I picked the little girl up and brought her out of the house. We went to stand on the porch where the rain couldn't touch us, and as we passed by the kitchen, I made sure that she didn't see what was inside. The bodies of her dead parents were laying there, with one of them still twitching and writhing. Though the movement made it look as though they might still have been alive, I knew from my power that there was no saving them now. They were verymuch gone.

This kid was old enough to understand was going on around her for the most part, and she was bound to put two and two together very soon. Yet, for just the moment, she was too preoccupied with having been choked and thrown to the floor in the middle of a bloody fight to care. She'd had a man's head blown to pieces right beside her. These were the things that tended to hold a kid's attention and keep them from thinking too much.

All of that was a blessing compared to the reality she was now entering. I knew from experience, being utterly alone hurt a lot more than a little bit of physical suffering. It was better to be thinking about your own body in the present and its needs, rather than to be thinking about the uncertainty that awaited you. The future, I found, could hold far more dread inside it than the day ever did.

Worry is worse than poison, I thought.

As I set her down she started to head back inside, but I made sure that she stayed right by my side. She was safe there, and she simply kept on crying to herself and didn't struggle against me. I could turn my attention back to the larger situation with that taken care of.

Something else nagged at the back of my mind, but I put it away. I didn't want to think about how close I had just come to dying.

Sixes was still on the move, I saw. He went to the back of the truck and, finding no keys, used his laser cutter from before; the one he'd saved us with back in the van, to sever the lock. He threw the rolling door upwards then and greeted all the villain's captives inside. "You're safe now!" he called. "You're free!"

As they began to understand that he was not one of the bad guys, I watched their auras light up with joy and relief. All thirty-plus of them began to overflow with gratefulness, and Sixes lit up a bit too. It overwhelmed his seriousness.

I'm glad for him, I thought. After losing his friend, this must be a nice reminder for him about the reason he took this job.

The little girl managed to choke out some words as she pulled at my shirt, stealing my attention back from that scene of joy. "Where are my parents? Mister Superhero?" she asked, urgency growing in her tone.

At this moment, I didn't feel like much of a hero, but I put on a smile for her anyway and thought of the words to say. Yet, "They're... uh..." I stopped cold as the question worked its way through my mind.

Should I lie? Should I tell her the truth? I wondered.

If I didn't tell her, someone else would just have to do it later. Wouldn't that be a cowardly thing to do, to put that off on some faceless social worker instead of taking responsibility myself? But then again, she had a lot to deal with right now, and to throw so much grief on top of her uncertainty was verging on an act of cruelty.

Make up your mind, goddammit. Give this girl a confident answer and stop staring at her like you're weak!

Mercy, I decided. Mercy would have to do for now. Hopefully, it was not just my cowardice talking.

While I held her hand, I sent calming energy through our touch as I told her, "They're alright." And with that, I willed her to believe me.

As you would expect, it was exactly what she wanted to hear, and the push went through successfully. So much relief washed over her that she actually began to sag, and her eyes drooped closed. She fell halfway into sleep from the parasympathetic reaction that my power caused, and I had to catch her and hold her up. I was so used to measuring my doses for adults, specifically those I was trying to hurt, that I had apparently overdone the amperage a bit. Holding back was a skill I'd yet to learn.

She was okay, though. Better than okay, she felt utterly safe and sure I was telling the truth.

My guilt was thick. Still, I noted. Calming traumatized people. That's one more usage for my power in the bank, and very underrated, I suspect.

As she roused back, she smiled at me. "Thank you for saving us," she said, just like she had been taught to by the TV and her teacher.

I nodded stoically, but I had to turn my head away to keep from getting emotional.

Kids were reared from a very young age to respect heroes. It was our first line of defense as a society to make every child desperately wish that they too could be a hero. That way, if a power miraculously happened to fall on them, they didn't get any other ideas about how to use it. They rushed right into the arms of the DoD's powered branch...

Indoctrination was not always the worst thing in the world, I knew. It was rather mundane when you knew where to look for it. Nevertheless, it was not something I admired on the whole, and right at this moment, it made me feel more gross and dishonest than I otherwise would have.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Sixes had the crowd moving out of the truck and into a covered carport to get out of the rain. He was gathering information from them and trying to figure out which of them lived close by. All the while he was shooting me dirty looks from afar, as if to say, 'I admit this was the right thing to do, but you've got us into a fucking mess here, Adrian.'

I hadn't actually heard the thought but looks could say as much as telepathy did half the time.

"We have to go through the rain," I told the girl. "You ready?"

She nodded bravely and we took off to the neighbor's carport.

It was just a short jaunt over, and we listened in on Sixes' speech once we were close enough to hear. "Everyone!" he said. "You all know the situation already. Villains are capitalizing on the recent disaster to try and stage a takeover of the city. They're collecting hostages to do so. Now, judging by how thinly spread their forces are here, it's unlikely that they'll hit this neighborhood again. That we can surmise. What this means is you are all safe to return to your homes now, understand? You have to follow standard instructions and return to your homes. Wait this thing out and the heroes will save us like they always do!"

"Return to our homes?" one man incredulously asked. "How can you say we'll be safe if we do that? We were just attacked in our homes!"

Sixes merely repeated his logic. "New Marion is a huge place, yet the villains are sending out their semi-trucks with only four gunmen per vehicle. Doesn't that seem a little stupid to you, sir? They need thousands of hostages which means multiple runs for each crew across dozens of neighborhoods. If you follow my math, that's hundreds and hundreds of households they have to breach and clear. Despite the revocation of the Second Amendment, you'll recall, any one of these homes could face them with deadly armed resistance. Therefore, they know that some of their convoys will inevitably be lost, and there's no way that they have time to go around checking up on each one. That's why I say their resources are spread thin." Once more time with belligerence he insisted. "You're safe. At least for now. They will count this as just one of many acceptable losses on their end, and they'll avoid throwing any more resources at a neighborhood which gave them trouble."

The man turned his face down like a scolded child, and the crowd provided no more backtalk.

Now that Sixes had clearly established his command, he started handing out more detailed orders. "You! And you! Everyone who lives in this neighborhood! You are going to loan out your vehicles to get people back to their houses. Talk amongst yourselves. Find out who lives close to who so you can carpool. Get yourselves back inside and hunker down. Finally, if you have a police background or weapons training... follow me."

He was heading towards the house I'd just left, no doubt to collect the guns and arm the civilians. I had to stop him and ask, though, "What about this girl? What do we do with her?"

"The parents?" he asked.

I just shook my head.

"Well. Shit." He turned back to the crowd. "Who here has kids with them?"

A husband and wife were huddling together with their two teenagers, and they raised their hands.

"Good," Sixes said. "You need to look after this girl until this is all sorted out. I don't want to hear any complaints, got that?"

Before this conversation could go any further, a noise broke out behind us. A gunshot went off as one of the gang members I had downed came stumbling drunkenly out of the house and slipped on the wet porch, faceplanting on the lawn and letting off an errant shot. Sixes didn't spare a second in shoving me out of the way and taking him out before he could let loose into our whole crowd. With just one small pop, he had finished what I failed to.

My jaw went a little slack as I landed roughly on the concrete. I stared up at him in shame, wondering just how stupid I had been. To just assume they would stay unconscious... my situational awareness was a joke.

And all of this happened not minutes after I let them take the little girl hostage.

Goddammit, I cursed myself internally. Fuck!

Sixes rushed forward to get a clear line of sight on the rest of them, though I could see now that their auras were yet to recover. Regardless, I heard the next couple of gunshots follow, putting them down for good. No mercy was given from the unpowered hero-guard to these scum. Not after such a close scrape.

Only an icy-cold glare was given to me as he returned, and no help in standing. Sixes went back to reassuring the people that everything was fine, making just a small excuse for my behavior. "He's a Hero in training," the soldier told them, pointing to me. "He didn't realize that in times like these you don't leave villains tied up. And you definitely don't leave them sleeping in proximity to their weapons. Headcase."

He made sure they knew my name. This was a part of my reputation now, and that gave it weight.

I winced. "I'm s-sorry."

He patted me hard on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper where the crowd couldn't hear us. "Just don't fucking do it again."

After I felt like I could breathe again, I went back to our truck and waited. There was nothing more I could do for the hostages except stand around in my pajamas looking like a fool. Once Sixes had finished sorting them out, he came to join me there and both of us shared a long silence.

"I'm sorry," I said again, steadier this time.

"This is why you need training, Adrian. Jesus Christ." He turned the key and pulled us out, not slowing down as he berated me. His aura was sick with fear over what might have happened. "You've got a lot of talent, I admit, and even a little experience, but fighting bogeymen is not what most hero work is like."

I didn't try to argue with him. "No. I haven't thought much about collateral damage since this all started. With rampagers and assassins you just go all-out if you can, I guess. You don't really save anybody but yourself," I realized aloud.

He appreciated that I had given it some thought, and that caused him to soften a bit. "Hero work is managing resources, Adrian. Multitasking emergencies. Primarily, it's about looking after the welfare of bystanders and managing casualties. But you don't even know a bit of First Aid, do you?"

"No." If I was going to be a hero, I still had a lot to learn. I understood that. Even still, it didn't make it sting any less to hear.

As we drove away, my eyes were glued to the little girl standing beneath the carport in the arms of her new keepers. She looked afraid and uncomfortable, like she knew something was terribly wrong, but just couldn't put her finger on what. It was likely I'd never see her again, of course, but I doubted I'd ever forget her.

Even though Sixes and I had won this encounter, I only thought about what I had done wrong. The lessons to learn were far too many to count right now. Instead, I kept my mind on the present, and my eye on something else. The knife in the truck's glovebox I'd found was much like the ones that Stumblebum kept on his belt. Small, black, and folding.

This will come in handy, I decided, when I have to do the job properly next time.

I didn't look forward to it, but I swore to keep my focus from now on. Nobody would be dying on my account.