“Do you know what it feels like to kill a man?” Oliver said. “I do.”

“That's good, Ollie,” Sebastian replied.

Oliver smirked. He tossed his jackknife into the air, waiting until the last moment to catch it. “The feeling isn’t as profound as you might think. Most of the time, you stick it to someone and beat it before the light leaves their eyes.” He repeated the maneuver, waiting even longer. “Your first kill though, that's where the real kicker is. Everyone zones out the first time. But first kills are distorted by myths. There is no crisis of self. No moment of clarity. You simply go numb, switch to autopilot, and flee. Days later, you start doubting you even did it.”

Bakar snorted. “And how many people have you killed to qualify as an authority on the subject?” The short teen sat opposite Sebastian on the grass, frowning at the Ludo board emplaced between them.

Oliver placed a finger beneath his chin in thought. He shook his head and pointed his knife at Bakar. “Haha. Very sly. But I must refrain from answering. I felt a buzz. Cut it out. Now.”

“My power's inactive,” Bakar said. “And you wouldn’t have thought the question over if you weren't spilling lies.” He took his turn at the dice, grunting as they came to a stop. “Six.”

“You just moved seven,” Sebastian said. His full beard twitched as Bakar adjusted one of the tokens on the board. “I said, you just moved seven.”

“I moved six,” Bakar said. “Are you certain of your claim?”

Sebastian's visage turned ugly. “Don’t use that on me. Try it and I'll break your head.”

“Six it is then.” Bakar returned the dice to their cup.

Oliver glanced at Bidemi. “At least one of us is feeling under the weather today. Were my stories too gory for your tastes, my lady? I can just as well switch to romance.”

“Don't disgust her, Ollie,” Sebastian said.

“You disgust me yourself,” Oliver replied. A vulpine grin split his face. “If you must know, fighting is not dissimilar to lovemaking. You engage your target and stick them with the knife. Repeatedly. Until they are screaming and dripping all over.”

“Sounds nonconsensual,” Bakar muttered.

“Your opinion is nonconsensual,” Oliver said. “If you must accuse me of such, start with Sebastian, the puppy-eyed stalker opposite you.”

Sebastian growled. “I don't stalk anybody.”

“Really?” Bakar said. “I could have sworn you did. Are you saying you never peeked on Bidemi back when we traveled the roads?”

Sebastian went still.

“Ooh, he didn't answer,” Oliver said. “Someone's got a secret.”

Sebastian rose to his feet with a snarl. He kicked the game board aside. “You will fight me. I told you what would happen if you ever used your power on me.”

“Except I didn't,” Bakar said, yawning. “If the truth is nothing to be ashamed of, you wouldn't have hesitated.”

“Fight. Fight. Fight,” Oliver chanted.

Sebastian grabbed Bakar by the collar.

“Let him go,” Bidemi said. Her voice barely carried in the breeze.

All three men turned to her.

“Let him go,” Bidemi repeated. “This isn't the time.”

“Ah,” Oliver said. “Our venerable leader finally speaks.”

Bidemi ignored him. A white truck had appeared around the corner, and it made its way up to the foot of the bridge. Its giant headlamps flashed only once. That was their cue.

“Boil is here,” she said, leaping off the roof of their sedan. “Remember, position of power.”

Sebastian released Bakar's collar. “I will hit you later.”

The impish teen bared his teeth. “I'd like to see you try.”

“No one's hitting anybody,” Bidemi said. She slid down the hill at the side of the bridge and stopped beside Oliver. “You know the deal. We act tough. We show discipline. We get our jobs done. They take us seriously.”

“That last bit is taking its sweet time coming,” Oliver said.

“I agree.” Sebastian brushed his beard. “We've done our fair share of heavy-lifting and more. They keep treating us like low-level thugs.” He gestured at the dilapidated bridge. “Look at this place. Would he meet the other Supers in a dump like this?”

Idiots, Bidemi thought. This wasn't a good time to complain. Not when they needed to present a united front.

“Are we doing this?” she asked, looking each of them in the face. “Right now?”

The boys averted their gazes, save for the idiot, Bakar.

“Need I remind you of how close we came to dying in the labs?” she asked. “Would you rather be up north in the trenches fighting a useless war?”

They didn't reply.

“Masks on,” she said.

The boys donned the plain white ceramic masks.

“You guys want to get back at the big boys?” she snarled. “Start acting like them. That includes projecting a strong image even when no one's looking.”

“We hear you,” Bakar grumbled.

Bidemi bit back a curse. She pulled her mask over her face.

The white truck continued its ascent and came to a stop beside the hill. Its driver alighted, sporting a calabash-shaped tattoo on his face. He held the door open for his boss: a large cylinder of a man whose bald head bore a native cap.

The boss raised his arms and trussed the sleeves on his agbádá—the wide, flowing robes popular in the region. A quartet of fleshy appendages—thick as elephant trunks—trailed beneath his clothes. The driver proceeded to the trunk of the car and grabbed a large sack, hefting it over his shoulder.

“Baba mí,” Bidemi greeted as the two men approached. She prostrated. Her teammates followed suit.

“Cnidarian,” the obese man—Boil—replied. His beady eyes raked over the group. “I asked to meet with Tellmenot. You mentioned nothing about coming with the . . . others.” He said the last word with such inflection that she wouldn’t mistake his disgust.

Bidemi remained prostrate. “My sincerest apologies, baba. But we have a matter to discuss with you. As a collective.”

“Then you should have requested a proper appointment,” Boil said. “You aren't a child drooling from the mouth, Cnidarian. You are old enough to know how these things go.”

Bidemi waited, sweat rolling down her scalp.

“I will not be so lenient next time,” Boil said. “Rise.”

All four complied.

Boil gestured to his guard. “Drop it.”

The sack thudded to the ground. A young man spilled out of it. He was a looker, this one, blessed with the curved eyes and razor-sharp sideburns young women tended to swoon over. However, a bruise marred his temple, and his naked arms hung bound behind him. He coughed a few times and looked up at Bidemi, anguish written all over his features.

“Please,” he whispered.

The bodyguard hauled him to his knees.

“Who's this?” Bidemi asked.

“A mole,” Boil replied. “One who managed to infiltrate the inner circles of our family. The Hero Council is playing the same games we do.” He nodded at Bakar. “I need you to ask him some questions.”

Bakar bowed. “Yes, baba.”

Boil turned to his captive. A slap exploded against the latter’s cheek like a thunderclap, too fast for Bidemi to follow. The young man toppled with a cry. Boil grabbed him by the throat.

“Let's do it like this,” Boil said. “You answer the questions Tellmenot here asks, and maybe, you can join your family for dinner at home today. Or you don't answer and still join your family. Though only the ones that have gone before.”

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The man squealed, showing bloodied teeth. “I'm telling you, boss, you're wrong. I don't work for anyone!”

Boil smiled. He shoved the man to his bodyguard. “Tellmenot, ask him his real name.”

Bakar stepped forward. “What's your real name, man?”

“Desmond,” the captive replied.

It happened in seconds. The man's eyes drooped at the edges and wrinkles dug into his forehead.

“What—?” he said, bewildered.

“Ask him how he is related to the Hero Council,” Boil said.

“How are you related to the CAH?” Bakar asked.

“Huh?” the man said. “What are you doing to me?”

“I asked you a question.”

“I don’t work with the Council!”

Black hair thinned out at the sides. The wrinkles deepened on the man’s face. He glanced at his now freckled torso, mouth hanging open. “What . . . what is this?”

Boil smiled. The action dimpled his cheeks, carving slits into his face. His eyes, however, remained like pitch. “Finally caught on?” he said. “Well, let me help you. Tellmenot here is an Arbiter. Rating: Ab3. This means he is one of the few Supers whose powers are considered conceptual. Every time you lie or fail to answer a question directed at you, you age ten years.”

The young man, who was not so young anymore, gaped. He scrambled backward only to be stopped by the tattoo-faced gangster behind him.

“I want you to resist,” Boil said, squatting to look the man in the face. “Please, make my day. Any question I ask you is one whose answer I can procure elsewhere. All I need is time. Time you no longer have the luxury of.” He patted the man’s cheek. “I don’t suppose you have children, eh? Siblings? A spouse? Picture their reactions when you return home twenty years older.”

The man turned away. Boil forced his head back into place.

“Now hold that image,” Boil said, “and double it to forty. Can you see it? See the expressions on their faces? How would this affect your dreams? Your plans for the next few decades? Is losing everything in this manner okay with you?”

“You know,” Oliver said in a small voice into Bidemi's ear, “maybe Bakar would have been better off dying in some trench. I hate this—hate seeing him at work. His power gives me the creeps.”

“Quiet,” Bidemi said, lest Boil should hear his mumbling. But a lump formed in her throat. One she couldn’t subdue.

She fingered her ring. Oliver wasn't wrong about Bakar. She entertained similar thoughts and had only stopped short of acting on them because of the promise she'd made. It was at times like this that she missed her best friend. Missed how simple their lives should have been.

How was she expected to continue all on her own? The boys didn't get it, too drunk on their powers and their bickering. They were short-sighted, ever focused on the now. Sure, their scars ran deep—all of theirs did—but that was no excuse for how low her teammates had allowed themselves to sink.

Especially him.

Bakar stood unspeaking, but the tremors that wracked his shoulders told a different story. He enjoyed this.

“Now, let's start afresh,” Boil said, rising to his full height. “What is your real name?”

Bakar repeated the question.

The captive man knelt like an avatar of despair. Mists formed in his eyes. “Joshua. Joshua Etim.”

“Good job, Joshua,” Boil said, nodding. “How are you affiliated with the Council?”

“I work for them. As a covert operative.”

“How many years so far?”

“Three.”

“Who is your direct superior?”

Joshua stalled. “Ardent.”

“Real name?”

“I do not know. Just Ardent.”

Boil frowned. “Don't lie to me, Joshua.”

“I'm not lying,” Joshua cried. “I swear! He doesn't have another.”

“What's his contact address?”

“I only have a phone number.”

“Do you know it by heart?”

“Y-yes.”

“Give it.”

Joshua fired off the numbers.

It was insane. Boil spoke and Bakar repeated, but Joshua had lost the will to fight. He answered everything they asked to the best of his knowledge. The layout of the Council base. The Combat suit patrols. The scope of the CAH’s operations. Boil’s bodyguard held a recorder in hand.

Bidemi glanced at Bakar. Her teammate could only use his power a limited number of times per day before he suffered devastating side effects. He was playing the psychological con, having deactivated his ability at some point.

“What are the codes to access the information systems?” Bakar asked.

“I . . . I do not know,” Joshua said. “They change every day.”

“And the identities of the superheroes?”

“I do not know!”

Boil patted his cap. “I think Joshua here has told us all he can.” He strutted past the man, drawing out the moment. “You can walk away with your life today. But that depends on the choices you make. You will become a double agent. You report what we tell you to your superiors, and you share whatever you are told.”

“Okay . . .”

Boil glanced at his bodyguard. The latter reached for the ropes.

“Ah,” Boil said, raising a pudgy finger. “It shouldn’t be that easy, should it?” He nodded at Bakar. “Ask him, Tellmenot, if he intends to be loyal to us.”

Tellmenot’s grin cut through his voice. “Do you intend to serve us loyally, Joshua?”

Joshua frothed at the mouth. “Yes! Yes, I do.”

The change was instantaneous. Joshua went limp and crumpled to the ground. Crow's feet forked across his face. His ribs became more pronounced, and a bald patch appeared on his scalp. His eyes widened, irises contracting to pinpricks.

“I didn't lie,” he screamed. “I will serve. I will!”

“No, Joshua,” Boil said. “You thought you would serve, but deep down, you planned to bail the first chance you got. You’re a filthy coward.”

Oliver growled. Bidemi wheeled on him, only to find he hadn’t been the culprit. The noise had come from Sebastian. The gruff boy breathed erratically, veins bulging on his neck. His right hand morphed into a spiked paw.

She grabbed the paw. Glared at him. No, she mouthed. They couldn't afford to fail. Not after coming this far.

“I think I will need some collateral,” Boil said, adjusting the sleeves of his robe. “Are you married, Joshua?”

“Yes,” Joshua said, head bowed.

“Children?”

“Yes.”

“What are their names?”

Joshua looked up, dazed. “Who?”

“Your wife and kids,” Bakar said. “What are their names?”

“Ifeoma, Edith, Jane.”

“How nice,” Boil said. “Your home addresses?”

A dark cloud crossed Joshua’s features. “No.”

“What is your home address?” Bakar repeated.

“No.” Joshua's hair sloughed off. His body mass shrunk, and the flesh hung loose on his bones. Where before he had been a man in the prime of his life, capable of turning heads left and right, he was now another old man, barely able to kneel.

“You are going to die, Joshua,” Boil said in a sing-song voice. “How much more of this can you take?”

The muscles on Sebastian's forearms bulged. Fur grew out of them, thick and white as snow. Razor-sharp spikes—wicked to the sight and touch—ran along their lengths.

Bidemi couldn't fit her fingers around his hand anymore. She stepped on his foot. “Please,” she whispered. “Don't do this. We'd all die.”

“Do you know your wife’s number by heart?” Bakar asked.

“Go to hell,” Joshua answered.

Nothing happened.

Bakar coughed, and this time, he used his power. “Does your wife have a number she can be reached on?”

“I said: Go to hell.” Joshua tottered. His eyes turned milky and his belly sagged as he aged another ten.

Bakar leaned toward Boil. Bidemi caught his words with her superhuman senses: ‘Two uses left.’

Boil’s cheeks dimpled. “It seems you will visit hell before we do, Joshua.” He signaled his bodyguard, and the latter freed the captive from his bonds.

Joshua toppled to the dirt.

“How do your knees feel, J-boy?” Boil teased. “And your sight? Are those still working?”

Joshua struggled to his feet, spitting loose teeth.

Boil kicked him down. “Careful there. You don't want to risk a stroke.”

The bodyguard chuckled.

“One last question, then,” Boil said, clapping his palms. “Ask him if he's afraid of dying.”

“Got it.” Bakar turned to Joshua. “Are you scared of dying here, man?”

“No,” Joshua said. And then he groaned as ten years’ worth of aging slammed into him.

Sebastian strode forward. Toward Boil. But Bidemi was faster. She forged a stony polyp in her palm and buried it up to the hilt in Joshua's jaw. The man gurgled up at her, unaware of his surroundings. Then he slumped, and the light went out of his eyes. Blood, warm with guilt, soaked her hand.

“Cnidarian,” Boil said, raising a hairless eyebrow. “What is the meaning of this?”

Bidemi threw herself at his feet. “I am sorry, baba. I don't know what came over me.”

But she knew. The blood seeped into her skin, and tears dotted her vision. That had been it. Her first conscious kill. And she’d thrown it away to save a friend.

Boil approached her. “I am sorry too, my child. But your apology isn’t going to cut it.”

Someone dived onto the sand beside her. “It seems our rash leader has made a grave mistake. If you must punish her though, baba, I request you punish me as well.”

Ollie!

A second person joined her other side with a thud. She chanced a look. Sebastian’s arms bulged twice as large now, covered in white fur that jutted with spikes. He said nothing, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“Please forgive us,” Bakar said from behind, joining the prostration.

Bidemi gritted her teeth.

Boil tutted. “So much potential, Cnidarian. So much grace. Yet you throw it all away for the sake of a childish tantrum. I had good news to share with you today. But this has been one infraction too many.”

Bidemi said nothing.

“Do you know,” Boil continued, “that YamaYama is impressed with the stories I tell about you? He mentioned your fight with Dia Mater as the highlight of a short but brilliant career. Of all the Supers we have welcomed to the Four-oh-Four, your team has proven most exemplary.” He stopped beside her head. “Until today.”

Her pulse quickened.

“You were all being considered for a spot in the Family,” Boil said. “However, I will withdraw my recommendation effective immediately.”

No. The alarms went off in Bidemi's head. They couldn't afford to lose ground. Not after all they’d been through.

“If I may speak, baba,” she said.

“If you may what?”

Bidemi faltered. “Don't withdraw your recommendation, baba mí. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain from our promotion. You are our benefactor. Any honor we bring the Four-oh-Four will honor you as well. The more power we amass, the greater your influence within the group.”

Boil chuckled. “And you think I need more influence because?”

Bidemi gulped. Then offering a prayer in her heart, she took the gamble. “Because you intend to lead the Four-oh-Four someday.”

The clearing went silent.

“Rise,” Boil said. “Just you, Cnidarian.”

She struggled to her feet.

Boil smiled.

Her eardrums exploded.

The slap sent her tumbling headfirst. Brilliant lights went off in her skull. She lost the mask on the way down, and her tongue slipped out of her mouth. She lay there for long minutes, choking on vomit.

When she looked up, Oliver and Bakar were piled on Sebastian, keeping him pinned. The latter was mid-transformation, and he roared as spiked fur erupted from his form. Blood dripped on him from puncture wounds inflicted on his teammates.

Boil, for his part, looked unconcerned. As did his bodyguard.

“We will leave it at this, Cnidarian,” Boil said. “You will watch how you act around me. You will watch how you speak to me. And most of all, you will watch that these fools never forget their place around me.”

Bidemi nodded, cradling her jaw. It needed a few tries to start working again. “My apologies, baba.” She glared at her teammate, wincing as a headache blossomed. “Sebastian, you are hurting them. Please . . .”

Sebastian stopped, halfway to going feral. He howled in agony, voice keen and low in his throat.

“Good,” Boil said. “I will keep today's incident from YamaYama's ears. But there will be consequences. I will contact you with your new assignment during the week.”

“Thank you,” Bidemi managed. The world tipped to one side and then to the next. A distant ringing resounded in her ears.

The bodyguard forced Joshua's corpse into the sack. He ascended the hill with Boil, and they climbed into the truck. Then the car revved and disappeared down the bridge.

Oliver hobbled off Sebastian. He tore off his mask and pointed his knife at the latter's eyes. “Stupid. Stupid. Fucking stupid guy! What were you thinking? We almost lost Bidemi because of you!”

“I'm okay,” Bidemi said. Try as she might though, she couldn't stand. The contents of her stomach surged upward, threatening to spill. She shoved it down and swatted Bakar's hand away. “Sebastian, you messed up.”

Sebastian looked away, downcast.

“We should get you to a hospital,” Oliver said.

Bidemi nodded, still swimming around in her head. “D-did you hear what he said? About us being inducted to the Family?”

“Yes. You were right all along. You're amazing.”

Bakar snorted. “We just need to keep doing what we’ve been doing. We will have it all eventually. Money. Power. An army . . .”

Revenge, Bidemi thought as Oliver helped her to their sedan.

Nothing mattered as much as revenge.

Sure, she hurt now. But in time?

They would own the Four-oh-Four.