Levi leaned against the wall, tapping his foot, utterly bored. He glanced around. “Fira, come on.”

“I’m right here,” Fira said, hustling out of the building. Arms lifted, she tied some final detail onto her head, then lowered her hands. “What do you think?”

She wore a red leather jacket and black leather pants, both of them embroidered with a flame motif. A gaiter of shimmery black-red fabric covered her nose and the lower half of her face, vanishing into the leather jacket. Atop her head, a black leather cap emblazoned with a flame finished the look.

Levi looked her up and down, then shook his head. “Five out of ten, you were almost on-theme but you lost the thread halfway through. Plus it’s going to be so damn sweaty. Seven points if this were your winter costume.”

“And what the hell is with the punk rocker plague doctor look for you, Mr. Healing Factor?” Fira returned.

Levi gestured at himself, his red cloak and white pants, rolling his eyes behind the bird mask. “It’s called misdirection. Learn tactics, skrub.”

“Right… So, are you going to tell me why we’re visiting a pizza place in masks now?” Fira asked.

“The Apostles of the End,” Levi said, as if it were obvious.

“The…what? The guys from the concert? Wait, weren’t they having a meetup in the central square?”

Levi waved his hand. “You’ve forgotten what I taught you mere moments ago, young grasshopper. Misdirection.”

Fira frowned. “Then…they aren’t having a meetup in the square?”

“Nope. Instead, I headed there an hour or so early and saw a man in an Alpha costume—if you recall, the same thing that man in the stadium wore.”

Fira’s eyes widened.

Levi tilted his head back and forth. “Well. Not completely the same. It was Alpha’s modern uniform. Look. Point is, there was a connection.”

Less convinced, Fira squinted at him.

“And that man, the one in Alpha’s uniform, was holding a sign advertising this very pizza place,” Levi finished, gesturing at the mushroom-infested building before them as he led his way around to the front door. “There you have it. That’s our true meeting.”

Sirens wailed in the distance, crying out at that very moment. Bursting up from the streets around Central City, supers hurtled toward the square, flying on wings, energy beams, or no visible medium at all. Lights and explosions burst off as they vanished behind the buildings, rattling off the intact skyscrapers in Central City.

“That’s all misdirection, too?” Fira asked skeptically, pointing.

“Naturally. It wouldn’t be much misdirection if they didn’t give the supers something to chew on,” Levi pointed out.

“Right…” Not convinced, Fira stared at the pizza parlor. She bit her lip, then lifted her head, gazing off toward the square instead.

Noticing her distraction, Levi shrugged at her. “You’re free to fly over there and find out. Or you can come with me to the actual meeting, and figure out if these cultists have anything to do with your brother. Your call.”

Without waiting, he opened the door and walked inside. Fira hesitated another moment, then shook her head and followed him in. Instantly, she froze, jerking back toward the door as her instincts screamed to hide in a corner.

A surprisingly deep space stretched before them. Candles glowed on the table, which, paired with the sun streaming in the window, made up the only light in the space. A thick underbelly of mycelium covered the ceiling, the narrow gills swooping almost like rafters. Mushrooms sprouted up in the corners, the brightly-colored clusters not unlike decorative shrubs or mascot characters.

Amid the mushroomy décor, she and Levi stood out, the only mask-wearing people in the building. Muscular, scarred hunters paused in gulping down their slices, armor slung over the back of their chairs like jackets. Slender, rangy-looking extractors leaned in to mutter to one another, not hiding their smirks. All eyes in the building turned to them, and not a single person moved.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Fira flinched, anxiety twisting her stomach. “Levi, are you sure this is—”

Levi planted his feet and put his hands on his hips. “Table for two!” he announced.

The server hurried over, crouching a little and grimacing from the volume of Levi’s voice. At a murmur, he said, “The shop is fully reserved, sir, do you have a reservation?”

“I’m with the cultist party,” Levi said, not lowering his tone a single decibel.

The man flinched again. A look of disgust flickered across his face.

Fira grabbed Levi’s arm. Glancing at him, she leaned in and hissed, “We’re in the wrong place! Stop bothering the man!”

Levi shrugged her off. “We’re exactly where we’re meant to be. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Indeed. Right this way. They’ve booked the back room,” the server said, gesturing for them to follow. He turned and retreated through the restaurant, toward a propped-open door in the rear.

Fira jolted. “What?”

“Doubter! Can you believe you doubted? What a fool!” Levi crowed. Grinning broadly, he followed the server into the dusky room.

“I’m going to hear about this forever, aren’t I,” Fira complained to herself, grimacing at Levi’s back.

Levi hummed to himself, not paying her any attention.

She shook her head and followed him into the room.

An even darker space awaited them. A distant, high window carved in the mushroom cap roof let in a little sunlight, but for the most part, candles provided the only light. Unlike the room outside, supers in masks of all varieties sat at the tables, even the most fanciful designs made ominous by the flickering candlelight. The room stretched in every direction, larger than the initial space they’d been led through, so many of the tables stood empty, some even devoid of candles.

At the far end of the room, a curtain obscured yet deeper rooms. Set with painted panels and mushrooms, a small stage about half a step up from the ground stood. Overhead, a second small window beamed sunlight onto the stage. A particularly dense patch of mushrooms bloomed directly beneath the window, relishing in the soggy floor rewet each time it rained.

Surveying the room, Levi took a seat at an empty table by the door. Fira sat beside him, back ramrod straight, eyes dead ahead. She put her hands on the table, then down beside her, then back on the table, unable to sit still.

“Drinks?” the server asked.

Glancing at Fira, Levi snorted to himself. “Two waters.”

Fira glanced up, startled, then nodded. “Y-yeah. Yeah. That’s good.”

With a nod, the server walked away.

Levi nudged her. “Stop acting nervous. You’re attracting everyone’s attention.”

Fira put her hands down. She stared at the wall.

Levi opened his mouth, then shut it. He shook his head, smiling quietly.

“How come so many people are here?” Fira muttered, leaning in.

“Huh? Oh. Well, we’ve been doing this shit a while. We’re used to obtuse hints like that—us villains, anyways,” Levi said. Reaching out, he tipped the red pepper shaker with one finger. The red circles jostled against one another, sliding toward him.

“That many people saw the note an hour ago, and showed up here?” Fira asked, disbelievingly.

Levi shrugged. “It’s not like you can raincheck it. You gotta jump on these things.” He paused, then released the red pepper shaker, letting it drop flat on the table. “There’s probably villain networks and chat rooms and shit, too. I’ve been out of the loop too long, that’s why I had to bust my ass to find out where this was.”

“Oh,” Fira muttered.

The server returned with glasses of water. He drew out a notepad, holding his pen expectantly over it. “Would either of you like some pizza?”

“Pepperoni, black olives, tomatoes, mushrooms,” Levi ordered.

“Mushrooms cost extra,” the server informed him primly.

Levi gaped at him. Turning slowly, he took in the roof, the toddler-sized mushrooms growing from every corner, the shelves of mushrooms sprouting from the wall, then turned back to the server. “Extra?”

“Extra,” the server confirmed, expression not twitching an inch.

Wrinkling his nose, Levi rested his head on his hand, elbow on the table. “Just pepperoni, olives, and tomatoes, then.”

“Very good.” The server’s pen scratched on his notepad.

“Uhm, do you have Hawaiian?” Fira requested timidly.

The server nodded. He made a final note and slid his notepad back into his apron. “I’ll be right out.”

Levi shook his head at her.

“What?”

“I’m the madman, but you’re the one putting pineapple on pizza,” Levi complained.

“What’s wrong with that?” Fira demanded.

“What isn’t?”

Fira gave him a look. “Consider the culinary triangle. Fat, salt, acid. The pineapple is acid, which cuts the fat and salt of the pizza and ham. If anything, Hawaiian pizza is an elevation of the pedestrian, low-hanging-food pizza.”

“Pizza is already perfect. Fat and salt in the cheese and meats, acid in the tomatoes, and of course a crispy crust for the crunch component. You’re unbalancing what was already complete by slopping some wet pineapples on top. Those craters of overly-sweet cheese and soggy crust…” Levi wrinkled his nose.

“I understand. You’ve had a few bad pineapple pizzas, and you’re projecting your bad experiences to every pineapple pizza. Try a good Hawaiian slice. It’ll change your life,” Fira promised.

“That’s what all you people say! All you people with weird-ass food opinions. ‘Try it, oh, you did? Try a good one!’ Yeah, sure, I’m sure some chef somewhere can make palatable Hawaiian pizza. It doesn’t mean the idea is—”

“Your pizza,” the server interrupted them, sliding a pair of pies onto the table.

Fira nodded. “Look, I’ve got plenty. Take a slice.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Levi said, and grabbed the largest slice.

Fira stared at him.

Levi set into the pizza, tearing it apart. In a few seconds, half the slice was gone. As he shoved the crust in his mouth, he glanced up and caught her eye. “What?”

“Hawaiian pizza is bad, huh?” Fira asked, crossing her arms.

“I mean, yeah, but free food is free food,” Levi said. Grabbing a slice of his own pizza, he pulled a file out of his bag and started flipping through it.

Fira sighed. “What did I expect?”