I was nineteen when I triggered, having only just taken my nascent steps into the madness that permeated our cities, our country. The world was boiling over with brutality and greed, and it was tempting, oh so tempting, to seek justice for the hand life had dealt me. I wish I could say I resisted, and I did, in a sense. Only not in the same manner as my peers, if other parahumans could so be called.

Do unto others as you wish done unto you. How you treat others, so too do you treat yourself. The golden rule—a proverb known by all, recorded as early as Ancient Egypt and readily recognized in spite of innumerable expressions. A source of wisdom and serenity in a world sent whirling, sinking, ever worse by the second. My guiding principle as I crafted my persona, my mask that I might face the world and tell it, "No, you move."

Unlike the prevalent golden rule, the calling card was a lost art, gone the way of the esteemed gentleman and the distinguished lady. Certainly there were those who proclaimed themselves to be such. A smattering of self-deluded copycats aspiring to import they didn't understand, scattered amongst a lip curling horde of frauds and charlatans, pretenders who diluted the once great image of true virtue. No, the calling card was all but forgotten, a relic of a bygone era.

I reflected on these thoughts as I approached my destination: The Jaw. Nestled within the streets of Far Rockaway, the establishment was without question what was colloquially known as a 'dive bar.' The aesthetic choices, if choices they were. The overall deficit in cleanliness. And lastly, a disparate clientèle united solely by their subscription to the axiom that the law was a suggestion to be bent if not outright broken. In this final regard, I could admit I felt a degree of kinship, however slight. While I wholeheartedly subscribed to justice as a societal necessity, said justice did not align completely—or indeed much at all—with true justice.

Ordinarily my pursuit of this truth in the wake of the times' abandonment of it left me at odds with the fat cat bureaucrats foolishly assigned the honor of representing the people, but this heist was different. Tonight was not such a night, that much I could admit. No, as I strode through the skies high over Far Rockaway, I could not escape the thumping tattoo of my heartbeat. The eager anticipation of a challenge, of debatably the greatest challenge I had faced to date: I would pluck the Butcher's crown from its perch on his head.

As was customary, I had delivered my calling card one evening past, announcing my intent. A game only held entertainment, after all, if the participants knew they were playing. Despite my advance warning, I noticed no increase in security had been made. A bouncer held his post outside the on the nose teeth arrayed around the entrance, but otherwise nothing visible. If anything, that knowledge made the unceasing pulse pressing against my chest all the more unbearable. The absence of special preparations indicated either a grievous blunder by the Butcher… or else a dire portent of his readiness for our little contest.

Excellent.

I had already determined an optimal infiltration route pending necessary adjustments to the Teeth's preparations, and seeing no reason to deviate from it, I proceeded to the third alleyway down the block. Not too close, not too far. I had been keeping a weather eye out for any attention directed my way and, having seen none, I made no efforts to hide the stairs I grew from the brick exterior of the building bordering the area. Each vanished as I alighted from it, and by the time I reached the roof, no sign of my passage remained. Staying low, I made my way across each roof while muffling my footfalls with careful manipulation both to and back from simple, soundproof materials I had researched extensively prior to initiating my first theft many years ago. Once upon the gaps from the alleys I had passed earlier, I paused only long enough to inspect the area for observers before creating a bridge in the same manner as the stairs from before.

Stolen novel; please report.

In scarcely a minute, I had reached The Jaw itself, and my work began in earnest. Although not widely circulated, I had discovered that one of the Butchers—purportedly the Sixth—was a 'noctis' cape. Requiring no sleep was not equivalent to forever being on guard, but it nevertheless made stealing from him more complicated… though not impossible. My power's radius was not terribly substantial, but for a structure of this size, it was more than sufficient. Two crowns of near identical make were present, albeit not together. Heavensword, the Butcher's lieutenant, was in play. That increased the difficulty, given the rumors of her proclivity for violence, but I had accounted for such an eventuality.

Though strikingly similar, I had observed an altercation between the Teeth and the PRT some weeks ago, and I therefore had the feel for his crown. A tangle presented itself, and I found myself considering. My power worked on all matter within my range, though more complex materials—whether as the source or as the target—delayed my transmutation. Thus, I knew not only what was in my range but also where it was. Why then did this present a tangle?

Because Heavensword wore the Butcher's crown.

I contemplated this hurdle for a few moments longer before coming to the obvious conclusion. I needed to steal the crown from Heavensword, place it upon the Butcher's head, then steal the crown. Convoluted, to be sure, but then my calling card quite explicitly outlined the manner in which I would steal the crown. I spared a second longer to consider whether either of them had anticipated my course of action, deemed it likely, then pressed on all the same. A lady did not abandon her promises simply because the path to fulfilling them became harder. To do so would be an affront and place her squarely amongst the frauds and charlatans I looked down upon.

I unslung the satchel strapped to my back and retrieved both my typical mask as well as the gas mask I had acquired in preparation. Without ceasing my manipulation of the air throughout The Jaw, I moved to position myself over Heavensword. Insisting on following my calling card to the letter did not necessitate working with alacrity, after all. Once in place, I settled in to wait for signs the occupants were affected.

Popular culture had laughably gross misconceptions regarding 'knockout gas.' Namely? No such thing existed, or rather, not in the manner it was so frequently presented. Gases that incapacitated targets upon inhalation existed, true, but appropriate dosing was convoluted at best for a single target. For multiple, what would put one person to sleep would just as easily kill someone else, and I avoided violence wherever possible, in particular deadly force. No, the answer was not incapacitating the occupants—it was getting them too doped up to mount even a token resistance.

Heavensword, being of smaller body mass, began to move erratically first, but I waited until the Butcher's actions became equally mercurial before opening a hole in the ceiling and descending by transmuted rope that grew longer by the second. I had been behind her, my timing chosen especially for that purpose, yet in spite of her inebriation courtesy of the nitrous oxide I had filled the room with, she whirled in place to face me with a snarl as my outstretched hand reached for the crown. A secondary sensory power? I had no time to ponder a matter best left for another day as I contorted myself to avoid—

I learned what was wrong too late to stop the gears already in motion. A roar of pure, unadulterated noise tore through the room, the herald to something far, far worse. There was no time to think, no time to react. One moment I was engaged in evading Heavensword's strike, the next I was physically bowled over by the sheer force that ripped through the wall, reducing it to dust and shrapnel. My body did not come to a halt until after I had been thrown through the opposite wall, and only then did the magnitude of my mistake make itself manifest.

[Footloose: Hey, Eight! Pleased ta meetcha!] What— No… [Just thought I'd share a quick tip about my power. You proooooobs don't wanna be using it around gases that can explode.]

Blood trailed down over my eye, and when my hand unsteadily rose to put pressure on the wound I felt it. Of course.

I pulled the spike of the crown from where it had lodged itself in my head, a demented laugh upon my lips.