=== CURT ===

When I woke up, I was in bed. I didn't know where. It was dark. The familiar weight of my rig was gone. I leaned up and groaned as my ribs creaked, and I fell back down to bed. Something stirred next to me, and I felt an arm wrap around me and pull me closer. "Stop moving, moron."

  I looked over to a mass of brown hair, smudged makeup, and some drool. I had yet to meet a woman who slept gracefully. Men didn't either, but no one brings it up. I guess that's a bit of sexism. I eased down into the bed and tried to relax with Cindi's arm around me. At least until I remember what I had done. I bolted up. "Fuck!"

  Cindi jumped up and, I shit you not, did a complete flip through the blanket and landed on the floor, ready to take on the enemies that weren't there. She was naked. But that seems pretty obvious. If she wasn't going to wear clothes to a robbery, why would she to bed? She looked around, breathing hard. After a moment, she dropped her hands. "What the fuck, Curt?"

  "My fucking name is out there!" I shouted.

  "Oh, yeah. That."

  "Oh, yeah. That." I said mockingly. "I'm so fucked. I'm going to be arrested. I'm going to go to prison. Hell, Bion might shoot another fucking missile at me and just kill me outright. What the fuck am I going to do?"

  Cindi laughed. She pointed and laughed at me. She did not stop as my face got redder and redder. I clenched my fists, which popped painfully. They were in a hellish condition, wrapped up tight in bandages. I shook them out, and she sobered some. She crawled back into the bed, lifted the blanket, and sank under it, curling up against me. I tried to pull away, and she crawled fully on top of me. "No, fuck you! You laughed at my existential crisis."

  "We might, but we must get approval from Doc Des before we can. They'll be around later to check on you."

  "Get off!" I said, trying desperately to extract myself from her embrace. The thing about Cindi is she's pretty strong. Especially for someone of her size. She can't throw a car, but when it comes to grappling and pins, you might have to be able to throw a car to escape her. And I certainly can't.

  "God, men are such children!" She complained as she snuggled into my chest. "Yeah, I laughed at you. Because you did something incredibly idiotic, and now you live in my world. No more of these stupid half-measures you've been trying to balance. You're just a criminal, now."

  "Yeah, a criminal that, unlike you, is going to be arrested and tried and sent to prison with no way of ever escaping."

  "I'd come get you."

  "Then you would get caught."

  "Nah."

  "Nah? That's your plan to get me out of prison. Just 'Nah'?"

  "Yeah."

  "I am so fucked."

  "Not until Des approves," she said, giggling. "Besides, you forget. I'm the world's greatest thief."

  "And she can take on Smash Gal," Des said, coming into the room. They were wearing a lab-coat and looked haggard. "Also, just fuck him. It might tire him out enough so that he can't do something stupid immediately. And if you tear his stitches, it's not like that's not something he'd do anyway. Because he's an idiot."

  "I am not an idiot."

  "Stop pouting," Des said coldly.

  "I am not pouting!"

  "Yes, you are," Cindi interjected. "But it's kind of cute. I've never seen this side of you. So petulant. So . . . Scared."

  Something Des said finally caught up to me, and I stared at them for a moment. Then I looked down at Cindi. "What do you mean you can take on Smash Gal?"

  "Oh, that. It's nothing."

  "Nothing? That girl can take on the fucking Grignau and hold an exploding grenade without Fourth of July-ing her fingers, and you laid her flat."

  "For like two minutes."

  "You . . . You took down Kari?" I asked, looking down at her. She didn't flinch away or avert her eyes.

  "Right. 'Kari'. We need to talk about how you're on a first-name basis with the world's strongest Barbie," Des responded. I shifted uncomfortably, and Cindi gripped my arm, preparing to pin me if I tried to escape.

  "I'd also like some insight into that."

  "You didn't know either?" Des asked Cindi.

  "No, I know about you, and I knew about many of the more idiotic things he's done, but I didn't know about Smash Gal."

  "That's because there's nothing to tell. We were friends when we were kids. That's all."

  "Seemed like more on her live stream," Des countered.

  "Live-stream. You guys saw that."

  "Yeah, it's how I knew to come to save your dumb ass. I am going to need another one of your Poppers again."

  "Y-yeah. No problem. I can make that for you," I said absently, running through the events in my mind. The Popper. That made sense. I made a couple of emergency buttons that Cindi could use. They were single-use and could only go to specific locations. I set one up to come directly to me if she was ever in trouble, and I guess she had used it to save me. "H-how did you take her out?"

  "You don't remember?" Des asked.

  "I had been thrown around pretty hard, and it's kind of blurry at the end. I just remember Marcelli and her using my name and me not wearing a mask. Like a fucking moron. God damn it!" I slammed my hand on my thigh and then winced.

  "Fucking stop that! Your assault on Brick-House Barbie almost shattered the bones in your hands," Des said. Cindi took my hands into hers and stroked her thumb over mine.

  "So, how did you do it?" I asked again, trying to calm down.

  "Nah."

  "What?"

  "You spill your story first. Des has to get back to work eventually. They can't stay here all day, waiting, and I want to know." There was no fighting with Cindi when she got like this. This was an order. I sighed and closed my eyes, collecting my thoughts.

  "I . . . Kari and I were friends in middle school and the beginning of high school. More than that, I guess. We were . . . Really close, actually. She . . . My family wasn't the best, and she always pulled me out of the house, made sure I got enough to eat and fought people for me. She forced me to go out and took me to things like parties and dances, and tried to get me to run for school president with her. Uh . . . Sh-she was my first kiss."

  "And you didn't know she had powers? I know men are stupid, but that had to be pretty obvious."

  "Well, she didn't."

  "What do you mean she didn't?"

  "Her powers didn't develop until puberty. And then she left. I didn't even know she was still alive until like a month ago."

  "Wait . . ." Des said, pausing for a moment. "Your first girlfriend just left you until basically a minute ago and blows back into your life, and you don't think that's something you ought to mention to me? Or to your fucking girlfriend?"

  "We got one coffee. It wasn't like we were suddenly friends again."

  "But you care about her. About what she thinks of you," Cindi said coolly.

  "I mean, I guess. At one point, she was my favorite person."

  "Oh? And who is it now?" Cindi asked. Her eyes were scanning my face carefully.

  "It's a tie between you and that one celebrity chef who screams at adults but is always wholesome and encouraging to children."

  "Nice dodge," Des said. "Now, say it honestly. No sarcasm. Just what you actually feel."

  "Fuck both of you!" I said, crossing my arms. Cherry's eyes hadn't left my face. Her own was carved from stone. I could tell that she was considering it. And I think I might have hurt her. After a few minutes of unblinking staring and a dam of guilt breaking, I deflated. "Fine. Whatever. But when I say something stupid, this will be your fault."

  "How will it be our fault?" Des demanded.

  "Because you know I have the emotional intelligence of a dead fruit fly."

  "And because men are idiots, that's my fault?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay, fine. Talk." Cindi hadn't said a word in that time. She just continued to watch me. I got out of bed, and she let me. I walked over to the window. Only to then realize that I was also naked. And that my ribs were wrapped up as tightly as my hands. I looked like hell between that and the stitches and the bruises I could see in my reflection. I frowned.

  "You two are the most important people to me," I said quietly, leaning against the cool window. I closed my eyes. "I don't like most people. I don't have friends. I haven't spoken to my parents in ten years. But you two are there for me. When I need you to be. And that scares me."

  "Why?" Cindi asked. She was right behind me; I could sense her. Des had also moved closer.

  "Because the only other person who had ever been there for me left overnight, and I was left alone. I was emancipated at seventeen, put myself through school, and taught myself how to do everything I could so that I would never need anyone again." The bitterness in my voice hurt. My entire throat contracted. I was trying to hold back tears.

  "Oh . . . That makes so much more sense," Des said. I looked over at them, and they looked like they were internally admonishing themself for not realizing it sooner.

  "What makes more sense?" I asked, my tone almost accusing, turning to the pair.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  "I never thought about why you and . . ." They hesitated and then turned to Cindi. "Look, girl. I like you. You're funny, you're hot, and you put men and especially this fucking idiot in their place. But you're flaky. You blow in and blow out with no warning. I always wondered why Curt was so attached to you. Because you're. . ."

  "Because I'm only partly in his life. I may disappear, but he accepts it, maybe even encourages it. Because it means he can distance himself from our relationship and thus his feelings, without risk of losing anything." Her voice was small. It was a little hurt.

  "Yeah . . . 'cept it didn't work," I said, looking down. I was avoiding Chindi's piercing blue eyes. And Des' dark brown ones.

  "What?"

  "He loves you. We have the recording to prove it," Des said. There was a smile in their voice. A smug, obnoxious smile. If I had my rig, I would have opened a portal and ran at that moment. Or at least opened a portal to the ocean and splash their self-satisfied face.

  "Even though I'm flaky?" Cindi asked. She put her finger under my chin and lifted it to meet her eyes.

  "I didn't call you flaky," I said defensively. "And yeah. It helped at first. If you hadn't run out every time we spent more than a day or two together, I would've run."

  "Or self-sabotaged," Des added.

  "And now?"

  "And now it doesn't matter. I'm going to be arrested. My life is over, and I doubt you're up for conjugals. So, we'll get that fucking bomb out of you, then you're free."

  "God, you're an idiot." Des and Cindi said in unison.

=== KARI ===

Before agreeing to any interviews in the aftermath of my fight with Curt, I had asked to meet with Jenny. She readily agreed, probably hoping that she'd get me to dish on him and Buck Cherry. We met for lunch; I arrived early because I was nervous. A couple of paparazzi clicked their cameras and asked a thousand questions. I used all of my mental fortitude to tune out. We were at a restaurant, and I had forgone any semblance of privacy and had arrived in full costume. People knew what I looked like anyway. Jenny was a little late, and I saw it was because she was talking with the paparazzi. She never seemed frazzled by them. After a few minutes, she rolled up to the table and smiled brightly. "Kari. You've certainly had a busy week. Between being shot by a cop, live on stream, and then streaming your fight with a friend of yours. Was your life a little too quiet?"

  "I guess so," I said, a little despondently. "I didn't really mean for anything like this to happen. I don't want all this attention for this kind of stuff. I feel like a drama YouTube channel."

  "Yeah, I get that. But it's been pretty good for your brand." Jenny took out her phone and navigated it to some graphs that I could barely understand. "You've been searched for a lot. And your toy sales and official merchandise have been selling like hotcakes."

  "Oh, that's good, I guess."

  "Come on, now. That's great news. Considering."

  "Considering?"

  "Well, the Blue Lives Matter crowd wasn't thrilled with you. Some conservative pundits called you a spoiled child for criticizing the police. There are some factions online siding with your friend, too."

  "There are?" I asked. I hadn't had the guts to Google what people had been saying about me or Curt. It was all still so . . . raw. I didn't know how to deal with it yet.

  "Yeah. I looked into him a bit, too. It's not quite as black and white as you think."

  "What do you mean? He's a thief. And a liar. And a jerk."

  "All true. But he's also only got a net worth of maybe seventy-five grand. He lives modestly."

  "So? He's hiding all his ill-gotten gains offshore or with Buck Cherry or Marcelli."

  "I . . . I don't think so, Kar." Jenny sounded genuine. I searched her face; she was serious. "I think he gives most of it away."

  "What? Why would he do that?"

  "I think he's trying to be Robin Hood," she said, then cracked a grin. "But without the sexy tights. Which is a shame. He's not bad looking."

  "Robin Hood? He robs the rich and gives to the poor?"

  "I tracked down a couple of the pieces that Esvanir had reportedly stolen. He stole some cutting edge, and I'm talking bleeding edge here, the hot stuff, medical equipment. It ended up mass-produced in Africa, Southeast Asia, and everywhere in the states. Usually in small clinics and dying hospitals. Places that don't get enough funding to succeed."

  "Oh. Well, that doesn't make what he's doing right."

  "But it has made him popular. Some people have come forward and said that if it weren't for him, they'd be dead." She swiped a couple of times and brought up some interviews. They were all basically the same. This man appeared out of nowhere, gave some technology, explained how to use it, and it was always helpful all over the world. One village got a water purifier that was so efficient that it supplied enough for ten other villages around them. Curt had made a real difference. I frowned at the screen. I hated this; everything was so complicated. Jenny put her phone away and reached across the table. "Are you okay?"

  "I . . . I don't know. Curt was my best friend once. And now he's a thief. But even that's not simple; he's some bullshit noble thief. And the cops are killing defenseless people. People they already have in custody. Everything is so heavy. And there are all these reporters and people who want me to talk about all of it. And I don't know what to say."

  "What do you think of . . . everything?"

  "I think . . . I think Curt has half a point, but it doesn't excuse his theft. I think the cops need some reform and maybe to be less . . . trigger happy. And I think all of this is exhausting."

  "That sounds good. Say that except for maybe that last thing. You're a superhero. You don't get exhausted," Jenny said with a grin. I laughed, and she joined in.

  A few hours later, I sat in a chair across from David Thrawn. I had watched a few interviews he'd done in the past to make sure he wouldn't try to twist what I say. I realized the internet would do it anyway and didn't think it needed any help. He was thinner in real life. He looked more tired too. He sipped coffee, waiting for the cameras to start rolling. I had wanted to talk to him beforehand, but his assistant had guided me away because, apparently, he was too busy. I imagine he was taking a nap. He looked like he was going to fall asleep right up until the cameras were rolling, and his director motioned for him to go. Then suddenly, he was incredibly animated. "Hello, mates. Today we have a special guest. Someone that, to my recollection at least, has never been interviewed. We have Kari Stewart, the Smash Gal. The first question I have to ask, since I technically gave you that name, what do you think of it?"

  "Well," I tried to smile as I spoke, but this was awkward, and I was nervous. I had never been on TV. Well, I had been, but never like this. Under all of the lights and someone seen across the nation, the world. "I . . . I didn't like it initially, but I was advised that once a name got going, that was that. So, I just hope to make it into a name that people say with hope in their hearts."

  David's grin became a little more strained. I think he was trying not to laugh. I rubbed my arm as though I was cold. "Right, then. That's fair. There has been a lot of buzz about you since you made your debut. You've inspired a lot of people, including new superheroes across the world. People like Thunderblast credit you for their courage to save us from the everyday meta threats that have become all too common."

  "I would appreciate it if you didn't word it like that, David," I said, trying to sound composed.

  "What do you mean?" He asked curiously and leaned forward.

  "'Meta threats' makes it sound like metas are naturally threatening. I don't believe that's the case. I'm a meta, and so is Thunderblast and Professor Mind. We use our powers to help people. And there are a lot of metas that are just people living their everyday lives. Before Thunderblast became a hero, he was a line cook. There are lots of people like that, I'm sure."

  "Okay, okay. I see your point, Kari. But you have to admit that metas present a threat to the general public. Many of the metas we are likely to interact with are a danger to the public. People like the first person you took down, the Boulder. He has escaped and harassed people and hurt them several times."

  "Yes, there are metas that hurt people. There are also non-metas that hurt people, too," I countered. "People like Es . . . People like the police officers that killed the fire meta last week and shot me. The ones that almost arrested Thunderblast for being a hostage. Marcelli was a part of a firefight in the middle of a city. One of his people threw a grenade. Imagine the damage that could've done. Those people weren't metas. And they are perfectly dangerous. Should I lump someone like you with people who fire on people in custody?"

  "No, I suppose not," David responded thoughtfully. "Moving on, though. You seemed like you were going to mention Esvanir, but you shied away from that. Why? What is your relationship with Curtis Reese?"

  I closed my eyes for a moment, biting my lip. I felt a twinge in my chest of pain and guilt. But I knew it was going to come up. "Curt . . . Curt and I don't have a relationship. I'm not friends with criminals. He should turn himself in. When I find him, and I will, he will be arrested. Regardless of what Buck Cherry, Marcelli, or anyone else thinks."

  "There have been a lot of stories coming out about Curt. Some people think he's as much of a hero as you are. He has saved villages in his own way. Got people out of the way of natural disasters, provided desperately needed technology to people who need i-"

  "That he stole. I cannot and will not condone stealing," I said firmly. "It's immoral."

  "Alright, understood. Bion had a similar opinion when we reached out to him for a comment. Have you seen that?"

  "I-I had not." He turned to a screen set up between us, which came to life. Andrew Wan appeared, not in his full Bion suit, but in his base life-support version. He was a fragile-looking, angular man with crow's feet surrounding his eyes and streaks of gray going through his dark brown hair. A reporter asked him a similar question to the one David had asked me, and he responded.

  "Mister Reese is sure willing to throw around blame," Andrew began. When his voice wasn't being shouted through at roughly a thousand decibels, it was a rough whisper. "But he appears to have overlooked the fact that Wan En and subsidiaries spend a significant portion of time, money, and energy improving the lives of the 'little people', as he would say. We have several projects both here and overseas that are working to improve the lives of everyone on the planet and raise people out of poverty. After all, the more wealth people have, the more likely they are to buy Wan En products."

  I frowned as I stared at the screen; David paused for a moment with a wry grin stretching out his thin face. "What do you think of that statement, Smash Gal?"

  "I . . . I don't know. I'm. . . I think Cur- Esvanir has a point when he says that sometimes heroes do blow in with little concern and get the job done and leave. I know that, at the very least, I'm guilty of that. And I'm going to try harder to make sure that I'm around for the cleanup. I can't be everywhere. As for Mister Wan's philanthropic interests, I cannot speak to them, as I'm just not that up on everything the company or he does."

  "Absolutely fair, darling," Thrawn leaned in and smiled. "So, your friend Jenny said that she had heard from you that the infamous Buck Cherry and Esvanir are an item. What are your thoughts on that? The internet is crazy about the potential Super-Villain Super-Couple."

  "I don't believe Curt is a super-villain. Just a criminal. And criminals flock together, I suppose," I said, staring bitterly at my feet. "I was not aware, but if they're not dating, they are at very least close. Our fight a few days ago was the third time I had seen them teamed up."

  "As a former friend of Curt's, do you think they are?"

  "I had only gotten back in touch with him after several years and . . . I don't know him like I used to. But I will say this: She's pretty, and I've met few men that could resist a pretty face. Much less a pretty . . . everything else. Unfortunately for them, I don't think they'll be together much after we catch them and put them away. Co-Ed prisons being non-existent and all."

  "Speaking of pretty, the internet is quite obsessed with you," Thrawn said, eyes twinkling. "What do you think of the adult film parodies of you? Like Smush Girl takes on Rockman or Slam Woman vs. the Tentacles from Out of This World?"

  I put my head in my hands and shook it violently. I started laughing and maybe crying a bit. "I . . . I don't know, Mister Thrawn."

  "David, please."

  "Right, David. I don't really appreciate it. I understand that I'm kind of a celebrity, but it is kind of uncomfortable. Between that and the . . . Uh . . . art that I've seen . . . it's just a little weird. I would kindly ask people to respect my privacy, but I doubt that's going to happen."

  "Yeah, well," he said, a little stiffly. "I suppose I hadn't considered it from that point of view. Miss Stewart, I would like to thank you for coming on. I hope you come back."

  The director motioned that the segment was over, and I stood up, and so did David. He was actually about Curt's height. He made his way over and offered his hand. "I do mean that, dear. Thank you for coming on. And I'm sorry about that last question. I thought you might have had a joke or something about it, but it is pretty weird."

  "It's alright, I understand." I shook his hand and frowned. "But it sounds like you're speaking from experience."

  "Don't think anyone would want to fuck a news anchor?" He said with this smarmy grin. Then it deflated. "When I transitioned to traditional media, my . . . A lot of my fans continued to follow me."

  "Fans? What did you do before?"

  "Porn," he said simply. He leaned back again and held his chin high.

  "You did porn before the news?" I asked. "That's. . . quite the change."

  "Yeah, well, I was getting older. And I wanted to see if I could make content people would like with my pants on. And I can. Good to know that I'm multi-talented, I suppose."

  "So, there was some . . . Art of you from those days?"

  "Oh, people still make art. They . . . What do the kids call it? Ship me? With co-workers, guests, rivals, people I do stories on. I've seen every flavor of it. It's flattering, in its own way."

  "I guess. I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

  "You will, and you won't."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I've seen your type before, Kari. You got what it takes to be a star. And a hero. You'll learn to tune a lot of it out until you can't, and you're Googling yourself and reading and watching every opinion piece about yourself. It's a cycle. Some people only do it every couple of years; I do it once or twice a month. Just try to remember that they don't actually know you or who you are. And their opinions are uninformed and probably projection. At least that's what I do. Project that they're projecting." He smiled again.