Contrary to what Lucas thought, the blood staining my nails and dyeing my hair a light shade of crimson flaked off all by itself as I flew over New Olympus. My people generally generated more body temperature than what a human body usually did, meaning that liquids often evaporated clean off my body, or peeled off my skin and hair over time. The heat wasn’t something I could control, more like a bi-product of how my body physically dealt with so much muscle use, meaning it was a lot like the boiling frustration in my gut that only grew as I watched the scene below me.

Several city blocks had been torn up by rapid gunfire and Witchling’s superpowers, shattering glass, splitting concrete, and chewing up parts of New Olympus that went deeper into the heart of the city. Traffic moved at a snail’s pace, and the police were trying their damndest to divert honking cars down side streets. The Olympiad—a building so large and dark it was a blight on the shine of the city—stood stoic and silent, its quietness an answer to what they thought of the superhuman chaos that was spread around it. Seemingly, everything that happened tonight wasn’t a threat large enough to come up on their radar, which meant that the police and their sister department—the SDU—had to deal with the mess smeared over the streets of New Olympus.

The noise alone from the cars, the Normals, and alarms was just as infuriating as the feeling Lucas left me with, this kind of growing sense that the SDU were even considering me a liability.

So what if a few storefronts and chunks of pavement were destroyed? Like human babies, they could be replaced with enough hard work. These things—people, I reminded myself—created their entire civilization off the back of never giving up, and suddenly I was their biggest problem?

Gold could be mined, supervillains could easily be killed, but chaos? Noise? Those continued, grew, like a cancerous little tumor that would only stop once you put a hole through it.

Yes, the news would be on my back, and so would social media, but like all things, silence would win out against the Normals and their bullshit and we could all go back to praising me.

Because at the end of it all, I was what they had left. I was the reason supervillains lurked around in the dark, terrified of what would happen if I found them. Tonight was an outlighter.

But Lucas thought otherwise. “Fuck off,” he’d said. Earth would fall the day I did.

“Ungrateful much?” I muttered, folding my arms as I hovered. Beneath me, skyscrapers loomed over the ruined streets, just as uncaring of the destruction as I was in that moment.

New Olympus had its scars, sure, but you wouldn’t guess it from the billions of dollars worth of star dust that was rubbed into the eyes of those watching from distant shores and neighboring states. Billboards and neon advertisements grew in frequency as you got further away from the upper west side, leaving Lower Olympus in this perpetual shadow of artificial light and a facade hidden by the wealth that leered over its rotting underbelly. That’s what manufactured crime—the humans, not me, and if they wanted to pretend they could handle it all by themselves, then maybe they should figure out how to fix their freaking shiny little city before insulting me.

But… I was being irate. I was better than that, feeling put off by a Normal. The day was saved (and besides, the Blecrest family wouldn’t even notice the loss), and the villains had vanished. I could spend all night combing the west coast of the States if I wanted, but my stomach cramps were only getting more intense as the wailing shriek of Damage Control’s heavy duty cleanup trucks began filling the streets like roaches scuttling toward a reeking dumpster. Their white uniformed operators were quick, clearing rubble and car wrecks, offering medical assistance to bleeding Normals, and making sure that buildings were structurally sound in just minutes.

Peacekeepers, they called them, because you could relax when they were around.

That wasn’t to say I couldn’t spot the operators with guns on their hips or rifles in their arms, their faces hidden behind full face masks that made their swiveling heads ominous. Silent. Watching. One glanced up toward the sky, spotting me, before moving to deal with a Normal.

Helping Damage Control was out of the question. Their mother company, Blackwood Pharma, wasn’t anti-super, but they tended to get a little more colorful around superhumans. Their assault rifles wouldn’t kill me, but Olympia Vs Damage Control would make me public enemy number one in a world where being a superhero was just about the worst career decision ever. The benefits sucked and the vacations didn’t exist, and oh, they’d throw me in prison or try to kill me the day they ever got their slimy little human paws on me. There was a whole Olympus News special on whether a nuke could take me out if the need ever arose, which, spoilers, it couldn’t.

Screw it, I could find something more important to do, like deal with my hunger.

I’d grab something to eat, then… I cursed, massaging my temples. I had to get back home and finish the comic book before my morning meeting, but the need for more action was already hot in my veins. You couldn’t expect me to sit around and do nothing except stare at drawings of myself all night long. Besides, I thought. If I did, then I wouldn’t be taking this gig ‘seriously.’

Like the Superhuman Defence Unit had any idea on what serious meant. If they took their jobs seriously, then they would have gotten out of my way and let me deal with the supervillains.

Removing them from the picture sometimes crossed my mind, but…

I shook my head, turning through the sky and flying toward the Lower Olympus bay area, the smell of wet concrete, rotting wood, and dead fish strong in the air. I couldn’t afford to think that way. I made a promise before… Well, it didn’t matter now. I was a superhero, not a maniac.

“If you want to get rid of the threat, then first get rid of the supervillain,” dad had told me. But, admittedly, trying to find out who exactly the supervillain was sometimes got a little hard.

Because a lot of the time, it felt like the humans didn’t want peace anywhere near as much as they claimed to desperately need it. I had a solution, but I doubted they’d like it much.

Apparently wiping out large swathes of them was a bad thing on this planet.

A few minutes later, after flying circles around a quad of abandoned apartment buildings near the boardwalk, I landed softly on top of a gravel-layered roof. Dead cigarette butts, used knives, broken beer bottles and a dash of rusting needles crunched underneath my boots. I was sure a pack of squatters was living somewhere in these rotting buildings, possibly just as worn down as the crumbling bricks and shattered windows. It wouldn’t be much longer until either mayor Blackwood tore the eyesore down, or some villain infested it after figuring that paying no rent for their crime hive made life easier. For now, it was where I kept one of my dozens of spare backpacks around the city. Taped deep in the bowels of an air vent, I reached in and dusted it off.

Flying home would only draw attention to me. Shooting out of the window when nobody was watching was one thing, but flying home vaguely stinking of blood and organs was another.

I wouldn’t have to hide who I was if superheroes weren’t a thing of the past. But the only superhero in modern times had a target on her back, and, yeah, a few humans she cared about.

Making sure the rooftop was empty, I pulled the filthy costume off my body. Sweat glistened on my bare arms, my sports bra drenched and my tights no better. The suit came off easily, leaving my body to get assaulted by the brisk ocean breeze as I tucked it away into my backpack. I’d need to wash it soon, and maybe learn how to knit to repair the holes and the tears that were making their way along the arms and torso of it. I shrugged, knowing they were problems I couldn’t afford right now. I could probably find an old costume tailor, but I’d also not be able to pay rent for the next few months after their services. They’d need hush money to keep quiet, too. I could threaten them, sure, maybe follow their kid home one day, but I was a superhero.

So sewing it was, and maybe try and buy my own washing machine? How much were those? I could stop by Ronnie’s place when she went to work, but I’d rather die than do that.

Just another reason I needed to stop procrastinating and finish my comic book soon.

A pair of sneakers and a faded red crop top over my head later, I looked just like one of the humans living around this area of the city, out late on a run around Lower Olympus before the imposed curfew. I tore through several packs of granola bars, crumbs dusting my shirt as I finished. From the tiny light coming from a spare phone, I could just about make it seem like I was having a hard time digging through my bag if anyone was watching. But, in all honesty, I just found it fun to act like one of them, the superheroes you read about in the old comics they didn’t sell anymore.

Hell, I dealt with dozens of humans every day, being that I worked in a coffee shop, and they didn’t blink twice at me. Speak like them, act like them, but be better than any one of them.

“Just like dad said,” I whispered, slinging the bag over my shoulder. I could just about see the ocean peaking through decrepit buildings and boarded windows. Midnight black, reaching toward the horizon. Crime and its shrieking call was a noise I pushed to the back of my head as I focused on the silence, forgetting, for a moment, about the humans surrounding me for miles.

Then I paused, hand on the raised roof wall of the apartment building. The soft stink of ozone filled my lungs, a disgusting little scent that was quickly overtaken by expensive perfume.

I dug my fingers into the brick, turned on my heels, and threw it as hard as I could.

The brick shot through thin air, zipping through the night before disappearing into what I hoped was an abandoned bedroom several blocks away. I flinched when I heard someone yelp.

“What do Americans call that?” a voice asked beside me. “Strike, right? You’re out.”

I tensed my jaw and glanced to my right, where Emelia was sitting on the low wall. Dressed similarly in running gear, she wasn’t anywhere near as sweaty as me. I doubted the girl could sweat, anyway. And judging by her silky black hair and smooth brown skin, I figured that neither her pores nor her hair knew anything about the words sweat or physical exertion.

“Don’t you know using your superpowers in public is illegal?” I said, eyes narrowing.

Emelia smiled, just like she did on a few of her billboards dozens of blocks away. “If they ever locked me up, you’d be right there with me in Olympus Pen. I call top bunk, by the way.”

I wasn’t expecting to meet up with her tonight, and talking to Em was a game I needed all my energy for, and judging by my growling stomach, that was my queue to make for a getaway.

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“What the hell do you want?” I said. “Don’t you have a movie to shoot or something?”

She shrugged. “I saw you make a mess of New Olympus, then figured I should come and check on my second favorite blonde.” In a pop of blue electricity, she was on my left. “Well?” Em asked, looking me up and down. “Thoughts on destroying only an eighth of the city today?”

“Second favorite?” I said, hand on my chest. “Is my least favorite actress cheating on me?”

“Oh, please,” she said, waving her hand. “If I did, then you wouldn’t have any friends.”

Snorting, I climbed onto the wall. “I’ve got tons of friends. You’re just an accessory.” I leapt off the wall, floating my way down onto the overgrown grass quad in front of the building. “And a spare bank account that talks too much and should leave me alone a lot more often.”

Em was already waiting by the time I was there, leaning against a buzzing lamp post. “Rylee,” she said. “City-wide destruction. Escaped supervillains. It’s already all over the news.”

“And I’m starving,” I said, walking past her and onto the empty street. “So unless you came to give me something to eat, I’m not gonna listen to whatever speech you’ve got for me.”

“How about a proposal?” she said, suddenly beside me. “I buy you dinner, and you talk me through why the hell you thought killing nine people in broad daylight was a good fucking idea.”

I spread my arms, exhausted. “They were criminals. They were shooting at people. What else did you want me to do, Em? Just let them keep firing their fifty cal rounds into civilians?”

She stopped in front of me, looking me dead in the eyes. We were about the same height, but she was slimmer, had longer legs, and looked like she’d stepped off a movie set. I guessed she must have, running her way here from wherever it was her newest tv show was being filmed.

I wasn’t jealous that she was making money from being a superhuman, but that was the easy way out. The world reduced us to monkeys in colorful costumes, being told to jump and clap for the masses because it would make us rich and the Normals not so afraid of what we actually were. Emelia was part of that superhuman PR industry, and a part of me hated that she so quickly shook their greasy, meaty human palms just because fighting crime independently was illegal now.

Yes, the superhero salary sucked, but dad did it for nothing, dying for the sake of being a hero. So excuse me for not allowing some two-bit thugs to point their machine guns at Normals.

“Do you ever stop and think about what you do?” she asked quietly.

I stared hard at her. “Not when people usually stand in my way and piss me off.”

“Oh, that’s what I’m doing? Annoying you?” Em put her hands on her hips, shaking her head. “Dios mío, Rylee, you’re making the rest of us look like murderers. Freaking animals.”

“I don’t see why you’re so stressed out, Em,” I said frustratedly, budging past her. “You’ll get your check and I'll get my street cred, criminals stop doing crime because of me, and you go back home to your mansion because you’re a filthy little sellout. Everyone fucking wins.”

Another soft explosion, and this time the street lights flickered. I glanced around us, scanning alleyways and barren windows. Nothing. Nobody. A black cat bounded into the shadows between two buildings, pausing to train its luminous feline yellow eyes on us before vanishing.

Emelia stood in front of me again, arcs of electricity sparking in her usually amber eyes.

“I didn’t come all this way to fight you, Rylee,” Emelia said measuredly. “But—”

“Then don’t waste your time,” I said. “I’d probably ruin that million dollar face, anyway.” I walked past her, not caring about the tiny jolt that shot through my arm as I brushed against her.

“Keep walking, Ry, and I’ll stop paying your rent,” Emelia said, still behind me. My stomach tensed. I stopped, teeth grinding in annoyance. “There. Now we can talk like adults.”

It felt like my leash had been snagged, choking the air right out of my throat. It was a low blow, something that my bulletproof skin felt just as well as being stabbed deep in the gut.

“Fine,” I said, throwing my backpack onto a vandalized bench outside of a run down barber shop. I sat, arms resting on the back of the weak, squeaky wood. “Let’s get this over with.”

Emelia sighed, pinching her angular nose. “I just want you to understand that your actions always have consequences.” She looked at me, her expression softening. “You’ve got a responsibility not just to yourself, but to the whole world. You’re…” She paused, sitting beside me, lowering her voice as she said, “You’re a superhero, Rylee. The only one left. If you go around killing anyone, gangsters, purse snatchers, or whoever, then that’ll make the rest of us look bad.”

I rolled my eyes. “Then just make more movies, sell more merchandise. Make them love you.” I looked at her, jabbing a finger into her shoulder. “That way, I keep saving lives—”

“And who did you actually save tonight?” she asked. “Nobody. You killed nine criminals, let high-class supervillains get away with millions worth of gold, and you just don’t care.”

I picked the dried blood from my nails. “I’ll search for ‘em tomorrow. It’s no biggie.”

“And what about the Normals whose lives you affected?” she said softly. “Some of them are crippled, Rylee. They won’t be able to walk ever again. Those are mums and dads—”

“—and would you stop trying to guilt trip me?” I said. “They can hire a healer.”

“With the money they spent paying for Damage Control’s services?” she asked. “Or for their totaled cars, which probably weren’t covered for superhuman insurance because it’s also expensive? My point is that you changed lives tonight. Forever. And you should be out there helping them in any way you can, but instead here you are complaining that you’re hungry.”

I glared at her. “They all lived. They should be grateful for that alone, Em, because if I hadn’t been there, then either Witchling or Ace would have killed them, and that’s a lot worse than being crippled the last time I checked. So stuff it, supermodel, because the humans are just fine.”

She blinked as if slapped. “Humans?” she repeated. “That’s where you are now?”

I sighed, angered, then stood up. “Humans, people, whatever. You get what I’m saying.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Emelia said. “You weren’t this hard headed last week.”

“Maybe because I didn’t have you whining in my ear about the crippled mommies and daddies who won’t ever get to play fucking catch with their kids again,” I snapped. My voice carried through the night, splintering the barbershop window. Emelia’s brow lowered, and I sighed out my frustration, glancing down an alley that reeked of garbage. “I’m just… It’s whatever.”

She stood, hair falling over her shoulders in the breeze. “Whatever the hell’s going through your head has to get out. And soon. You’re a fucking superhero. You’re Olympia. Act like it.”

“You’re one to talk,” I muttered. “Which villain are you fighting this season again?”

Emelia’s smile was flat as she said, “I hope you enjoy sleeping in an alley next month.”

Shit. I grabbed her wrist before she could vanish. “Jeez, alright. I’ll… talk, or whatever,” I said through my teeth. “I just feel… bored. Frustrated.” I let go of her hand, running fingers through my hair as I tried to force the words out of my mouth. This was the same damned thing that got me kicked out of Ronnie’s house—emotion. Human emotion. Fuck them for forcing me to talk about how I felt all the time. “The Olympians had the Nocturne. My… Zeus battled against Titan. And all I’ve got are these forty, fifty year old villains who should’ve retired years ago.”

Em folded her arms, looking at me expectantly. “You’re bored? All because you don’t have a supervillain who can kill hundreds of thousands of people in the blink of an eye to fight?”

“I mean… kinda?” I said, shrugging. “It feels like I’m playing with little plastic dolls.”

She slapped me, a blur of electrified motion. I didn’t feel it, I never did, but the intent was there in her eyes. “Get your head out of your ass and be a hero because it’s the right thing to do.”

That won’t make me feel any more sympathetic to the humans who get caught in the crossfire, I thought. If they got injured by a C-grade, then that was just plain old embarrassing.

But if I had someone as powerful as dad had, someone like Titan who killed the unkillable, then the Normals, the humans, all of them would realize how much they needed me. To show them just how much the world needed superheroes who weren’t either handcuffed to magazines and movie screens, or to government mandates that told them when to bark or when to sit and stay.

When dad died, so did the Golden Age of Capes, and with them went the supervillains who got caught in the city-destroying crossfire that was the aftershock of most of the Olympians getting killed by Titan, too. You’d think crime would spike afterward, but apparently, nobody hits harder than a race of squishy ape-like creatures that are backed into a corner. It took the remaining Capes, entire armies, and SDU just two years to either retire the old stock of supervillains running around, or lock them up in Olympus Pen. S-Grade or otherwise, they would never see the light of day again, judging by how much the anti-supers groups made sure of it around the globe.

But without my own villain, though, I was a superhero in a grand circus that ended a decade ago. The Normals who got hurt would make the news then be forgotten. Tarmac would be repaved and insurance companies would cover the bills they could. The old days were gone, dead, and I was a remnant clinging to it. The last cheer at a party nobody else wanted to attend anymore.

I sighed, sitting back down on the bench, elbows on my thighs. “Em,” I muttered. “All that’s left are bank robbers and purse snatchers. A Normal can deal with those. I’m a superhero. I’m supposed to deal with S-Grades and the kaiju that dad used to fight. They’re all supposed to look at me and know they’re safe, instead of wanting me to deal with every freaking cat burglar.”

And you’d be surprised how many of my own forums I scoured that tried to get me to investigate some lower east end break-in. Nothing about major villainy, just cats in stupid trees.

She waved her hand, indicating the flickering lamp posts, bags of trash, splintered concrete and pot-hole-riddled rodes. “Look at this place, Ry. If you’re as great as you seemingly think, then Lower Olympus wouldn’t have a rising crime rate. And I’m not gonna join you in your pity party—you could be making as much as I do, probably more because of who you are, but you chose to be a superhero in a time where none exist. So stop bitching and be one already.”

I looked at her, glaring. “You’re not so fun to talk to, y’know that?”

“Seems like we’re on the same page, Blondie,” she said. “Now go help the little guys.”

Groaning and massaging my temples, I said, “Really? The little guys? C’mon, Em.”

Emelia cocked her head, waiting. I’d known her since freshman year in high school, and we’d graduated together last month, so I knew exactly what she wanted me to do right about now.

And it took all my strength not to blast off into the sky to escape having to do it. That, and there was a possibility she wouldn’t send me money to pay rent this week if I didn’t get going.

“I’ll…” I sighed, muttering under my breath. “I’ll suit up and save someone I guess.”

“Who, exactly?” she said. “Because if I hear you vomiting that ‘human’ BS again…”

“You do realize I could put you through the concrete faster than you can blink, right?” I asked, half-joking. “Only if that means getting you off my back for at least a few days.”

Em cocked an eyebrow, electricity glinting in her dark hair. “If you were that quick, then you would have noticed the cup of coffee I put in your bag that’s probably been ruining your suit.”

I swore and tore open my backpack, and sure enough, the cold black liquid was soaking into my gear and the rest of my spare clothes. A damp patch spread through the bag’s cloth, leaving a wet circle on the bench. “Fuck, Em!” I said. “I got you loud and clear from your speech.”

Emelia squeezed my shoulder as she left. “It was meant to fill you up during the night shift, but I guess being pissy all the time finally bit you in the ass. See you tomorrow, Blondie.”

And, as if on cue, a woman’s scream pierced the night as Emelia disappeared. I swore as I took the crumpled coffee cup out of my bag, a note scrawled on the side in her handwriting.

Careful, it’s hot! Now go out there and be the best superhero ever for me, Blondie :)

I cursed and crumpled the cup, earning a splash of cold coffee on my tights. I’d get her back one day, but for now, the woman was shrieking for help, and it turned out I had to save her.

Crime never slept in New Olympus. Well, not until you put a fist-sized hole through it.