notably in his encounter with Dynamis. But despite the mistakes, his presence had made things better. He had stopped that robbery, and saved those hostages. And to be honest, it was Dynamis’ fault that he had gotten into a fight with Dylan in the first place.
And yeah, in this case, a lot of the blame fell onto the Pyromancer, Dr. Baughman’s daughter. Dylan knew that. But at the same time, his presence there hadn’t helped, for once. Likely, had he never shown up, the clinic would be fine. The only reason that an angry pyromancer was unleashed inside of it was because she specifically had a beef with him.
Dylan was angry at the super, however. He didn’t remember her name, and didn’t really get an opportunity to ask once everything had settled down. What had he done to earn such animosity? Why had she decided to attack him in the clinic itself?
These thoughts plagued him as he walked, swirling around in his head. They were thoughts he couldn’t resolve, thoughts he didn’t have an answer for. The rage from his battle with Dynamis was still present, but now there was confusion and shame. They whirled around inside him in a miserable concoction.
Dylan still had the presence of mind to keep an eye out for an abandoned building as he walked. He passed quite a few that looked like they could have fit the criteria at first glance, but ultimately ended up being run down. Still, he kept looking. He couldn’t bring his armor home. It was a wonder his mother hadn’t found it already, and if his father had returned in his absence then he was certain to catch on. His dad tended to be pretty sharp.
Plus, even getting it close to the house would be far harder now that everybody was looking for the suit. Well, technically, the man (boy) within the suit was the one that they wanted, but they could only identify him by it, at least as far as he knew. Maybe they’d gotten his blood, and could track him. Perhaps they were even waiting at his house, right now. Dylan couldn’t really do anything about it if they were. He’d just have to keep on keeping on, and hope that everything worked out, in the near future.
He eventually found a building that met his criteria. It was clustered with a few other buildings, of which several others looked to be barely used or abandoned. There were a few homeless people sleeping around the area, and many of the buildings had broken windows. The one he’d chosen was the best for his purposes. It was kind of in the middle of the cluster. It was squat, two stories high, compared to the three or more stories of the buildings around it. There were already multiple broken windows, a few of which had been boarded up in a futile attempt to keep out trespassers.
Dylan chose one of the windows, and gently pulled himself through, thankful that his suit protected him from the glass. Fitting through the window was a bit harder than he’d expected, because of the lessened mobility from the damage to his armor. Despite the brief struggle, he still made pretty quick work of getting into the building.
Inside, it was dark, nobody willing to power such a rundown building. It smelled like mold and piss, and the walls were tagged with graffiti and stained with mysterious dark fluids that had long since dried.
Dylan scanned around the room, trying to make sure that there wasn’t anybody else in here. It was warm outside, so hopefully that would limit the number of homeless that ended up sheltering there. Dylan would be back to get his armor long before winter came, unless he got arrested or killed, at which point he would have bigger things to worry about. Plus, his drone would be guarding the armor while he was away. That should be enough to stop any would be thieves. Anybody who could take it would be strong enough that they shouldn’t really need a suit of beat up power armor.
He didn’t think anybody who would come in here would report it to the authorities, but there was always a chance. Dylan figured that he’d just have to take that chance.
He walked up the concrete stairs, each footfall sending plumes of dust wafting away. The top floor looked similar to the bottom floor, if a little less messy. Vandalizing downstairs seemed to be sufficient for a decent amount of the people that had broken in over the years.
Dylan mentally reached out, contacting his drone. It was hovering over the building, hiding in between the surrounding structures. Focusing, he looked through its sensor. He executed a 360 degree spin, looking to see if anybody was nearby. Finding the area empty, Dylan released his concentration.
It was time to get out of his armor. Dylan was pretty nervous. This was where it was most likely to go wrong, in his opinion. If someone stumbled in here, he’d probably have to kill them to keep his identity secret. He didn’t really mind if criminals died when he was fighting them, but Dylan didn’t really know if he could handle killing an innocent person who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, he wasn’t entirely sure what else he could do. He was eager to avoid letting the authorities learn his identity.
His helmet released, and Dylan reached up, grabbing it and moving it down to his side. Hopefully his suit would be able to continue holding onto it even when he wasn’t wearing it. He really didn’t want to let it touch the floor.
The back popped open, allowing Dylan to step out. He looked his armor over, viewing it from an outside perspective for the first time since he’d fought Kasha and Dynamis. He let out a small sigh. It was going to be a total pain to repair.
The front was smashed in, the metal of the helmet was dented. There was a large clawmark on the back. The metal was littered with a bunch of small scratches. The suit was covered in soot and blood. The battles that he’d been through were clearly visible. He wasn’t sure how much more of a beating it could have taken. Maybe it would have lasted one more fight. Dylan wasn’t sure. He’d grab it again, in a few days, and then go to the junkyard, and look for parts.
He had his drone look around the building once more, checking if anybody was there. It was still clear. Dylan directed it to fly into the building, before realizing that it wouldn’t fight through the window. Heaving a sigh, Dylan got back into his suit, and “widend” one of them. The drone was able to fit after that.
With a final check, to make sure that everything was in the correct place, Dylan headed back down the stairs. Hopefully everything would work out alright.
He ended up encountering another problem downstairs: getting out of the building. The door was still locked, and the only path he could take out of the building was through one of the broken windows.
Dylan spent at least ten minutes looking for another way out, or a way to make getting through the window easier. When he found nothing, he slid his shirt off, placing it on the window frame, before hopping through. Dylan felt a sharp pain in his palm, and looked down. A shard of glass had pierced his shirt, and was currently embedded in his hand.
Dylan swore and removed it, tossing it aside, before removing his shirt from the window frame, shaking it out, in an attempt to remove all of the glass that it had surely picked up, and put it back on.
It was time for him to head back home. While Dylan was less nervous about this part of the plan than the previous, he still felt worried about it. He was near the edge of the bad part of town, but there was still a chance he’d encounter a mugger or crackhead. Luckily, he should be good once he made it out. Dr. Baughman had been kind enough to give him a set of new clothing. It was a cheap, white shirt, likely from one of the 20 packs you could find at most department stores. The pants seemed to be equally cheap. Dylan didn’t mind, though. It meant that he wouldn’t be wearing torn, blood stained clothing.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Taking one last, furtive look back at the building, he stepped out into the alley, and started on his way back home.
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Dylan made it back home in one piece. He hadn’t gotten accosted. In fact, most people didn’t even look at him, although one woman stopped him, and lectured him about walking around by himself while there was a dangerous villain in the area.
“The authorities still haven’t caught him, you know? He might see you, and decide to take you hostage, or worse. Your parents would be so upset at you, if that happened. I know you think that you’re invincible, at that age, but you really ought to be more careful.”
Dylan just seriously nodded, thanking the woman for her advice, before continuing on. Well, it seemed that, at the very least, the general public was unaware of who he was. Perhaps he was lucky, and it was the same for the authorities.
When he arrived at his house, he looked through the front door. Not seeing his mother, he stealthily went upstairs, and grabbed a pair of his own clothes, before moving into the bathroom, and taking a shower for the first time in what felt like weeks.
Dylan stood under the water for nearly 20 minutes, soaking. He didn’t have to worry about his stitches. His wounds were all healed already, and although he wasn’t back to 100%, the fatigue he felt shouldn’t really have been noticeable to anybody else. Dr. Baughman had told him that the stitches would dissolve on their own in a few weeks, so he wouldn’t have to come back and get them removed. Even the cut on his hand had stopped bleeding. Despite all of the shit he’d just been through, being a super certainly had its advantages.
Eventually, though, in order to avoid massacring his parents' water bill, he had to get out of the shower. He dried off, putting his clothes on, and slid the ones he was given back under his bed. Then, he headed downstairs to get something to eat. He hadn’t consumed much in the past few days. He’d mostly been asleep, although Dr. Baughman occasionally brought him something.
His appetite had been pretty small during that time, but now, Dylan was feeling the lack of food with a roaring intensity. He winced as his stomach cramped, feeling a little nauseous. He quickly rummaged through the cabinet, looking for something that he could easily scarf down.
He quickly found a package of graham crackers, which he tore open. There were three plastic bags filled with crackers inside of the package. He tore through the first two, and was in the middle of stuffing his face with the third when he heard someone clearing their throat.
Dylan looked up, and saw his mother standing there, arms crossed, a stern look on her face. He tried to speak, realized that his mouth was still full of cracker, and spent the next minute chewing.
Once he was sure his speech wouldn’t be obstructed, he looked up.
“Hi Mom! How’s it hanging?”
If anything, that made her look scarier.
Dylan let out an awkward cough.
“Is everything ok?”
She walked past him, putting her hands on the sink, drawing in a deep breath.
“Dylan. I know I’ve been distracted, for the past while, while your father was away. It’s understandable to be a little worried about him. It’s been years since he’s left the house for so long. I want to ask you, though, if you really thought that I wouldn’t notice my son disappearing, for over a week. Without telling me anything.”
Dylan started to speak, but was quickly cut off.
“Now, I could forgive that pretty easily. I’d have been mad, sure. I don’t ever want you running off for longer than a day without telling me. But I know how kids your age are.”
She paused for dramatic effect.
“Do you know what was on the news, for the past week? It was a villain. At loose, in this town. He survived a fight with our acting hero. In fact, if the rumors are to be believed, he won that fight. Now, maybe you haven’t watched the news. Kids your age often don’t. But, I don’t believe for one second that nobody around you talked about it.”
She turned, now, to look directly at him.
“For all that’s good, what made you think that it would be ok for you to be away from home, without telling me where you were, or how long you would be gone, while there was an active supervillain rampaging through the city. Please, Dylan. Tell me what you were thinking.”
Dylan gulped. He had kind of forgotten that his mother had no idea where he was. He was really glad he hadn’t let his parents see his suit. He would have been completely fucked. As it was, as far as they knew, his power was relatively weak. They’d only seen him make the lightswitch.
He took a breath to steady himself, thinking about what he was going to say.
“Uh, sorry. I didn’t know I’d be gone that long. I was hanging out with friends. And uhh, about the villain, I didn’t really think it would matter? Like, he’s deeper in the city, no? Plus, doesn’t he wear a big metal suit? I would probably be able to see him coming pretty easy.”
His mother frowned at that, but at least she didn’t look as angry anymore. She walked over, and wrapped him in a tight hug.
“Dylan, please never do that again, ok? I’m already stressed enough as is. And in the future, don’t take supers, especially villains, so lightly. You don’t know what he can do. What if he could fly, or teleport? I know you’re also a super, but you’re young, and you’re not experienced with fighting. Young supers have some of the highest death rates in the nation, because they get cocky. I know you’re staying out of dangerous stuff, but still. Don’t try and be a hero. Just be safe.”
She looked him in the eyes again.
“Promise?”
Dylan stared back.
“I promise, Mom.”
She let him go.
“Good. I’ll be making dinner soon. I’ll call you when it’s ready.
He nodded, and headed towards the stairs, making sure to grab what remained of the final pack of graham crackers while he did so.
Up in his room, Dylan sighed. It seemed like they either hadn’t released a description of his powers, or if they had, his mom hadn’t seen it. Plus, his parents seemingly thought he was far weaker than he was. That was good.
Dylan looked out of his window, into the backyard. He’d have to get rid of as many of the scraps back there as he could. He could keep a few, and tell his parents he’d managed to gather some stuff to experiment on. It would make sense, and explain where he’d been. He could make some shitty little device, or something, to further sell the story.
And he’d have to be a lot more careful when his father got back. He could be scarily observant. Dylan couldn’t bring his suit back to the house anymore. He frowned. His father would probably notice if Dylan was gone every time the suited super showed up. Plus, how would he get anything accomplished if he was wanted constantly? It would be hard to redeem himself here. And he didn’t particularly feel like being a villain. He doubted he could for long, anyways. Dynamis wasn’t even a full hero, and he had mostly whooped Dylan’s ass.
He brushed the concerns aside. He could worry about it later. He’d rest here for a day or two, and maybe even clean out those scraps (or put them in the basement or something), and then he’d go to the junkyard to get supplies to repair his armor. Dylan would have tried to fix it with the stuff behind the shed, but that would mean going and actually bringing it to the suit, or bringing the suit here. Neither would be easy. No, it would be better if he just got new materials. Besides, what was left back there was mostly worthless anyways.
Dylan still wasn’t sure how exactly this was all going to pan out. He felt regret at being part of the Baughmans clinic burning down. He felt that, perhaps, he had rushed into everything a little too fast. But he also felt anger. Anger at everything that had happened, at all the people who had stood against him, for no good reason. Who had messed everything up. Was he perfect? No. Would everything have gone better, had they not meddled in where they weren’t needed? Dylan certainly thought so.
He supposed struggle was only natural. What was the saying? Nothing worth it comes easy? Dylan supposed that was true. It certainly hadn’t been easy so far. Hopefully, it would start to go a little better.