I might have been wounded, but I didn't intend to lie there and die.

My good hand came down, fingers skimming the ground. Sand swept forward like bullets, faster than anything I'd fired.

The barrage peppered Activity, but he didn’t bother to duck. He surged through it, arms wrapped around his face.

Talk about predictable.

A large piece of driftwood lay nearby, and I blasted ut toward his torso. It splintered on impact, tossing him backward. I followed up with another wave of sand, packing as much hatred as I could into the grains.

My head shattered in response.

No. Not now. I needed more time. One more minute. Please!

Activity appeared in the sky above my chest. I pivoted out of the way, managing a roll with three deadweights for limbs. The impact knocked me aside, and I gritted my teeth, anticipating the follow-up kick.

Activity tottered. His costume dangled around him like ribbons, ripped apart by sand. He clutched his head and fell to his knees, giving me a window to retaliate.

I didn’t hesitate to take it.

Cheek parted beneath skin as my fist connected with his face. I grinned at the sensation and threw myself at him.

That proved a grave mistake.

Weakened though we were, Activity still was the better fighter. He grappled me, dragging me through the sand. I bit into his shoulder, and he struck me with an elbow that brought the stars closer to my gaze.

I struggled to defend myself, but what good could I do with only one limb? Activity roared through his attack. Blow after blow rained down on my face.

I'd lost.

The blows kept coming, forcing me out of my skull. They hurt magnitudes less than a full-powered Activity could manage, but at the rate he was going, I tethered close to death.

Power trickled down my fingertips. Lightning seared through my brain in chastisement. I abandoned all hope in my ability and latched onto a strip of Activity’s costume.

My head crashed into his nose. Then, with a scream that sounded alien to my ears, I grabbed the knife and rammed it into his shoulder.

Blood welled like a fountain. It spilled over my fingers, coating my jaw and chest.

Activity buckled.

I rolled over him and grabbed him by the face. He tried to struggle, but I slammed the knife deeper into his flesh. My fingers slipped over the blood, but I punched him—again and again—for all I was worth.

Activity gasped. Blood bubbled up from his mouth. “You'd kill me,” he said. “You’d really kill me, huh?”

I wrapped cold fingers around his throat.

“Do it,” he heaved, spurting blood. “I would have done the same.”

My head swam from all the pain. How had we even ended up here?

“Do it!”

I tightened my grip. I swum in and out of consciousness, despite my superior position.

I was so tired—of all of this. And I was done. I just wanted to sleep.

Activity's voice flowed up from afar off; words I couldn't comprehend. We were so similar now that I thought about it and just the slightest bit pitiful. If we had taken the time to understand each other, all of this could have been avoided.

My vision dimmed.

I'd been childhood friends with a kid like that once. A rivalry that disaster had forced me to repress.

Disaster. And gunmen.

A teacher stood in the darkness, exchanging a final glance with his son.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Fuck.”

“Just kill me,” Activity whispered, barely loud enough to hear. “There’s no going back.”

“Shut up.”

“Do it . . . Do it, damn you.”

Tears dotted my fingers.

They weren’t mine.

I stared at the image—of a beaten Activity crying in a pool of his own blood. Then with a broken wail, I slid off him and collapsed in a heap by his side.

We lay there in our bedding of blood and sand, staring at the sky. Tears ran down my face.

I returned to my body with a wheeze, too tired to even gasp for air. My lungs buckled dangerously in my chest.

“Why . . .?” he mumbled. “Why didn't you finish me?”

Why?

“You're Dare,” I said. “Dare Akintoye. You're the kid who got shot back in junior school . . .”

He didn't reply, but the words tumbled from my mouth. They wouldn’t stop, not now I’d finally allowed myself to revisit that horrible day.

“Your dad taught science. And your mom packed the best lunches in class. You were one of the cool kids. Great at sports too—” I blacked out for a second. “The girl I crushed on liked you the most.”

The memories returned with a vengeance now. Of simpler days when I returned home to find two parents waiting. Of rowdy peer groups who laughed as hard as they fought.

I would spend nights by lamplight, poring over the zeroes on my mock test results. Only to place first the next day on the hundred-meter race, a vibrant sister cheering from the stands.

“You were so full of yourself even back then,” I said. “I doubt you’d remember a quiet kid like me. But I remember you. We competed often in P.E. I always gave as good as I got.”

Activity didn't so much a grunt.

I turned to him and met utter silence. The knife I'd stuck in his shoulder gleamed in the dark.

I bit back a sob.

Catherine had warned about this. About how I always destroyed obstacles using lethal force.

I’d only done it in self-defense. I never meant to stab him. Right?

Right?

I was still fighting the tears when Ballboss arrived. He looked at the scene in a state of stunned silence. Then he pulled me into the sac.

The rest of the night passed in a blur.

I woke the next morning in the med bay. Although, woke wasn't exactly accurate seeing as I’d barely even slept.

Vague recollections of the night before seeped into my head. I remembered being surrounded by orderlies in a cramped ambulance too tight to breathe. Two Villains—collared and handcuffed—marched into a van. Subsequent events weren’t as clear, but I didn’t particularly mind. Some experiences weren’t worth reliving.

I raised a hand to my head, jostling the peripheral catheter.

The genial doctor—whose name I now knew as Dr. Olawale—looked up from his file. “Is everything alright?”

“No . . .” I mumbled. “Yeah . . .” I cleared my throat. “I'm fine. Go on, please.”

Dr. Olawale hummed. He fished a penlight from his lab coat and inspected my eyes. Stubby fingers flitted over my face, stinging despite his carefulness.

“You've been in and out of it since morning,” he muttered, killing the torch. “Probably fatigue. Once we are done here, you will be given enough room to rest.”

I worked my lips into a response.

“Water? No can do, sorry,” the doctor said. “You are nil per os until your UGI series is cleared. If the discomfort becomes unbearable, I can ask one of the nurses to place ice on your lips.”

“Thank you,” I managed.

“‘Should be the other way round. It's not every year I meet a patient who needs my attention thrice in a week. How are you feeling?”

“. . . Pain.”

“That should be expected. You avoided damage to your spinal cord, but a vertebral fracture is nothing to sniff at. You're a Super. You'll recover in one piece. But I must warn you. Your mobility will be hampered for the next couple of weeks. The only other thing you have to worry about is . . .” His gaze flickered to my beast of a right arm which had swollen two sizes and looked more at home perched at the bottom of the sea.

“We can get rid of the protrusions,” he continued. “But it would require surgery.”

“What kind of surgery?”

“Reconstructive. Luckily, we’ve dealt with similar before. A team of plastic surgeons will handle your case. The corals didn’t bury into bone, so the chances for complications are greatly reduced.”

I must have said something, but I couldn’t tell over the spinning in my head.

“You sustained zero internal bleeding,” the doctor added, “but you do have a few other injuries. Esophageal trauma. Lacerations. Contusions on the face and neck. You’ll need lots of bed rest for the next two weeks. No prancing around this time until you’re fully healed. I mean it.”

An image pierced through the muddle of my thoughts. I wet my lips, forcing my jaw to work. “Did you hear anything about my teammate? About—”

“Excuse me?” someone called from outside the cubicle. “Doctor?”

“One moment, please,” Dr. Olawale said. He tucked the file into my bedside table and stepped out into the ward.

I shut my eyes, resting my tired lids. Crippled though I was on the hospital bed, all of the injuries I'd received paled in comparison to the gaping hole in my chest.

I’d tried to murder a teammate in cold blood. And chances were high I'd succeeded. What could I say in my defense? How could I face Dia Mater? Or Harvest? Or even Bazaar?

Worst of all, how could I face myself?

Shouts ensued from outside the cubicle. Dr. Olawale returned the next instant, a lopsided scowl on his face.

“Well, you're in luck, Volley,” he said, gathering his files. “I have been informed you won't be needing further treatment. Surgery to remove the protrusions is still on the cards. We'd decide if you need it after the Heroes are done with you.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Huh? Why?” I sputtered.

He answered with his back, leaving the cubicle in a flurry.

“I take it he didn't like my suggestion,” Pro-now mused, slinking into the room. He hadn't changed out of his costume from yesterday if the smells of sweat and gunpowder were any indication. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door, staring hard at me.

I met his gaze through the transparent surface of his visor and tried not to flinch. He'd ordered the doctor to deny me his services. Which meant I was being treated like a criminal. A lump rose in my throat.

“How do you intend to punish me?” I asked.

Pro-now quirked his brows. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean . . . you . . . the treatment . . .”

“Your therapy has become unnecessary,” he said, waving his hand. “We went through Elixir's personal effects some minutes ago and uncovered a cache of frozen blood. It won't be enough for all our casualties, but we are prioritizing. You ended near top of the list.”

Relief flooded my muscles. But I couldn't accept it. Not after what I'd done. “I won't be needing her blood. Save it for someone else.”

“I didn't say you had a choice. You got wounded in the line of duty. I won't have you bedridden. Not when you stand the risk of permanent damage.”

“But Activity—”

“Stabilized. He is the top priority for intervention.” His eyebrows drew into a knot. “You had something to say?”

I did.

I’d done it. I'd rammed the knife into Activity’s shoulder. But it wasn’t easy to admit.

“Did we recover Elixir?” I asked instead.

Pro-now stiffened. “We didn’t.”

“But YamaYama . . .”

“We pursued him. Our maritime and helicopter squads mobilized ahead of time. Unfortunately, the Four-oh-Four proved their capriciousness. YamaYama’s speedboat was found abandoned in the middle of the Lagoon.”

“We should contact Hyperlink. Surely, he’d be able to find them.”

“He tried but didn’t succeed.” Pro-now squared his shoulders. “Don’t think for one second that we are quitting here though. Lagos, Newtown, the entirety of the South—we’ll give no quarter until Elixir is found.”

He sounded confident, but I couldn't bring myself to share in his resolve. I'd come the closest to laying our worries to rest, and I'd let YamaYama slip between my fingers. My failure had consigned Elixir to her doom.

Pro-now studied me. “You're blaming yourself. Don't. You did more than your fair share on the battlefield. Boil. Cnidarian. YamaYama. You punched above your weight class, Volley—multiple times and lived to tell it.”

“All three probably escaped.”

“They did. But we took our pound of flesh. Tellmenot, Bazaar, and Manbite are now in Council custody. We also rescued Ms. Catherine.”

“Ava’s not . . .” I said, stopping to wheeze. “She's not one of them.”

“That's not for me to decide.”

“No.” I struggled to sit. My spine flared at the movement. “Bazaar isn't with the syndicate. She's old friends with Cnidarian, but she didn't approve of what they did. She never wanted to join.”

Pro-now gestured. “At ease, Volley. Bazaar will get a chance to defend herself during her in-house hearing.”

I glared at him, ineffective though it was with eyes as wide as bean cakes and just as puffy. “Don't do this. I won't stand for it. Ava’s a member of the team. She's been through so much already.”

“We adhere to our guidelines—”

“I don't care what we adhere to. When you met me, I was fresh off reconstructing a boy’s stomach. You accepted me anyway. In comparison, Ava's done far less.”

“In comparison,” Pro-now agreed. “But only if we are comparing using your limited knowledge.” He adjusted his respirator. “Before Bazaar split from her team”—he formed finger quotes at the word ‘split’—“they made waves in the underworld as fairly effective bodyguards for hire. The Castaways, they called themselves. We’d gotten multiple reports of a Manbite and a Cnidarian way before they stepped foot in Newtown.”

“And Bazaar?”

“She went by Communion. Supers with Queen-type powers never stay long under the radar.”

“Why didn't you say anything? Did she even know you were informed?”

“Because nothing needed to be said. The Castaways were small-time and had only operated in North-Central beforehand. When reports reached us of Communion striking out on her own, we decided to recruit her.”

I mulled his words over in my head. Something about them didn't sit right with me. “You set her up,” I mused aloud. “You put her in a situation where she could never come out on top. Ava was too much of a liability to have on the team, but you let her in—as bait to lure her old teammates.”

“We took a calculated risk,” Pro-now said, pushing off the door. “In an ideal scenario, Ava would have helped us capture her gang. But things didn't work out as planned. She had severed communications with them longer than we'd thought. The only time she tried to re-establish contact, she failed.”

“The Sagidi incident . . .” I murmured.

Pro-now walked to the foot of my bed. “The SRA is interested in her, Volley. I don't need to explain why. She would have kept traipsing over the countryside until she ran smack-dab into their paws. I didn't want her on their roster, so I made the sensible choice. However, after the last stunt she pulled—” He raised a hand to stifle my objection.

“Bazaar went along with the Four-oh-Four,” he said, “without putting up a fight. It doesn't matter if she was coerced. The staff won't see it that way. A lot of the Combat suits now consider her an enemy. Her position here is tenuous at best.”

“And what about the secrets she’s gleaned in her time with us?” I asked. “Our personal information? Our operational structure? She knows too much to be tossed away. You can't deny it's less costly to keep her.”

Pro-now’s eyes turned cold. “There are ways around that. The less you know, the better off you are.”

“Please,” I said. “Reconsider.”

“Volley—”

“Please.”

Pro-now quietened.

I waited with bated breath until he finally nodded.

“I will guarantee her a fair hearing,” he said. “I will also take statements from you, Harvest, and Neviecha into account. This is the last we will speak about this issue.”

I would speak about it all I wanted, but I recognized a lost battle when I saw one. A tactical retreat was in order. For now.

I settled into the bed. “What about the rest of the team?”

“We suffered no fatalities if that's what you're asking,” Pro-now answered. “Lots of casualties, though. Activity ranks the worst of it. Bazaar gave us a brief scare. And Harvest won't be using her powers for a few days till she recovers from Brain Damp. Kabash . . .” He clenched his fists. “Kabash could be doing better. But he's currently back on his feet.”

“And Dia Mater?” I asked, unable to contain the tremor in my voice.

“She’s here in the med bay. Assault team Alpha put an end to No Light’s rampage, but he managed to escape before he could be shackled. Everyone who faced him suffered electric burns. Dia Mater's nursing Brain Damp, but it’s nothing she can't handle. She is off duty for the next week regardless.” He crinkled his eyes. “Oh, your girlfriend says hi too. She also survived the fight.”

I ignored the jibe. “And Miss Catherine? How is she faring?”

“She is. She was more than a little displeased to learn about her brother.” He tapped his thigh, expression guarded. “She might be quitting at the end of the month. Not that I'd blame her. The Kwartengs have served longer than most of the staff. However, eight Combat suits died yesterday. I can't afford to show favoritism.”

Eight.

The number hung in the air, drawing its fair share of space.

I didn't know any of the Combat suits on a personal level. I barely even acknowledged them each time they waved us through the gates. Despite that, eight of their number had woken in the morning and ended the day in body bags—all on our behalf.

A shiver crawled up my spine.

Pro-now went silent, keeping his gaze on me.

“Something wrong, sir?” I asked.

“Volley. Are you sure you have nothing else to tell me?”

“I d-do. I s-should probably say, but I don’t know how . . .”

Pro-now sighed. Carefully, so I could follow his every movement, he placed the knife on the bedside table.

A sour taste filled my mouth.

“I recognize our appliances anywhere I see them, Volley,” Pro-now said calmly. “We procure all our utensils from the same supplier. And a kitchen knife isn't a weapon gunmen would carry.”

“I-I can explain . . .”

“Save it. I've spent some time thinking about this, and no matter how I look at it, the injuries you both received were . . . curious.” His fingers hovered over the knife. “I looked at your scans. Deliberate, repeated trauma to the spine, and a face that matched five consecutive nights of MMA.”

He spun the knife. “I noticed similar oddities with Toye. His costume was shredded beyond repair, and his injuries were packed with sand. The last time I'd seen Panzer damaged that badly, the Super wearing it had spat in Saver’s face.” Chilled rage glimmered in his eyes. “You tried to kill your teammate.”

“Y-yes.”

Pro-now’s respirator whirred. “I should cuff you. And following that, I should toss you into a cell. The only reason I haven’t taken action is that the incident is so bizarre, I’m still in a state of disbelief. Do you realize what you’ve done, Volley?”

He spoke with a measured tone, but a storm tainted his words. Pro-now wasn’t Dia Mater or Kabash. Sure, he projected the image of an affable leader, but at his core, he was a seasoned veteran of war. This was someone used to making black-hearted decisions, and in the last few seconds, I'd nearly found out why.

“I'll pack up,” I stammered. “Once I can move, I'll grab my bag and head back home.”

“A dismissal won’t solve this issue.”

It wouldn't. But he didn't really intend to lock me up, did he?

“Kabash had warned,” Pro-now said, “that the rift between you and Activity was headed in a troublesome direction. I'd hoped to effect a stop-gap within the week. But your quarrel imploded in less time than I could act.” He shook his head. “What were you thinking?”

“I'm sorry—”

“That is not an answer.”

“I don't know what to say!”

“The truth.”

“I did it in self-defense!”

Pro-now hissed. “Self-defense? You smuggled an unauthorized weapon into the battlefield and used it for the first time, not on your enemies but on your teammate. We call such actions premeditated in regular parlance.”

“I’m not a murderer! Why would I plan to kill Activity?”

“Then why did you conceal the knife?”

I fumbled to a stop. Activity was the one who’d threatened to kill me. Between him and Bazaar, I’d thought it sensible to seek an alternate means of protection.

I couldn’t claim ignorance though. Council Supers were banned from bringing unauthorized gear along on missions. I hadn’t brought the knife with the intent to maim anyone, but intentions flew out the window when pummeled by brutal force.

Activity had left me no choice. Pro-now would understand once he learned the events that transpired.

I opened my mouth.

Pro-now would understand. But why did I want his support? To prove I was right? I’d played the blame game with Activity until we’d ended up with a double murder attempt on our hands. Continuing from where we stopped would only bring more of the same.

Pro-now jammed the knife into his belt. “Your hesitation is commendable, Volley, but I have a good idea about what happened.”

“Y-you do?”

“The battered gunmen provided a clue. I simply wanted to hear your side of the story. Sorry for being a little too intense.”

“I haven’t said anything—”

“You haven’t. Who wounded the gunmen?”

I hung my head.

“Who, Volley?”

“Activity . . .”

“And?”

“I tried to stop him . . .”

“Resulting in the scuffle between the both of you.” Pro-now lapsed into brief silence. “I saw the damage. Lost fingers. Broken jaws. Shattered joints. Three of the four will never walk again. Activity was cruel, and you were right to rebuke his actions. But I don’t want you taking the wrong lessons from this. I don’t want you to end up like me.” He said the last bit in a whisper and made a fist over the bed stand. “Being a Hero isn't about righteous retaliation. It’s about taking the hard road when every fiber of your being screams to travel the wide.

“You raised that knife knowing full well Activity's blood could be on your hands. Yet, you did it anyway, continuing your previous showings of ill restraint. Activity might be the problem child. But the one who scares me more is you.”

His words stung my ears—familiar chastisements I'd told myself. I lowered my head regardless, burning with shame.

“Volley,” Pro-now whispered. “For someone who Emerged a month ago, you fight like you were raised to kill.”

I flinched. Incidents from the past few weeks bombarded me, lending credence to his words. Dia Mater had made a similar observation: I was too comfortable with this lifestyle. And in the rare moments I’d tried to ponder my purpose, none of my memories—not even from my happiest days—succeeded in proving I belonged elsewhere.

The adults weren’t far from the mark.

I hadn't truly been living until that night I’d shattered a chair against the wall of my room. It said a lot about my mentality that the greatest punishment I envisioned for attempted murder was a return to the status quo: where the fumes suffocated, the days blended in grey, and an angry customer sprayed spittle in my face.

I didn't want to leave.

“Yes?” Pro-now said, cocking his head.

“I don't want to leave,” I repeated. “Back to that place.”

“You don't want to return home?”

“Not that.” I couldn’t convey my meaning. Home was everything. But I also wanted to be something more. For the sake of my family, and—for the first time, I allowed myself to admit—also, for mine.

Pro-now inhaled sharply. “Whatever you mean, the decision is mine to make. I owe you an apology too. I should have acted faster. Before the feud between you both developed to this. For what it is worth, I am sorry, Volley. You should never have been forced into that dreadful situation.”

“I played a part—”

“No, you defended yourself. That’s understandable. It’s just . . . It’s one thing to fight for your survival. It’s another to conveniently defend yourself using a concealed contraband. Rabidor would make a case when he gets wind of this.” He tapped his sleeve. “You know, the major reason I voted to bring you into the fold—”

“—was because of Toye,” I finished for him.

Pro-now perked up. “You remember him? Your psych evaluation mentioned a tendency to aggressively disregard painful memories.”

“I remember him.”

No point asking how Pro-now knew about my childhood. The CAH had looked into my background. And considering their vast resources, they were bound to stumble across the terrorist attack at that one school in Ekiti.

Pro-now hummed. “I'd hoped you both would evolve enough to be positive influences on each other. That hope has perished. Activity’s excesses can no longer be tolerated. He will be given a chance to defend himself, but I will sooner see him discharged and committed than trekking our halls.

"You, on the other hand, will face punishment. Not for defending yourself, no, but for engineering a situation where your intentions could easily be misconstrued. I’ll try to be fair to you, but the severity of your punishment will be determined after Activity’s hearing.”

“No,” I said before the logical half of my brain could intervene.

“Do not repeat that, Volley.”

“N-no. I mean, wait. Hear me out.” I let my tongue do the talking, powered by my heart. “Don’t dismiss Activity. The Pacesetters might not have good compatibility, but we've proven we can be something more if given the chance.”

“You can be something more without Activity’s contribution. If that is all—”

“I’ll keep Toye in line,” I promised. “I'll step up as his guarantor. If he fails again, punish me alongside him.”

Pro-now snorted. “Activity has proven he cannot be controlled. I refuse to waste additional resources on him.”

“We need him. Newtown would face worse Villains than the Four-oh-Four in the future.”

“And yet, I'd rather take one person I can rely on, than two who claw at each other in the face of bigger problems.”

Ouch. “I'll give you that person. Multiplied by five. You named me team leader for a reason. Trust me.”

“A decision I am starting to regret,” Pro-now said drily.

“Then I'll step down. It's still a win for you. If you do things your way, you lose one Super you can't afford to keep. But if I succeed? Tell me a level-headed Activity isn't better than no Activity at all.”

Pro-now didn't reply.

“Just . . . give me a chance to reach out to him,” I said. “Let me make amends for my part in the mess.”

“He’s not the kid you remember, Volley.”

“And neither am I. But I watched Activity’s dad die less than twenty meters away from him. If I were in his shoes, I would have turned out worse.”

Pro-now stared at me—a quizzical look in his eyes. He frowned a short moment later and vacated my bedside. “Enjoy the rest of your morning, Volley.”

The wooden door swung shut.

I stared at the ceiling, nursing the backlash from an overworked throat.

Maybe, I wasn’t great at being a Hero. But I sure as hell intended to become a better person.