The long, vertical tapestries with red painted letters were the landmark I had been searching for. Mirrored signs, one with the word “Tadashi” and the other with Japanese characters that I assume spelled out the same. Neon signs in the window depicted a bowl with chopsticks and a smiling cat’s head.

  The small restaurant had become my go-to over the past few months since I’d settled into a small apartment a few blocks away in the middle of Shantytown. The owner was an immigrant, one of the hundreds of families Brockton Bay accepted from Japan after Behemoth decimated Kyushu, and he made the best sushi and ramen that I’d had in a long time. What’s more, the food was only the first reason I liked the place.

  “Ah, Mister Gabriel, good to see you again!” the owner behind the counter spoke in a thick accent and gave a slight bow of the head as I sat, placing my bag at my feet.

  “You as well, Mister Nakayama.”

  “What to eat today?” His English wasn’t perfect, but he must have known some before he had immigrated. Enough to make idle conversation with me, at least.

  “Oh, no reason to change. I’ll have the miso ramen.”

  “Ok. Miso ramen,” he repeated to himself quietly as he turned towards the stovetop.

  The smell of broth permeated the room and drowned out the scent of rotting wood that plagued the streets. It was the second reason I liked the place. Mister Nakayama was always cooking despite the fact that there were never more than a few people in his restaurant. A man dedicated to his craft, I supposed. The flooding hadn’t been as bad in Shantytown as it was in the downtown area, but the immigrants and poorer folk weren’t any better for it. This restaurant and all the buildings for blocks around were likely to be condemned within a few years, not that anyone would stop living in them. I wondered just how many of the residents would chance their home coming down on their heads rather than living on the streets. 

  My thoughts of collapsing buildings were broken when the curtain near the back of the kitchen area was drawn and the final reason I frequented the establishment stepped into the room. Aiko. It had taken me almost two weeks to work up the courage to ask her name and I’d been visiting often ever since. I caught her eye and she smiled, blushing and turning away to place her backpack on the counter nearby. I grinned but kept my head down so that Mister Nakayama would not see. I still wasn’t sure how he would feel about an American regularly talking to his daughter, but I was sure that he wouldn’t be happy with the activities of my last visit.

  She was a lovely girl. Slender with slight curves, a sweet smile, and a soft voice. Her black hair was cut short, reaching just beneath her jaw and kept back on one side with a white hair clip with a small flower on it. She attended the immigrant-only university that had been set up on the edge of Shantytown and the Downtown area, something I had learned from her father. He was very proud that, despite their hardships, she hadn’t given up on her studies. And that was about the only thing I knew about her. She didn’t speak more than a few words of English and most had to do with the menu. Still, somehow we had made a connection.

  “You fancy the girl,” the voice rumbled in my head.

  “You already know that,” I thought back. The voice was annoying. Deep and tender like a father speaking to his wayward son and made worse by the fact that I knew exactly who it belonged to - and that man was dead. Why he chose to speak when he did was a mystery, but luckily it was never more than a few statements a day so long as I avoided using the power tied to it.

  “Thank you,” I said with a smile as Mister Nakayama placed a large, steaming bowl in front of me. I gave it a slight nudge with my hands, confirming that it was too hot to hold as I let the savory scent fill my nostrils. I broke apart the chopsticks, thankful that I still had enough cash saved up to eat here every day for the next year if I so desired. I caught Aiko sneaking a glance in my direction from behind the counter, giggling silently at the noodles hanging from my mouth. I could only offer a sheepish grin, a small drip of the soup slipping down my chin.

  The meal was delicious and within a few mouthfuls I was engrossed in the tender pork and rich broth. I gripped the bowl with one hand to hold it steady against my chopsticks as I fished for more noodles. The ceramic was still hot, but it no longer burned at the touch. In fact, I became acutely aware of exactly how the heat dissipated from the bowl into the air and even my own skin.

  Shit.

  On cue, there was a yell from the street. I glanced over my shoulder, not that I needed to confirm who it was. I wasn’t sure how they found me, but I forced myself to take a deep breath, steadying the anger that welled in my chest.

  I glanced at Aiko, frozen behind the counter with her father, and frowned. They didn’t deserve this. Their home had already been destroyed once. They were lucky the second time that Leviathan had been stopped before all of Brockton Bay fell into the aquifer it was built on. I couldn’t let these two degenerates smash and burn their new home. Not if I was the target.

  My movements felt different as I stood from the stool, as though a long soreness had finally faded and I had full strength and flexibility again. It was like a drug, addictive in how good it made you feel. I wondered if brutes even realized what it was like for someone to get a temporary dose of their power.

  “I’m sorry. The ramen was good.” Aiko and her father broke their stare to look at me but offered no reply. Their eyes widened as I pulled a white mask with stylized red stripes over the eyes from my bag and slid it over my face. I left a few bills on the counter and stepped into the street. There were deep puddles and small streams of water constantly flowing over cracked pavement despite the fact that the city had officially declared the flooding “resolved”. A few dozen feet away stood my two hunters: Flashpoint and Atlas.

  The slender man wore black cargo pants tucked into black combat boots and a white tank top that revealed crudely drawn tattoos across his skin. A punk look, I guessed. I didn’t think that was still in style, but for a villain anything could be a costume I supposed. He casually tossed a ball of fire like a softball in one hand, the flames swirling inward towards the bright center. The other villain dressed similarly but looked more military than punk. The enormous muscles pressing against his clothing certainly were his most distinguishing feature. At the very least they made him look like a parahuman. I, on the other hand, didn’t look like much; sneakers, gray jeans, and a blue sweatshirt could hardly be considered the costume of a cape. But then again, I’d never wanted that sort of attention. They did, apparently, since neither of them bothered to wear a mask.

  “Listen,” I said with my hands raised in apparent innocence, “if you wanted to capture me you should’ve done it the first time. It only gets harder for you from here.”

  “We don’t give a shit,” Flashpoint answered. “You’ve got a bounty, we want to cash it.”

  I sighed. They hadn’t wanted to talk it out the last time either. Luckily, my docile posture and casual threat were enough to provoke them. Flashpoint sneered and flung the fireball he’d been holding at me. It expanded and scorched the ground as it flew, turning the water on the street into steam. I left my arms out in front of me as the flames filled my vision and washed over my hands. The swirling fire vanished as the heat absorbed into my body and spread throughout. Atlas appeared at a full sprint through the steam in the fireball’s wake. A good strategy, I thought - using the fireball to block my vision. They certainly didn’t have any coordination the last time they tried this. Atlas lowered his shoulder and tackled me to the ground. The impact of him hurt, but I was prepared for the secondary impact with the ground that came after. Flexing through my core, I avoided having the wind knocked out of me as we slid to a stop. I was thankful my sweatshirt was thick enough not to tear against the rough pavement. Not because I was afraid of road burn, my added strength came with some durability to the tune of abrasion-resistant skin, but simply because I didn’t want to buy more clothes.

  Atlas took a half-mount position on top of me - a bad spot for me if we were going to fight this out with fists. But we weren’t. He raised himself upward to deliver an over-powered haymaker and I let the heat held within me out through my right hand. A jet of flame blew over his face and his scream became muffled as the heat burned his mouth and throat. I bridged upward with my hips, throwing him off balance and allowing me to roll with his weight. Now on top, I gave a few thundering punches of my own until I felt the added strength leave me. Atlas lay unconscious, his face a melted mess.

  “Jesus! What the...fuck!” Flashpoint yelled, spit flying from his mouth. His teeth chattered, probably from whatever drug he was on. His eyes were wide as he looked from his partner to me and I could pinpoint the moment the shock in his face turned to rage. “Fuck you!” he howled and flung fireball after fireball down the street at me.

  I ran at him, absorbing each blast in sequence. I had wondered if there was a limit to what I could absorb after the last time we fought. My answer came in the form of clothing starting to singe. Not a great way to shunt the excess heat if it meant I’d be naked by the end of the fight. Luckily, I reached him before I had to absorb any more. I caught his hand before he could throw more flames and delivered my other fist into his gut. The faint cough and haggard gasp that followed let me know that his diaphragm had seized. Good. No more fighting back. I stepped into his gait, posturing my hips below his and threw him to the ground. Any remaining heat left my body the moment my foot met his head, putting him to sleep temporarily as well.

  “Couldn’t have gone better,” the voice said.

  “Of course it could have,” I thought. They could have never shown up. Now they know I come here. Now I can’t come here. I looked back into the restaurant. Aiko and her father still stood behind the counter, but her hands covered her mouth and she looked as though she were about to be sick. Or cry. Probably both.

  My shoulders slumped. And here I had hoped I might be able to hide until I’d been forgotten. 

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

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  “And then?” my...I wasn’t sure what to call her, asked. Interrogator? She wasn’t my captor. Not directly at least. She wore a tight black skirt that reached her knees accompanied by a black blazer over a crisp, white blouse. A professional. From appearances alone I wouldn’t guess she was a cape, not that I had always been right about that sort of thing.

  Regardless, the two of us sat in a square, concrete room with nothing but two chairs, a door, and air vents for decoration. Our voices echoed faintly despite the conversational volume and I saw no cameras or microphones. Odd. I had no reason to believe this woman was a threat, but that didn't mean I was willing to spill my heart out to her.

  “And then, whoever that cape was showed up, subdued me, and now I’m here,” I replied.

  “You seem oddly calm for having been captured after all this time on the run,” she said plainly.

  I sighed, playing harmless. “If I’m being honest, I suppose I knew my time was limited the moment the bounty was issued.”

  “You mean after you killed King?”

  “Sure.” Whatever she wanted to believe. It didn’t hurt to admit to things that were already public knowledge.

  “I thought you were being honest,” she scolded. My eyes narrowed, but she shrugged and scribbled something in the notebook she had placed atop the thin binder resting on her lap. “And you don’t intend to try and fight your way out?” she asked.

  “Not sure I’d be very successful given how the fight against the last cape went,” I replied.

  “Fair enough. Then let’s continue. I want to ask about your power.”

  “I think most capes would prefer their abilities weren’t on record.” I gestured at the binder.

  She clicked her tongue. “It’s mostly villains that think that way, but fine. I’ll just make some statements regarding a timeline and if you feel so inclined you can tell me if it’s right or wrong.”

  “And if I sit here silently?” I asked.

  “I’ll mark it as ‘declined to answer’, though the more you cooperate with me the better it looks for you - even if only slightly.” I chuckled and waited for her to begin. The truth hadn’t helped me up until this point.

  “Alright, here we go. Initially, everyone believed your power to be identical to your partners, Nick, until the reports of you performing acts that he could not.” She paused, looking up for a reaction before resuming. “From there, they believed your power was limited area absorption or nullification.“ She stopped again, waiting for a response, but I gave none. “There’s virtually no reporting on your abilities for almost a year despite your vigilante duo remaining active,” she said, sliding her finger down the page, “then, in a moment of opportunity, eight heroes stumble upon the two of you and attempt to subdue you. Somehow, the two of you escape. The reports from the heroes were...irregular, but it was attributed to their embarrassment at the defeat.” She bobbed her head idly as she continued scanning the page. “Nick dies some months later and you vanish for several more, reappearing to continue your previous work, though in limited fashion. King begins to actively recruit you. During Leviathan’s attack, you kill him. The bounty is issued for your capture and now, as you said, ‘here we are.’” She finished the last year or two fairly rapidly, but I was happy enough to gloss over it all.

  “Close enough,” I said.

  “Alright, then with the public timeline covered, let’s cover the real deal.”

  “Sorry?” I asked with eyebrows raised.

  She didn’t acknowledge my confusion as she closed the binder and leaned it against the leg of the chair. She hastily picked up another, much larger, grouping of documents from the floor and set them on her lap.

  “First, your power is not nullification or absorption. It’s mimicry. King began to recruit you the moment we learned of this. You are able to use a power identical to that of a parahuman in a limited area around you so long as they are in a state where they themselves can use their power. You’re at your weakest the first time you face another cape, but the more you become accustomed to or understand their power the better you can utilize it. You minimize your weakness with extensive investigation, a staple before you and Nick accepted a job, and other persistent online research of capes in your area. Using thinker, tinker, master, and other non-physical powers is harder for you. Powers like blaster, striker, and breaker come more easily. Ultimately, given enough time and practice, we estimate you can mimic a power up to 90-95% of its original effectiveness. The area you can draw from seems to be about a quarter-mile and there is no limit on the number of powers you can mimic at once, but based on your fights you do seem to have mental capacity - you can only think about so many various interactions at a time. Either way, you were given the name ‘Rival’ based on your ability to rival anyone’s powers and the hatred they had for you because of that.”

  Finished, she looked up at me for the first time since she had begun reading from the top page. I sat still, staring at her. She had barely stopped to breath as she gushed the details of my abilities. She looked up and I noticed she was excited, as though she were finally spilling a secret she’d kept for so long. I felt bare. Exposed. I won my fights because people were surprised when their powers had no effect. Moreso when they were hit with them in return. If everyone knew...

  “But the real kicker is the last bit.” She leaned forward, grinning. “You can keep the power permanently if you kill them.”

  My jaw clenched. And there it was. The part of me that I hated.

  “I must say, I find it odd, your life thus far,” she said, leaning back against the chair and tapping the back of the pen against her cheek.

  “And how’s that?” I wanted to seem calm, unphased by her knowledge of me, but even I could hear how tense my words were.

  “If anyone read your power on paper alone they would assume you to be a true villain. With the right people killed, you could be the most powerful parahuman to ever exist, more powerful than Eidolon. Yet you chose to be a vigilante. A mere mercenary. Why?”

  I shrugged, unwilling to give her full compliance.

  She pursed her lips. “Is it the drawback? Are you afraid it would drive you mad? Or leave you vulnerable enough to be killed?”

  “Drawback?” My eyes narrowed.

  “The voices.”

  I fought against grinding my teeth but was unable to prevent my sharp inhale. I was getting easier to read the deeper she went. “I’m not sure what you mean by--”

  “Our...surveillance is very good. Gabriel, we believe you to be of incredible importance. What you have assumed was a limited effort to locate and apprehend you was one of the most extensive operations we’ve ever performed.”

  I didn’t like how she emphasized surveillance. They couldn’t have just been watching me. They had to have been using other capes - gone through my personal belongings.

  “If you know everything, why wait so long to capture me?”

  “We didn’t wait. This is the first opportunity that we could be sure of our success. For instance, though you sit here acting complacent, we know King’s power is within you. You could easily kill me if you so desired. The wrong move at the wrong time and we would’ve tipped our hand.” She tapped her temple with her finger and grinned.

  I sat back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. She had yet to be wrong. Did she have some sort of thinker power? No, if she did, I'd be able to use it too, even if only slightly. She was powerless, yet had all the power in this encounter. Did I stand a chance of escaping these people?

  “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “King knew of your ability when he asked you to kill him. Some of those close to him believe he was actively trying to pass it to you.”

  I scowled. “If you know I killed him in mercy then why the bounty?”

  “Are you aware you’ve been using his power almost constantly?” she asked, ignoring me.

  “You didn’t answer my--what?”

  “You’ve been using part of King’s power near-constantly since killing him. To include right now, though since I’m aware of it it’s having a reduced effect. You didn’t know?” She scoffed slightly before making a note on the paper. “I admit, I was a little off-put with your using it on the girl.” She looked up at me. “Aiko was her name, right? Aiko Nakayama?”

  “I didn’t use King’s power...”

  She sighed. “You did, but unless you’re a remarkable liar I see that you weren’t aware of it. King’s power isn’t just the energy within, Gabriel. It exudes out, like an aura. It naturally draws people to want to follow. To be close. To obey. It wasn’t the sword from Armsmaster that gave him the namesake - it was his ability to lead.”

  That...stung. I hardly knew Aiko. I hadn’t been remotely curious as to why she liked me. I never wondered why Mr. Nakayama was so respectful while I eyed his daughter. No. I knew it had been odd. I chose not to care. And the realization was revolting. I felt the color drain from my cheeks and the corners of my mouth tightened.

  “Well, at least you show remorse when presented the truth,” she said casually. “To answer your earlier question, many of us believed you’d never join us willingly. After King died we simply took more aggressive measures to bring you to our side.”

  I didn’t care about her answer. My mind was still festering on my sin. We sat in silence, the only sound the hum from some fan that pushed warm air through vents and into the room. She, too, looked to be mulling over some thoughts before perking up suddenly.

  “Shall we continue?” she asked, flipping through dozens of pages. “I have two more items to discuss with you. The first is the other power you permanently retain. Nick’s. Why don’t you ever use it?”

  At this point I’d lost count of how many times she’d stuck me with her words, but this one was hot across my face like a slap. “I don’t--”

  “Oh come now, don’t dodge the question when we’re this far along. His death was the first time you learned the other part of your power. You killed him. You took his power. Tell me why you never use it.”

  “Respect,” I growled.

  “Respect?” She seemed amused.

  “If someone dies, they should stay dead. The least I can do is to afford him that peace.”

  “But you don’t afford King that same respect. Interesting. I’d guess you don’t use it because you don’t want to hear his voice, though most people would love to hear the words of a close friend who had passed. I mean you were practically brothers. What could he have said to you that would make you forsake that blessing?”

  “He didn’t say anything.”

  “It was the fear of him speaking at all? Hmm...” She eyed me briefly before scribbling something down onto the page.

  “If you know I didn’t murder King, then you have no reason to hold me,” I began, “the bounty is a farce. I was a mercenary, but not a villain and I have no official strikes on my record. You’ve admitted to an extensive surveillance operation that can’t possibly have been legal. I don’t think the public will look fondly on all this.” She didn’t respond to the threat, instead continuing to scratch pen against paper. “I wish to leave. Now.” I said more forcefully.

  She looked up, her brow furrowed in confusion. “You don’t want to hear the final item? Why we went through all this effort to bring you here? Why we would...deceive the public regarding your actions?”

  I stared at her. She had seemed so harmless, but that facade had fallen away quickly.

  “We want you to kill the Endbringers.”