1.2

“And in other news, what was likely a super powered tussle occurred in an alley along Street 2-B, Subsection Twelve, leaving three in critical condition and a large part of the alleyway collapsed. Authorities suspect this to be the work of registered supervillain Crush, but what — or who — could have provoked him is still unknown. More on this after —”

I turn it off, feeling myself turn a little green, heft my bag and head out to wait for the bus. Mom mumbles a goodbye from the kitchen, half asleep and still nursing her morning coffee, but I don’t bother responding.

The air outside is cold, and a light cloud of fog blankets the neighborhood. This early in the morning people are still asleep or just waking up, the houses are still fairly quiet and the lights are off. It’s unnerving.

I can’t help but take a quick look around, just in case. There’s no way Crush would have been able to see my face under all the — blood and dust, I guess, and he never bothered to try taking my mask. And even if he had, it’d be a future me problem, considering he probably wouldn’t expect me to still be alive, but.

Still.

The street’s empty except for the kid who lives across the road, waiting for the same bus I am. I do my best to ignore him.

The occasional window light filters through the fog, and some engines rumble in the distance. No Crush, though.

And hopefully no Crush ever again. Last night was a disaster, and if this is gonna work, I have to be smart about it. I raided the kitchen last night, so most of my muscle mass and basic modifications are restored, but during the fight they only really gave me a slight edge. The rest of it was just a bit of luck, and catching them off guard.

I need to be better. I need to have a plan, a target, and a better understanding of my powers.

Trudging to the back of the bus and curling up in the back seat, I pull out a notebook. It’s a small, battered black one from back when I was really into supers. Local heroes, villains, their powers, suspected operations and possible matchups, it’s all in here — from about two years ago. Maybe it’s time to update it.

I start with organizations.

Legally, the USMC has three government heroes stationed in Westpoint, working alongside the Brightheart Hero Association. I don’t think they like each other very much, but it’s hard to tell just from their media appearances. Government heroes can be unpredictable, weirdly enough.

Illegally, the city has four super-led gangs currently active, each with at least two supers. The largest is Panda, ostensibly led by Highlander. They have the highest super membership, but the rest of their manpower comes from mercenaries, and they really only do high profile jobs. Dead End Shack, the gang Crush runs with, is more street level, but they’ve been around for a long time, and their members know how to play the game.

The bus starts to fill up, and I have to glare at a couple kids who look like they would try and sit next to me.

So obviously I can’t start with Dead End Shack or Panda, their operations are too sporadic and combat-focused to fight alone. The other two are Mike’s Gang, a drug distribution organization led by someone who’s name is definitely not Mike, and Front 18, the local Nazis. They held a lot of power a few years ago, but ever since Rapture got locked up they’ve been mostly quiet.

Mostly. It didn’t save Sera.

I don’t think I’m ready for them yet.

I scowl. Really not the time moping. In terms of accessibility, Mike’s Gang would be the easiest to do something about. They don’t distribute normal drugs, all their supply comes from Cook, a fairly new villain suspected to have some sort of chemical synthesis power. If I could remove him, the whole operation would crumble. Ideally.

Issue is, I think he knows this. No one ever sees him in public, no large scale super brawls, no city bombing threats. The man himself is low profile.

I start by scribbling down some quick ideas before the bus pulls into the school’s lot, and when it does I snap the book shut, vague plans forming. As long as something like Crush doesn’t happen again, I might actually be able to do it right this time.

—

“Wow, Jake, you look awful, did you get hit by another truck?”

I huff and look up from my phone at my spot in the lunch line. Olivia Burns and one of her goons stop next to me, hand on her hip and smirk on her face. Her platinum blonde hair is loosely tied up in a fluffy bun with a pastel pink tie, matching the rest of her outfit.

I roll my eyes. “Fuck off, Livvy.” She’s been like this since freshman year. She thinks she can be a bitch because her dad owns the school, and she’s basically right.

Other people in line subtly shift and look away while her smile widens. “Make me, bitchboy.”

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I ignore her while she sticks her tongue out and walks off anyway. Instead, I go back to idly scrolling social media and trying to think of a plan.

Cook’s smart, and the structure of his gang is, too. It operates purely as a drug distribution method, so most of it is split into cells that anonymously receive the product. He never meets personally with anyone outside his close circle, who he assuredly knows very well.

So how do I get to him?

The answer doesn’t come to me during lunch, or on the bus ride home from school. I get a couple more harsh words from Livvy during the day, but nothing I can’t handle, and on a whim I decide to stop by Vincent’s on the way home.

“Hey,” I call out from my seat on the bus. “Hey, drop me off here!”

The driver looks annoyed, but she reluctantly slows to a stop at a street corner not far from my house.

I hop out, and the bus rumbles away, leaving behind a slight cloud of exhaust that I wave away. The house in front of me is a typical suburban home, one with a white painted fence and a decent size garage. It looks almost identical to all the other houses on this street, but similarity is a pretty common theme throughout most of the city, so it’s not exactly surprising.

This house, though, is dark. The lights are off, and they’ve been that way for the better part of a couple months.

My best friend used to live here. Her name was Sera Hall, even if few people knew that. She was murdered by a member of Front 18 on her way home from school two months ago. The last time I saw her dad, Vincent, was at the funeral. I even broke into their house at one point. He’s just — gone.

I always try once every couple days anyway, though, just in case.

Walking up the old porch stairs, boards creaking inspires a nostalgic sense of unease. I step carefully up to the door and knock.

“Mr. Hall? Mr. Hall!” I call out, knocking again.

There’s no answer.

I knock a little louder. “Vincent! Are you there?”

Still silence.

I let out a sigh. I was hoping he’d be around to… I dunno, help me with some of this?

I trudge back down the steps, trying to ignore the churning worry in my gut. Vincent was sorta like a second dad to me. My actual dad’s always working, and when he’s not talking to him is like talking to a brick wall. Even my mom’s like that sometimes; they’re both so hard to pin.

Vincent wasn’t like that. You could practically read him like a book, and usually you wouldn’t have to. He’d come home from his office job looking like death, and instead of closing off he’d tell you some stupid story about his coworkers, and when he noticed you were nervous about something he’d ask about it, and he felt so safe to talk to that when you did, he would just… accept it.

I remember being in the room when Sera came out to him and feeling inexplicably jealous. It felt like looking at proof that my parents’ love was conditional.

I miss him, as much as I miss Sera, I think. It’s been hard without them. I feel like I’ve been stuck since then. Getting my powers was a lucky break, depending on how you look at it. In the hospital, at least, I hoped they would help me start moving again.

I used to think getting powers would solve my problems, but so far they’ve been pretty —

I stop.

My powers — I’ve been using them to… repair myself and enhance my musculature, but can’t I just —

Cook is isolated from the rest of his gang, and he only interacts with a select few people to distribute his drugs. Those people are the only ones who would know where Cook is, and I can’t just ask them.

Unless, of course, they think they trust me. My power lets me change anything about my body, not just my muscles. So why don’t I just shapeshift into one of Cook’s inner circle?

My feet pick up speed on the way back to my house. I have some planning to do.

—

“What? Why not?”

The big guy’s bushy white mustache wiggles. “Tasers’re class two tech, we don’t have the license.”

I groan. “You guys sell guns.”

“Mhm,” he responds, “and you’ll notice they’re all mechanical. Not even a laser sight.” He leans forward. “We run a tight ship around here, kid. If you want electronics, go to a RadioShack or something.”

I huff. “Do you at least have pepper spray?”

He reaches under the counter and slaps down a bottle of mace. “Will that be all?”

“Fine.” I pay for the mace, pocket it, and leave.

It’s Saturday the next day, and my basic plan is coming together. This time it’s gonna be recon only. I’m gonna get in, find Cook over the course of a week. No fighting, no beating people up, no running into a crush in an alley. Just me and my stellar acting skills.

At this point I’ve picked up the mace obviously, plus a new notebook and a burner phone. My outfit got trashed by Crush, so it’s sitting in a dumpster somewhere while I bought an equally nondescript outfit that I stored back in my bag.

And the last thing — my disguise. I went through the public collection of some semi-recent arrests, picking out guys with similar appearances; close enough so that I won’t have to change as much, but different to act as a reference. It made me a little ill, actually, but I did it anyway.

Starting with a generic disguise will ideally help me blend in until I can get a good look at one of Cook’s men.

I walk home, sticking to populated areas, along storefronts, past houses on my way back to my place. It’s habit at this point, even if statistically it doesn’t really help. At least near the suburbs houses are more likely to have Brightheart alarms.

I go through my barebones plan again and again, and all I can really think about are ways it could fail.

—

It’s noon Sunday, I’m in an alley by Plaza B near the poorer end of the city, and I’m staring at my collection of references. A heavy mix of fear, anticipation, and dread congeal in my gut. I made sure to eat more than usual today, to fuel my power, but it’s really looking like I shouldn’t have bothered.

I close my eyes and take a shaky breath. I’m doing this for Sera. I can’t just give up now. Westpoint has to be safe to live in.

I activate my power and dive into remaking my face.