“Oh sweet, I got a SR card!” A teen cheered as he opened the card pack.

            His friends leaned over and began clamoring over the card.

            “Holy crap, is that Magnum in his winter camo suit?!”

            “Nice, but I think his new age outfit is cooler.” A kid with curly orange hair tried not to look impressed as the first teenager showed off his prize.

            “Harold, you’re just jealous because your only SR is beach time Atlas.” The second kid, a girl with dark hair and a black hoodie scoffed.

            “Shut it, Sam.” Harold’s face reddened as he put his hands on his hips. “Once I get a another SR, I’ll sell that thirst trap!” An evil grin grew on Harold’s face. “You know, Grace offered to buy it from me for fifty bucks.”

            Isaac ignored the kids as they argued in his store, mentally going over the list of things he had to do before closing. Clean the counters, restock the snack shelves, turn off the lights, reorganize the comic section, mop the floors…thankfully, it was a small convenience store, right on the road between two schools and a metro stop. Lots of foot traffic, but not a lot of space inside to be cleaned. Isaac was keeping his mind focused on his job so he wouldn’t start bragging about his own card collection. The road warrior, Ultima Rider. Ice-cold Permafrost. The gun-toting cowboy hero Magnum. And yes, he had three different versions of everyone’s favorite hero, Atlas. But the crown jewel of his collection was of limited print, the UR holographic Medusa card.

            He wasn’t exactly a fan of the hero-turned-villain. Nor the way she was nearly in the nude in the card’s art. But he was a sucker for rare cards, and it was one of the rarest. There were even rumors online that Medusa’s ‘fall’ was because of how her agency marketed her sexuality against her wishes. Of course, there were also stories that she hadn’t fallen to evil but was being mind-controlled. Or she was replaced by a shapeshifting power-stealer. Both of which had happened before, but it scarcely mattered.

            “Mmf, leggo!” Sam had Harold in a headlock as their other three friends backed away.

            “Not until you take back what you said about Grace!”

            The two were wiggling about in the close confines of the aisles, bumping off chips and cups of ramen from the shelves.

            “Guys.” Isaac took the measured tone he used when tutoring kids. It didn’t work with middle schoolers.

            The two wrestled each other some more until Harold kicked against the ground, sending them both stumbling into the aisle. Tipping it over. Packs of chips, cookies, and other snacks cascaded across the ground, as the aisle tipped into the next, then the next, then the next…until half of Isaac’s carefully maintained store was in disarray.

            “P’takh!” Isaac cursed.

            The quarrelling teens looked at each other in alarm, their friends’ eyes widened as they looked at the mess they’d made. Scrambling to their feet, they made a beeline to the door. Isaac, realizing what they were doing, slapped his hand under the counter, pressing the big blue button, locking the doors tight. It did wonders against small-time criminals and some aspiring supervillains. A state of the art, shatterproof, titanium mesh door with magnetic locks that could stop a charging rhino. It was the most expensive part of the entire store, except maybe his collection he kept in a box beneath the cash register.

            The price was well worth it; the five teens may have had the chaotic disposition and desperation of a rampaging rhino, but they lacked its mass. As it was, the kid who pulled an SR from the pack was the swiftest, reaching the door first. Sadly, he didn’t even have time to bounce back from the door when his friends piled into him, squishing him against the door’s window. For one moment, an outside observer would see five faces in various states of confusion and panic pressed against the window before they peeled back and fell to the floor in a pile of limbs and teenage angst.

            “tu'HomI'raH SoH ‘e’ Sov wo’!” Isaac ranted again, old instincts flaring up to prevent him from unleashing a full litany of words that would sully the children’s ears. Then again, they were middle schoolers, so they probably had a full lexicon of bad words. He looked over the mess and held his face in his hands. Isaac glared at the five troublemakers. “You five are going to help me clean all this up.”

            They had the decency to look ashamed, except the short, weaselly one with braces.

            “Achtually, you can’t keep usth here.” Isaac watched, eyebrow raised, as the kid began a spiel about his rights. He spoke as if he had seen these words work before, but never said them. “It’sth againstht the law. Can we talk to your manager?”

            “I am the manager.” The negotiator’s expression fell. “And the owner. And the cashier, the cleaner, the stocker, yadda, yadda, yadda. So when I say you help, you help. Unless you want me to find your parents? You’ve already paid for the packs with credit cards, I can track them down.”

            Again, the teens looked at one another, silently communicating in ways only close friends could. Finally, they faced Isaac and nodded. He smiled, pulling out some cleaning supplies from a cupboard behind him. He passed a rag and some cleaning spray to the negotiator, pointing at the door with a collage of all their faces marked on the glass.

            “You can clean that. The two of you who started this whole mess can pick up the aisles and put them back in position.” The owner pointed to the last two, the first boy and a mousy girl with messy brown hair. “And you two will help me pick up the products that were so carelessly strewn across the floor. The mousy girl raised her hand, as if she were in class. “Yes, brown-haired girl.”

            “Um, Melissa.” She clarified, tentatively lowering her hand. “What do we do about the food on the floor?”

            “If—” Isaac clarified by holding a finger up. “If you all clean up quickly enough, I’ll give you guys the damaged products. And no breaking stuff to get what you want! Am I clear?”

            The five of them nodded and got to work. Sam and Harold pulled up the aisles carefully as Isaac, Melissa, and the first teen, named Oliver picked up the scattered boxes, bags, and cups.

            “All this over a SR Magnum.” Isaac grumbled. “If it was an UR or even a Legendary, I’d understand.”

            “Are you saying the Magnum isn’t as good as other heroes?” Oliver asked, annoyed that Isaac was downplaying his new card’s value.

            Isaac pursed his lips. Every kid had a superhero phase, before they understood the probability of awakening powers. Before humanity learned to find the genetic markers that determined the potential for powers, they still had censuses. Less than a one in ten-thousand chance. And even then, a lot of powers were, to put it bluntly, pretty crappy. The ability to grow hair ten times as fast. To predict, to the second, what time it was anywhere on the globe. To be smelly. But since Black Canyon City was a metropolis hotbed for superhuman activity, children looked up to superheroes more than anywhere else. Isaac did too, but he never grew out of the heroboo phase. Which is why he knew how easily a kid’s favorite hero could shift based on their rarest card.

            “I can buy an SR Magnum online for about ten bucks. Is ten dollars worth cleaning up this mess?”  Oliver looked over the bags of Yum-Yums, Captain Fuego chips, and other assorted foods littering the floor. He bit his lip and looked away. Isaac nodded. “I thought so.”

            The water bottle that Isaac had left on the counter fell over, spilling its contents all over the floor.

            “Great.” Isaac sighed. “I’ll get a towel.”

            THUMP!

                A few of the snacks they’d just put back on their shelves fell to join the brethren on the floor. Isaac and the kids looked at each other curiously.

            THUMP!

The shelves teetered precariously, shaking more junk food loose. Isaac swallowed nervously, checking his phone for any alerts. In the distance sounds of sirens and faded screaming echoed. A few people ran by the display window in a blind panic. Once again, Isaac thanked himself for investing in the hyper-secure door.

THUMP!

The wall behind the counter exploded outwards, sending broken pipes and bricks everywhere in a cloud of dust. Isaac tackled the nearest kids to the ground, a pile of cakey sweets cushioning their fall. As the cloud of powdered drywall settled, a massive man loomed into view. Five feet wide and eight feet tall, his bulky frame moved with the grace of an overfed toad. His sharp bull horns tore the ceiling tiles out of their frames, but he ignored them as they landed around him. With a meaty fist raised high, he slammed it down on the cash register, the machine making a sad ‘ching’ as it burst open. Isaac watched in horror as the bull-man pulled out the twisted drawer of money and emptied it into a massive fanny pack, already bulging with ill-gotten gains. Eyes narrowing on his haul through his baclava, a glimmer of a smile appeared beneath the makeshift mask.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Gwahaha! Minotaurus is getting good at smashing puny cash registers!” The super’s voice was deep and scratchy, every sentence punctuated by a huff from his oversized nostrils.

Someone snorted.

Milton immediately slapped his hands over his mouth. Minotaurus slowly turned his head to look at him.

“It was a reflex…?” Milton smiled uneasily. The super slowly squinted.

“Does the little man think Minotaurus is a fool?”

Isaac slowly got off the pile of (incredibly crinkly) snacks, ushering Oliver and Melissa to get to the far end of the shop, away from Minotaurus. To his credit, Milton tried to keep his eyes on the supervillain as he gathered his courage to keep Minotaurus’ attention.

“Do…you accept constructive criticism?” Milton, as it turns out, could not shut up. Thankfully, the supervillain nodded.

“Minotaurus’ debut is important to him. He will not dismiss feedback.” The massive man stood up straighter, his horns poking through the ceiling, scratching against pipes and insulation.

“Well, umm…” Milton’s face was covered in a sheen of sweat. He twiddled his thumbs and continued. “You’ve got the scary factor down. But the speaking in third person is kinda…cringy?”

Minotaurus huffed, his breath sending small plumes of drywall dust flying. “The Serpent King spoke in third person.”

Isaac slowly got up, focused on his destroyed counter. Where the door controls used to be. In the back of his mind, he worried about his trading cards, but his eyes were drawn to the pipes and wiring Minotaurus had torn from the wall. The subtle whistling of a broken gas main filled Isaac with dread. It would only take spark from the loose wiring. Further beyond was a series of holes through several groaning buildings

“Th-the Serpent King had sort of conquered a lot of Brazil before revealing himself. By then, people were too scared to say anything.” Milton pointed out as the color kept fading from his face. Minotaurus hummed, and Milton continued. “It wasn’t just that…your moniker needs work. Not only does it seem to describe your powers, but it’s also mangling an already established name.”

The supervillain was partially blocking the hole he made, and the only other way out was through the shatter proof display window. The panicked store owner ran his hands slowly agains the wall, looking for something, anything, to use. His hands found the hilt of a replica sword from a fantasy movie. It wasn’t sharp, but it was bulky and made of metal. It would have to do.

“Minotaurus…” Milton tensed as the supervillain’s arms uncrossed, dropping by his sides. “Agrees with your assessment.” Milton breathed a sigh of relief. “Although he will not budge on speaking in third person. He quite likes it. Minotaurus will strive to find a better name, and in the meantime, will work harder to establish himself as a credible threat. He thanks you for your help.”

Milton smiled sheepishly. “Oh, no pro—" He ducked, shrieking like a banshee as the super flung the destroyed register his way. It bounced off the door behind Milton, shattering into pieces around the sobbing kid. Before he could throw something else, Isaac leapt into action, hurling the sword at the supervillain. The criminal swept his massive arm, hitting the replica out of the air and bending it out of shape.

“The Bull is going to crush the wannabe hero!” The newly rechristened villain put his head down and charged Isaac, popping overpriced packets of junk food like firecrackers beneath his feet.

Isaac yelped, diving narrowly out of the way. Behind him, the Bull’s horns were stuck in a messy network of old pipes, sparking wires, and rebar.

“Wuh-oh.”

The shopkeeper ran towards the destroyed remains of the counter, mind congested with choices. Flee out the hole? Find the emergency button? Call 911? Save the kids? Save the cards? An errant spark lit the Bull’s greasy hair on fire. Isaac’s hands reached for the fire extinguisher.

“Everybody out the hole!” More rumbling, then a low groan as the neighboring building collapsed under its weight, blocking the hole and buckling the wall. “Never mind!”

Oliver and Melissa helped get Milton to his feet as Sam and Harold took turns swinging whatever they could find into the shatter-proof glass. Isaac ran over to the struggling super, unleashing a stream of white foam in the villain’s face, extinguishing the flames.

“Chill out.” Isaac let out a manic giggle, trying to ignore the Bull’s angry roars.

“THE BULL IS GOING TO BREAK EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY!” The villain screamed in fury. Isaac stopped dousing for a second to speak.

“Which bull? Apis, Tur, Moloch? How about the Cretan bull, or the bull of heaven that Gilgamesh fought? You need to be more specific.” Isaac rambled on, realizing he might have the same problem as Milton.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU—Habadagblughflublablf.” Isaac kept spraying, hoping that the foam would do something to stop the villain. Supers sometimes had weird weaknesses.

Seeing it was doing nothing, Isaac bashed the extinguisher against his head, but to no avail. The rebar whined, the villain slowly pulling himself out, the white foam doing nothing to hide his baleful glare. Thinking quickly, Isaac grabbed the tattered remains of his United Federation of Planets flag and rushed over to the display window, shooing the teens to hide in the corners of the store. He wasn’t sure if it was the fear or the gas filling up the now closed space, but Isaac was getting lightheaded. The Bull pulled his head out, eyes red with rage. Isaac held up the blue flag in a matador’s pose, right in front of the window.

“Olé.” The shopkeeper waved the flag lightly.

“You must think the Bull to be a fool.” His tone was laced with vehemence.

“Olé.” Isaac repeated, waving the flag more.

“It’s not even red.” The Bull said as he paced in place, eyes switching between Isaac and the fluttering flag.

            “Olé.” Isaac asserted. The flapping fabric drew in the maddened eyes of the villain.

            The Bull charged. Isaac jumped away again; his leg was torn open from the Bull’s glancing charge. The shatterproof glass shattered. The Bull turned around, ignoring the teens running out the freshly formed hole. The federation flag was stuck to his bloody horn, hanging sadly behind him. Glass tinkled like chimes as it cascaded down from his lightly torched head. He pointed a finger thicker than a sausage at Isaac.

            “You. Are. Dead.”

            Isaac limped to the left. The Bull followed. Isaac limped to the right. The Bull blocked him again, his massive frame looming overhead. With a single meaty hand, he pushed Isaac to the floor. His legs buckling under him, Isaac shivered in fear as he began to lose feeling in his injured leg, his blood staining the floor crimson. The Bull grinned, his cantaloupe-sized fist raising overhead and bursting through more ceiling tiles.

            Isaac squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he was anywhere but there. His body convulsed, a shiver starting from his extremities and joining at the small of his back. He didn’t understand what happened. One moment, he was sitting down with a leg that was slowly starting to sting in pain. The next, there was heat at his back and he was zooming between the Bull’s legs and out the opening of his store.

            His mind was lost in a haze, incapable of forming full thoughts. Isaac felt asphalt on his face and a cool breeze across his back, the burning smell invading his nostrils. All he could hear was ringing.

            “The gas leaks…” He mumbled, blood dribbling from his mouth.

Slowly, he got his bearings, turning over and sitting up as he watched small fires burn in his convenience store. A variety of burnt snacks were strewn about the street, hero trading cards fluttering into burnt embers. In the darkened shop, a figure still loomed. It turned around, the front of Bull’s body scalded and burnt. Isaac couldn’t help but think the Bull smelt of overdone steak.

            The Bull was injured, but he wasn’t out of the fight. He gingerly walked out of the burnt husk of the store. As he approached, Isaac couldn’t help but marvel at the villain’s resistance. An explosion that flung him out of the store had only singed him somewhat. Patches of burns covered his now-bare chest, and although his face wasn’t much better, the fact that he could still scowl spoke leagues about the villain’s innate durability.

            “When I started doing this…” The Bull spoke in a tired, ragged tone. “I promised myself I was going to do it for the money. Adopt an identity, be a bit hammy, and not take anything personally. Maybe crack a few skulls.” He steadily walked closer. “But after the fifth wiseass, I think I’m going to take this a bit personally.”

            “You…” Isaac said as he breathed heavily. “…You were obviously taking it personally since the beginning.”

            His eye twitched. “You never shut up, do you?” The Bull cracked his knuckles. “Maybe I can finally get you to be quiet.”

            “I wouldn’t bet on it.” A voice called from directly behind the Bull.

            The villain swerved around immediately, dropping a haymaker directly into the speaker’s face.

            “Rude.” The man was hovering a foot off the ground, yet the punch did nothing but ruffle his hair. While most heroes had moved away from skin-tight spandex since the nineties, he wore his iconic white and blue suit, his perfect physique on display for all the world to see. Isaac stared, openmouthed.

            “Atlas.” The Bull was quiet. He backed away from the hero. His voice quivered as he spoke up again, trying to instill a false sense of bravado. “Dare you fight…THE BULL?!”

            The villains voice cracked as he flexed his muscles. He cringed, the superhero looking at him dispassionately.

            “Do we need to?” Atlas seemed genuinely concerned. “Usually, when I fight below my weight class, they surrender peacefully.”

            “The Bull is not one to surrender!” His voice was firmer now, resolute.

            Atlas shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

            In a blink, Atlas was right in front of the villain, grabbing him by the armpits. With one motion, he flung him up in the air.

            “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

            “Control, this is Atlas.” He looked up to the sky, focusing on the disappearing dot. “I’ve got a class three bruiser. I’ve begun juggling procedure, but I’d like to hurry it up. Requesting ambulance on my location, there’s an injured civilian.” Isaac tried to get up, but Titan put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get up, it’s a pretty bad gash. You’ll want to prop your leg up.”

            “Thank you, sir—”

            “Just Atlas, please.” The hero had a perfect smile. “Thanks are appreciated, but this is my duty.”

            “Atlas!”

            The teens spilled out from the alleyway they were hiding in, stars in their eyes. Atlas, ever the boy scout, puffed out his chest and posed for them.

            “Do not worry, young heroes! The miscreant has been dealt with.” He glanced upwards; the dot having stopped shrinking. “Unfortunately, I’ve got about twenty seconds before he hits terminal velocity, and he needs to be alive to answer for his crimes.”

            The group stumbled over themselves getting their phones out for pictures or finding something for him to sign. Harold blushingly pulled out a trading card from his wallet and held it up to Atlas.

            A bemused Atlas pulled a pen from his sleeve and signed it.

            “I’m surprised by how many people have my speedo card.” He said, the blush on the orange-haired youth’s face deepening. He handed back the card, saluted, and flew into the air to catch the Bull once more.

            “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! —Please not agai—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Atlas caught the Bull delicately, flying to match his speed, then swung him up in an arc. With a final wave, the internationally lauded superhero flew away to catch him.

            Isaac watched, mind this running a thousand miles a minute. Would his insurance cover this? How was he going to explain what happened to his family? How much of his card collection could he salvage? But one question nagged at him the most. If he was closer to the explosion than the Bull, why wasn’t he burned?