“How are you doing, son?”

Temi cracked an eyelid. He lay on his side, an intravenous line dangling from his arm to a bag on the pole. The bag reeked of sugar and salt, but Temi's sweat told of hurt and anger, and pain.

“Why are you here?” Temi said, voice feeble.

“I came to see you,” Ademola replied.

“I don't want to see you. Just go. Please.”

Please. It galled him to think that even at his weakest, Temi would rather have anyone but him at his side. Anyone but his father.

“I’m not leaving,” Ademola said, pulling up a chair. “We need to talk.”

“I don't want to talk to you!” Temi spat. He winced, cradling his stomach.

Ademola hid a stab of pain.

The laparotomy had been successful, but an ugly suturing—uglier even than the tattoos—now rested beneath Temi's hospital robes. It was a bitter thing to picture: his son lying in a pool of blood. He’d been told that intervention had been timely, but it had also been close. Had it been any later, he’d be having this meeting in a morgue. It was a sobering thought.

Sunlight filtered in through a large window, flanked by curtains of a baby blue. The curtains had been washed with a mild detergent, one that he liked, and he was sure he’d passed the washwoman on his way up. In contrast, the other smells assaulted his nostrils. Smells of crusted blood, antiseptic, and the stink of human waste. He was reminded for the umpteenth time why he hated visiting hospitals.

Temi glared at him.

“What's wrong?” Ademola asked.

The boy smirked. “Figures. I haven't seen you in a year, and the only time you show up is when I almost die.” He wheezed. “I guess I should try dying more often.”

“It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“Screw you.”

Why was Temi always so difficult?

Ademola rubbed a palm across his thighs. “I know I haven't done right by you over the years. And I know you blame me for some of what you've been through . . .”

“No, seriously. Screw you.”

“Temi,” Ademola said, and this time, he could not contain a growl. “If you could just—”

“Save all your excuses for mom when you go meet her. I'm sure she'd love to hear it.”

Ademola was on his feet before he could stop himself. The chair clattered to the ground. “You will not speak about your mother this way!”

Temi didn't flinch. “Or what? You’d hit me like you used to hit her?”

Ademola bristled, taking a step forward.

“Which cheek do you want?” Temi goaded, sitting upright. “Left, or right?”

No. He was better than this.

How had he gotten here? Four years ago, he’d had a family, maybe not a great one, but as loving as he could hope for. He’d been a struggling mason with a great wife and a son whose future sparkled brighter than the stars. Now, he was off chasing his demons, his wife had returned to dust, and the brilliance in his son's eyes had grown dun.

He righted his chair and sat back in it. “I am not that person anymore.”

“Pfft.”

“Why do you this? Why do you always try to rile me?”

Temi fell back into his pillow. “Why are you my father? Why wasn't I born to someone else?”

Ademola dug his nails into his knees. “So, that's what this is? Your way of fighting back? Rather than try to be better than the man you claim to hate, you make yourself worse.”

“Well, it's your fault.”

“Yes. Blame it all on me. Don’t take responsibility for anything.” Ademola crossed his arms. “Boohoo, I live with my uncle and my cousins. I don't want for anything but my dad is never around. If I do drugs or get myself in trouble, be sure to take the blame, daddy!”

“You fucking—”

“Watch your mouth, boy! Or I'd rip it off your face. You are an adult. It is time you—not me—start owning up to your actions.”

The veins bulged in Temi's head. “You screwed me over!”

Ademola shrugged. “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. There were many ways you could’ve chosen to respond. But what did you do? You joined the Four-oh-Four.”

Temi’s eyes expanded. “You don't know what you are saying.”

“So, I am wrong?”

“I don't answer to you.”

“Swear it then. Swear on your mother's grave that you aren’t one of them.”

Temi turned in the opposite direction. “Get out of my room. Right now. I don't want you here! Leave!”

Ademola reeled, feeling like the floor had opened up beneath him. Temi hadn't denied it. He’d hedged but he hadn't denied the accusation. That rotten boy was right. His son was one of them. One of the Four-oh-Four.

“How could you?” Ademola asked, his voice distant in his ears. “How could you join them?”

“I told you to sod off.”

“This isn't a joke, boy!”

Temi balled his fists.

Ademola recognized that move. Temi was winding up, preparing to fly off his handle. Not good. He was going about this the wrong way. His son typically reacted in poor ways to aggression. So, what could he do?

“Temi,” he tried, “remember when you dropped out of the university?”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The boy didn't reply.

“I didn’t pressure you. ‘Didn't force you back to school. When you took an interest in art, I supported you. When you got those heinous tattoos, I didn’t say a thing.”

“Oh, poor you.”

Ademola ignored him. “Then the late nights started. The smoking. The getting into fights. The sneaking of girls into your uncle's home. I chalked all that to you being rebellious. But now, this?”

“Why are you still here?” Temi said, “How is it your business who I hang with?”

“You have no idea—”

“No, you have no idea,” Temi said, and his skinny back shook something fierce. “My friends understand me. They look out for me. They've been more of a family to me than you've ever been.”

“They killed your mother.”

“. . .”

Ademola leaned into his chair. The plastic creaked beneath his weight. “You don't know because it isn't what we were told. On paper, she was a victim of a workplace fire. In reality, it was something else.”

“If you are saying shit just to make me feel bad . . .”

“There were two gangs,” Ademola growled, “both involved in a territorial dispute. The store your mother worked belonged to one of the gangs and was right in the middle of the war zone. One gang thought to ruin the other's business if they couldn't win the territory. They came in, shot up the place and set the supermarket on fire. That gang was the Four-oh-Four.”

Temi didn't turn, but Ademola could smell on him the same reaction he’d had the day he learned the truth: shock.

“You can look up the police records if you doubt me,” Ademola said. “I can get them for you if you want. Just don't wax poetic about the Four-oh-Four in front of me. Don't tell me how they are the best family you’ve ever had. Don't give me that drivel! They took your mother and you’re honoring them for it.”

A child wailed somewhere in the distance. It clashed with Ademola’s ragged breathing, ruining the silence in the room.

Temi turned to him, a black look plastered on his face. “And when were you planning to tell me that you’re a Super?” he said.

Ademola’s chest lurched.

“You think I'm stupid?” Temi continued. “You thought I wouldn't notice? The rage. The howling. The barely restrained strength.”

“Temi . . .”

“Tell me why my father was running around playing Hero to everyone else but never bothered being a hero to me.”

Ademola's mouth went dry. There were so many things he could say to that. But none made perfect sense at the moment. Why had he abandoned Temi with his brother? Because he had been avenging his wife? Because he was scared his son could be used against him? Because he didn’t want Temi to see the beast his father had become?

He must have stayed quiet for a long time because Temi returned to facing the wall. When the boy spoke, his voice was strained, having lost all its spunk. “No more. Please. No more of this. I just want to sleep.”

“I’ll . . . I'll be back when you wake.”

“I don't care.”

Ademola let himself out. He stood by the door, resting the back of his head against the wall. “I know you are there, Erica.”

“I wasn't hiding.”

Erica Onovoh—Dia Mater—slid out the corner bend into the aisle. A sweater and long plaid skirt combo hid her form, messy tresses bunched up on her head. She held a bag of chips in one hand, a paper cup of coffee in another.

“How much did you hear?” he growled.

“Nothing at all. I backed away when I heard the shouting and gave you space.” She handed him the cup. “How's Temi doing?”

Ademola glared at the coffee. It was black with sugar. Just like he liked it. “He's healing,” he said.

“So, he would soon be discharged?”

“In four days.”

“Great.” Erica settled in beside him, tearing into her bag of chips.

She always did that. Where most people made themselves scarce in his company, Erica attempted to steer it. The darn woman lacked an important behavioral instinct, one all animals possessed, that triggered apprehension at the sight of a larger entity. It was even funnier when he considered the physical differences between them. She was three-quarters his height and only about as wide as his thigh. Strangely, she was the only one to ever make him feel small.

“I wanted to apologize,” Erica began.

“Save it,” he said.

“Fine, I will. But I still feel guilty for the way things played out. You wanted justice for your son, and we recruited his attacker instead.”

Ademola grit his teeth, keeping his rage at bay. Despite his best efforts, the cup trembled in his palm, spilling coffee onto his hand.

“I am not completely sold on his recruitment,” Erica admitted. “And I will be keeping an eye on him over the next few weeks. I’m just asking that you don’t resent us for this. The Council needs more Supers, and it has been proven time without number that violent conflict and powers go hand in hand. It’s almost impossible to find anyone with a perfect record for recruitment, and even if they existed, the SIRC would snatch them first.”

She glanced up at him. “This wasn’t done to spite you. You, Temi . . . you’re practically family to us. Chetachi’s assault is unforgivable but—”

“No,” Ademola said, unable to bear the turmoil. “The kid got one thing right. Temi—he really joined the Four-oh-Four.”

Erica’s expression fell. “Oh, Demola. I am so sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you certain about this?”

“I am. And I am sure Pro-now knows it too.”

They stood in silence after that, indulging in their victuals. Visitors and staff of St. Fabiola's Hospital walked past, none giving them so much as a cursory glance. One nurse had looked pointedly at Erica's bag of chips, but that was the only bit of scrutiny they attracted. It struck Ademola as ironic. In costume, they commanded the respect and attention of any who passed. Out of it, however, they were just another couple of people.

He polished off the cup of coffee, already wishing he had a refill. “So, what did you want to tell me that couldn't wait till I was back at base?”

Erica munched on her chips. “It isn’t enough that I wanted to apologize?”

“Nice try. And no.”

She puffed her cheeks. “I wanted to see how Temi was doing. I also had urgent news for you. AV told me you were at the hospital, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

Crumbs flew from her mouth as she spoke, causing Ademola's brows to twitch.

Goddammit, woman.

“This urgent news,” he said instead, “what is it?”

“A warning,” she replied. “Two warnings, actually. First off, Pro-now wants us to form pairs. No more taking missions solo.”

Ademola snarled. “That was not the deal. When I joined, I made it clear that I worked alone. You promised not to hamper that.”

“This is only temporary, Demola. You are still the lone wolf you want to be. However, things are moving faster than we'd anticipated.” Erica waited for a family of six to pass. “The CAH setting shop in Newtown is no longer front-page news. We are still understaffed and are far from where we want to be manpower-wise. However, to our enemies, our expansion is indicative of a paradigm shift. And as with all shifts, the opposing forces are responding.”

She folded the half-eaten bag of chips into her skirt pocket and wiped her fingers on her sweater. “Which brings me to the first warning. N'ihuchi posted a surprise video, calling for interested applicants. The FG clamped down on it before it could gain traction, but Pro-now suspects we haven’t heard the last on the matter.”

Ademola could almost smell the blood in the air. Of the Villain groups operating within the country, N'ihuchi was the worst of the lot. Everyone knew to run at the mere sight of them, but they thankfully preferred to stay out of sight. They had gone under the radar after their last big battle; a status-quo they now desired to change. Nothing good followed a report about N’ihuchi. Nothing good.

“We can take them,” Rabidor said, more to himself than to her. “Your former team has battled them on occasion, yeah? How did those pan out?”

“Bloodier than you can imagine,” Erica replied, sporting a pained look. “We’ve beaten N’ihuchi twice, but we lost good people in the process. I never want to revisit those memories.”

Oh.

“For the second warning,” she said, “we have reliable intel that the Four-oh-Four is undergoing a reformation. YamaYama has cemented his hold on the group. They are getting bolder and are now recruiting more Supers from outside Newtown.”

Ademola froze.

“They sent a strongly worded message to the Governor’s office,” Erica said. “To paraphrase: ‘Newtown is ours and we wouldn't let the CAH put their grubby paws in our belonging.’ Pro-now believes they are gearing for war.”

Ademola swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I've handled the Four-oh-Four. I’ve put a lot of their Supers in jail. This would be no different.”

Erica touched his arm. “You know why this is different. You need to get Temi out of there—soon. It is all fun and games right now for most of the kids they call gang members. But in time, they will be expected to fight. The Four-oh-Four could put a gun in Temi's hands, and someone would need to stop him. Someone who might not be as compassionate as you.”

Someone like the boy who had put him in ER.

“Can I go see him?” Erica asked.

“No. He's sleeping now.” Ademola said, crumpling the cup. He tossed it into a bin. “He also doesn't know you. It means enough already that you came.”

“Then I will see you at Base.”

“Yeah.”

Erica rounded the corner bend.

Ademola closed his eyes, feeling the long years catch up to him. Behind him, Temi sniffled into his pillow; a private moment ruined by Ademola's sensitive hearing. The boy needed time to come to grips with his actions. As did he.

Erica’s ominous words rang in his ears.

They might not have the time.