A hole appeared in the southernmost wall of 2245 South Barnham Way. An apartment building, and heavily reinforced after the upheaval a decade ago. The thick wall of concrete and steel could do little as a body tumbled into it, burrowing itself deep inside. Dust and debris bloomed out of the hole, but after a moment the damaged area was silent.

“Come on out Yellow Sun. I know you haven’t died that easy.” A woman in bright red clothing stood on a nearby rooftop, stretching out muscles that had been pushed beyond their limits. A laugh echoed from the hole.

“Hehe, do you have some way of sensing if I was alive? Most people would have died to that you know?” Concrete and tiles fell as something moved in the dark cavern. “You’re more cruel than you let on, Miss Stone.”

A faint glow grew into a blindingly bright yellow storm. Wisps of energy ate away at the building, tearing into steel girders and crumbling concrete as if it was sand. Stone braced herself. Suddenly, a great boom of energy erupted, launching outwards, but oddly wild and unfocused. She guarded herself as the body of the Yellow Sun flew out overhead, thumping across rooftops and sliding to a stop one building over. The apartment block he shot out of seemed undamaged from the most recent explosion. Had he somehow harmed himself? She tensed herself as she approached the smoldering body, waiting for an attack that never came.

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A woman in an oversized tee shirt and shorts cursed and spat dust as she stumbled into what was left of her bathroom. Ruined. “Haaah,” she breathed out with frustration. Even the way out of her apartment was now blocked with debris. She waved a hand and concrete moved. Another hand motion and her outside clothes floated over.

“This building is so advanced, so strong! What crap.” She spat. The building was supposedly built to survive in the world post-upheaval, and yet it still crumbled when hit with a one hundred and twenty pound villain. Granted, the man was traveling near the speed of sound when he impacted, but still. She sighed. Not that she could blame the villain for being flung. That damn hero didn’t even consider the people she might harm by targeting apartments, did she?

She wrenched open her door and made it to the hallway. It looked intact enough, not much damage had made it this far. Further down a door shakily opened and out peeked an old woman with glasses so thick they made her eyes look twice the size as they actually were.

“Karla? Did you feel that?” she asked with a shaking voice.

“Mrs. Bloom! Are you alright?”

The old woman nodded. “Frightful. Such a large earthquake! I swear it was stronger than the big one in eighty nine!”

“Yes ma’am.” Karla walked over and held out a hand. “We should probably head out, the building could be damaged.”

“Tsk. Not likely. If the building isn’t down on the first rumble, I’d bet it can handle any aftershocks.”

“But it could be unsafe—”

“Now did I tell you about the big rumble a few years back? That was an earthquake and a half! Took down my house and the neighborhood with it! I was outside walking Lucha at the time.”

As if summoned by mentioning him name, a small scraggly dog stumbled its way out between Mrs. Bloom’s feet. Lucha was an old and patchy schnauzer. Perhaps he was white once but now more gray and pink from bald spots. He was by far the most ugly and yet friendly dog Karla had ever met.

“Yes, you told me. I really think it would be best to leave—”

“Do come in! We haven’t talked much since you began working night shift! I see the quake must have woken you from bed. Come in, I’ll make you some calming tea.” The old woman totted back inside her apartment. Karla sighed. She moved her hands, rebuilding the structure of the apartments. Not entirely, nor perfectly, but enough to make sure it was stable.

Outside, most people had fled at the sight and sounds of supers fighting, though if anyone remained they would see blocks of rubble lifting and wedging themselves into the building at various points. It wasn’t a permanent fix, but enough till someone convinced Mrs. Bloom and Lucha to leave.

The dog laid his small head on Karla’s leg, his long tongue hanging out and delivering a constant stream of drool down her calf. She scratched the old dog between his ears as Mrs. Bloom began describing her old house in earnest.

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Agents.

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In the past anyone with that title sounded almost cool, mysterious, maybe even sexy. Now, they were looked down upon, and yelled at often.

“That’s it?” a woman shouted, her hand fiercely gripped around the arm of her husband. He had almost accepted the payment with a smile.

Agent Brooks frowned. “That is more than the worth of your apartment. We believe that is more than fair.”

“We have to move! All of our furniture has been destroyed! I had a piano!”

“A cheap keyboard…” the husband mumbled before being silenced by a glare from his wife.

“We will not settle for this!” she shouted.

Agent Brooks closed his eyes and the unit became clear to him. Cheap furniture, dirtied carpet, bare walls. The apartment was a mess despite not being touched by the fighting. “Ma’am, it’s more than fair. I promise you this is the most you will receive.” He proffered the check once again.

Veins appeared up her neck and over her forehead. “It. Is. Not. Enough!”

He sighed as he pocketed the check. “Okay ma’am. I’ll have our workers contact you and you can sort out your payments through them.” He held out a card and she snatched it away triumphantly.

“I know how much you give out.” She held the card up in victory.

“Of course you do. Have a good day.” Brooks turned and stomped back to his car. He had been generous, now she’d get the least amount the agency could offer her. He yanked open the door and slumped into the driver’s seat, sitting there for some time before wrapping up his report.

“Another one?” asked a man from the passenger seat. Agent Dawkins, his partner.

“Yeah, another one,” Brooks sighed. “Damn the bean counters. Damn the government.”

“Watch it, you’ll have the spooks after you.”

“Damn them too. It’s their fault for all of this anyways.”

Dawkins nodded as he flicked through an agency datapad. Headlines of most big news outlets were heavily focused on the recent payouts a Brand Werner received for damages and injuries caused by hero work. “Couldn’t they have just paid him off under the table like they do everyone else?” Brooks pulled at his already-thinning hair and groaned. “Why did they have to make up the crap about him being injured, huh?”

“Too much money to hide,” said Dawkins as he bit into a Slam Bar. On the wrapper was a hero punching a peanut. “They can’t hide it like they used to. Too many people eyeing up the hero agency, watching our every move. What would people think if they heard we were paying off villains instead of fighting them? Not that we had another option. What are we gonna do? Let that Werner freak have a field day? I’d say a few million is chump change to the damage he could have caused. Now he’s out of the country, and out of our hair.” He took a large bite and spoke through it. “At least for a few years.”

Brooks glanced at the candybar wrapper and sighed. “I feel like the era of heroes is almost over.”

“Ha! They just began! What will people do? Go back to their homes and forget people ever awakened? Forget that monsters exist? I’m sure the beasties will agree and crawl back into whatever hole they crawled out of.” Brooks hit his head on the window a few times. Dawkins laughed and continued. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You’re a super too.”

“Shush!” Brooks hissed, his head snapping around as if looking for danger. “If the wrong person hears that…”

“Relax!” Dawkins patted him on the shoulder and hit a navigation button with a chocolate-smudge finger. The center console lit up, shut off, then lit up again. Dawkins hammered the top of the console with a fist and the screen blinked with acknowledgment as the car lifted from the streets. “I’d say you have one of the best abilities! You aren’t forced to fight psychos or beasts since you’re not a combat-type, and you can peep into anyone’s home or shower you wished! I’d get quite a lot of use out of your power.”

“You’re a degenerate.”

“Hey, I’d just be enjoying myself! Not harming anyone. Besides, laws don’t apply to supers, right?”

Brooks shook his head and placed his attention out the window. The car lifted higher and was soon above rooftops. The trail of destruction lead to this one nondescript building, an apartment complex. Luckily most were not home and there were no casualties, though how the fight ended seemed odd to him. Miss Stone had sworn up and down she had seen some kind of super work keeping the building upright. She had also claimed she hadn’t beaten Yellow Sun on her own. Most heroes would never admit such a thing. Who would want to split half of their earnings anyways?

“Hey Dawkins. Run a report for me.”

“What is it?”

“Potential super payout. Er, half a payout.”

“Was half left unclaimed? Did Miss Stone not take it? Strange…” Dawkins scratched his beard. “Claim it for yourself, buy a newer car already.”

Brooks rolled his eyes. “Run it.”

“Fine, fine. You goody goody shoes. Who is it for?”

“That’s not how the saying goes…”

Dawkins grinned. “And there you go proving my point.”

“Run it for Karla Morten. Potential fresh awakened or unreported.”