I had superpowers.

I had fucking superpowers.

The realization hit me like a stack of iron rods to the chest. Somehow, I knew this day would come. Dreaded it even. It was a gut feeling; one I had harbored since the first class on Superhuman 101 back in Junior Secondary.

Even now, the lessons from those days recurred to me. One in a hundred thousand people were born with mutations as a result of the G-day catastrophe. Of that number, roughly seventy percent were latent, with mutations emerging later in life.

I had crammed the numbers. Envisioned the scenarios. Looked up both sides of the family tree for histories of past mutations . . . and now that I had superpowers, I didn't know where to begin.

What was the first thing I needed to do? The guidelines for Emergent scenarios were unambiguous: Withdraw from others, especially from crowds. This ensures you bring harm to no one unwittingly.

My bedroom was empty, lit only by the occasional flashes of lightning. The other person in the house was bolted behind a door meters away. Great.

Take deep breaths to calm yourself. Count to three before you exhale.

I took deep breaths.

Get a phone and dial the Superhuman Intervention and Reintegration Commission. Give them your location, and they will come to help as swiftly as possible. The number is SD-nine-zero-nine. SD means State Designation. For Ogun, this designation is twenty-seven. For Newtown, twenty-eight.

My fingers hovered over the buttons of my cell phone. 28909.

Should I tell mom first? The government agents were bound to make a big deal of the situation. There would be tests to be conducted; questions to be answered and verified. I might also need to leave with them for an indeterminable period. Not exactly the best way to break the news to my mom.

I cut the keypad and pocketed the phone. I had time enough to call. In the meantime, I will deal with the fact that I had superpowers on my own.

Superpowers . . .

My lips stretched into a grin. I had been right after all. Following the incident back when I was ten, my parents had been warned about the possibility of trauma triggering an Emergence. I was to be kept under watch at all times. However, nothing had happened in the subsequent years. Nothing. During which we’d moved in and out of cities, mom had weathered a divorce and I flunked my National Exams.

There were times when fantasies were the furthest things from my mind, but I’d never stopped anticipating this moment.

I had superpowers. Gosh . . .

Alright, that was enough. Experiments were in order.

I approached my desk, tracing my fingers across its edges. The material was polished plywood, old but sturdy. I pushed at it and it budged, but no more than it usually did. I pushed harder, kicking it for good measure. The desk screeched at the abuse, and I inspected the damage.

Nope. Nothing. Test One, complete.

The chair lay in a heap by the wall, barely visible in the flashlight of my aged phone. Three fractures marked the places it had broken, legs flayed out in disarray.

I picked one of the dismembered legs and felt around the site of severance. The easy explanation for the incident was super-strength. But I didn’t feel strong.

I grabbed both ends of the chair leg and pulled downward. I could have weighed fifty kilograms more and still achieved the same result. Not super-strength then.

I played around with parts of the chair. Annoyance mounted in me as it resisted everything I tried. The lessons had said that Emergent scenarios were highly volatile phases in the lives of most Supers. Newly manifested powers could prove uncontrollable, disruptive, and prone to causing damage and disaster.

With super-strength, the probability of unwitting damage skyrocketed. I could reach for a door handle and uproot the entire door. Or wash a pan and send it flying into Daudu's office . . .

No. Nope. We shouldn't think that way.

I had to figure out what I could do, and I had to do so tonight. Withdrawing from the outside world was one option, but I had a job and well, there was Nenye. I couldn't dare touch her until I had this under control.

“Ugh.”

I waved the chair leg around. I tossed it into the air same time my phone rang. I lost my grip, earning a bump on the head for my efforts.

“Hmph,” I said. “Hello?”

Mom’s panicked voice flooded the line. “Chetachi? Are you there?”

“Yes . . . What’s going on?”

“Um. C-car broke down at M-madam Bose’s. I called Lateef and he said he would be here in thirty but some hooligans are roaming nearby, and—” A crash followed like a breaking bottle. Mom squeaked then roared, “Don't you dare, you bastards!”

Someone said something in return.

“Mom, what's wrong?” I asked, a lump rising in my throat. “What's going on?”

A scuffle followed on the other end of the line.

“Chetachi,” mom screamed, “grab some of the neighbors and come help me! Get Jimoh or Mike, or both. Please!”

I dashed down the hallway before the call ended. Madam Bose's was a popular eatery, about a fifteen-minute jog from my house. Outside, the rain hammered. Umbrella? No. I didn't need that. Weapon? The chair leg would suffice.

I dove into the rain, remembering at the last second to lock the door behind me. Jimoh’s was just next door so I stopped by his place first, throwing myself at the gate.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Jimoh!” I said, rattling the metal. If anyone was awake at this hour, it would be him. “Jimoh!”

The window in the gatehouse didn't come on despite my pounding.

I didn't have much time. Mike was a good friend, but his place stood a little farther out than Jimoh’s gatehouse. I could go after mom alone, but I’d never forgive myself if I proved insufficient to save her from the thugs.

“Mike!” I screamed, before even reaching the bungalow housing his studio apartment. “Help me!”

Mike’s head poked out of an outdoor bathroom. “Chetachi?” he said, emerging with a towel wrapped around his waist. “What the hell?”

“My mom. She's being attacked at Bose’s! We need to go. Please!”

Mike digested my plea in stunned silence. Then he tossed his bucket aside and pulled on his shorts. “Aww, shit. Let's go.”

We pounded down the streets, splashing in pools of rainwater. The anchor rose within me, hauling an ocean of rage with it. I’d always hated the Integrated Layout. Hated the crass thugs and lowlifes that lived here. Hated the policemen who rarely ever patrolled. If anything happened to mom . . .

Mike fell behind to pull a stray branch off a tree. I continued ahead of him, disembodied voices shrieking in my ears.

The streets lay deserted, a combination of the downpour and the late hour. The few people I passed scurried past, none looking likely to help. I turned the final corner to Madam Bose's, red splayed across my sight.

Mom's car stood parked on the side of the street, headlights on and the doors ajar. Three, no, two guys rifled through the backseat. Another pair pulled mom out of the car.

“Hey!” I barked, wind howling in my ears. “Hey!”

I was on them before they could react. My aim went wide, tearing a path through the rain. One of the thugs who had been harassing mom reached for something, but my second swing was true. The chair leg landed square on his shoulder, damaging bone with a muted crack.

He screamed.

The sound roused his fellows and they leaped aside. The makeshift weapon went sailing from my grip. A heavy fist, the size of a dumbbell, collided with my gut. I folded, retching rainwater. Another fist slammed into my face.

One of the assailants crept up behind me, loping an iron bar over my throat. I reached up for it and it exploded upward, faster than I could follow. I elbowed the attacker, and he slammed his foot into my back. The world spun. I tasted mud.

It struck me that this was my first real fight. Here. Now. A fight unlike any of the scuffles I’d suffered through in school. I wanted to hurt these guys and they intended to do same.

There would be no visiting the principal’s office after this. No chastisement from the teachers. No look of disappointment from mom. The fight would end only after someone bit it, and I couldn't let that be me.

Spots swam across my vision as a kick scraped my head. I crossed my arms, rolling to put distance between me and my assailants.

And then Mike was there. Good old Mike. He was half again as big as I was, and he moved like a flailing oak. His first swing staggered two opponents, and his next laid someone flat in the mud. The tree branch sang. One blow clipped the side of the car on its way toward someone's head. All four men soon scampered into the night.

“Chetachi, are you alright?” mom asked, cradling my face.

I scrambled to my feet. I hurt in places, but we’d won. It was over. Mom was safe.

“Screw those guys,” Mike said. “Taking advantage of the rain like this. Can you imagine the gall?” He stopped to catch his breath. “I'm not sure but I think I recognized one of them. Gunner. He's a pretty popular thug around these parts.”

Mom peered into my face, weeping.

“Did they hurt you?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I-I’m so glad you’re okay. T-thank you. Thank you both for coming.”

“What did they even want?”

“I don't know,” she said. “Are you sure you're not wounded?”

“I'm fine,” I said. “I . . .” My hands vibrated. Just as they'd done before the incident with the chair. I’d also done something to the iron bar during the fight. “I'm fine,” I repeated, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Did they take anything?”

“Just my phone,” Mom said. “And my necklace. Nothing to worry about.”

Her necklace.

“Why did you stop for them?” Mike asked.

“What? No!” Mom shook her head. “Car broke down. I was waiting for the mechanic when these guys approached. They said they were vigilantes making sure the streets were safe. They named an exorbitant fee. 'Told me to pay. When I refused, they broke a window and forced their way in.”

Indeed, one of the windows lay shattered. I’d heard the noise over the phone.

“I'm glad you both came,” mom said, hugging her arms. “I screamed and shouted, b-but no one would hear me. I thought they wouldn't stop at taking my things.”

She trembled something bad. Mom’s height barely reached my shoulder, but she always possessed a gravitas honed from raising two kids on her own. That gravitas was nowhere to be found at the moment, and I saw, for the first time, just how small she was. This wasn’t a night she would easily forget.

“Let's get in the car,” I said. “Wait for Lateef.”

Mike glanced at me. “You sure? They might be back for revenge.”

“I'm not. But it’s much better than standing out in the rain. Besides, I wouldn't want to leave the car alone with them if they did come back.”

“Good point,” Mike said. “Can I borrow your phone? I can call some of the guys over at the yard to come help us.”

My phone was miraculously intact. I tried to swallow the guilt as Mike’s bare arms reached for it. He was still shirtless, and in this much rain, he'd probably be getting a cold. Not that I was much better. I hadn't had the presence of mind to don something warmer.

We huddled into the car, avoiding the seat with broken glass. Mike groaned when he realized he knew none of the numbers he desired off-hand. We didn't wait long anyway.

Fresh headlights came, accompanied by horns. A rickety vehicle rolled onto the road. The towing van had seen better days, and it sputtered up to us before its engine died. Lateef alighted, grinning good-naturedly. His smile morphed into a frown when we relayed our ordeal.

“Those bastards. Kai,” Lateef swore, almost frothing at the mouth. “You say one of them might have been Gunner, eh? That boy’s been doing all sorts ever since joining the gangs. Might need to talk to his mother. Again.”

“There's no need for that,” mom said. “I will be going to the Police.”

“The Police, eh?” Lateef said, letting the rainwater roll off his moustache. “Well, they can help recover your phone. Won't do much good though, madam. These types know how to take gadgets apart. Hope you had nothing valuable in there.”

“It was a simple phone. Didn't use it for much other than calling.” Mom's fingers fluttered over her chest where her pendant should have rested. Welts lined the area.

The vibration in my arms rose to a crescendo.

“Very well,” Lateef said. “Let me drop you guys off then get this old cargo home. 'Would give you an update tomorrow after taking it to the garage.” He turned to enter his van and stopped at the sight of Mike. “Where’re your clothes, boy?”

Mike tossed his hands in exasperation.

The house stood even darker when mom and I alighted from Lateef's van. I was soaked to the bone again and wounded. But at least, the shaking had receded enough for me to get the door.

“You okay?” I asked, gently turning the door handle lest I rip it off its place.

“Tired, scared, angry,” mom said, forming cups with her hands. She puffed on them. “And cold. Really cold. Argh, I hate this city.”

“You and me both.”

“You should shower first. You look like a rat.”

“No, you first,” I said. “You've got two shifts tomorrow, yeah? Get settled, I will boil some water.”

“I can't have you falling sick.”

“Think of it this way. If I fall sick, you can call in and take care of Nenye and me. If you fall sick, I will be the one taking care of you both. Who is the nurse amongst us again?”

Mom slapped my shoulder. “Fine. Let me peel off these clothes. Call me when the water is ready.”

I headed for the kitchen.

Mom enveloped me in a hug. “I was so scared, Chetachi. So scared. Seeing you fight those kids . . . I hated that you were the only one I could call.”

I patted her arm. “It's alright, mom. I'm tougher than I look.”

“You didn't break anything, did you?”

“Not even a fingernail.”

Mom kissed the back of my neck and disappeared into her room.

It wasn't an outright lie. Sure, I was smarting some, especially in my right ear. But the image of my mother standing in the rain, clutching the memory of a necklace, hurt more than anything ever could at the moment.

I looked at my fist, recalling the sensation of using my power. I’d started the hour wanting to tell mom about my Emergence and was ending it useless in a fight.

Gunner, eh? He'd pay.