Ayda awoke from a deep and dreamless sleep, the kind that could only come after a good day. She was vaguely aware of laying on her side, only notable because she'd fallen asleep on her back. A long exhale passed her nose. She always had trouble telling how much time had passed since she last was awake. It could've been five minutes or five hours, for all she knew.

As such, the first move she made was for her phone. It rest in an open drawer beneath her bunk. A bit of fumbling through the dark brought it to her hand. She brought it to her face and turned on the display, squinting at the sudden bright light. A groan rumbled deep in her throat. 6:57, three minutes before her alarm.

Ayda rolled onto her back, phone cradled to her chest in one hand. Part of her contemplated using those three minutes for sleep. She needed her energy, after all. But, no. That wouldn't be very efficient of her. What difference would three minutes make? One eye opened to check the time again. 6:58. With a sigh, Ayda coaxed herself from bed.

Bare feet hit the grey carpeted floor. The fabric of her pale blue pajama shorts swayed just slightly as she crossed what was one of four bunk rooms in her team's underground lair. They were each the same, square spaces with twelve beds each. The cubicles were stacked two high, four on the left, right, and far walls. Her chosen bunk was on the bottom in the far corner along the left. It was the only one disturbed.

She put a well-worn purple hoodie—complete with frayed cuffs and a hole in the right armpit—over her thick grey tank top and opened up the door. There was no hallway. Instead, the bunks opened right up into the expansive living room. The moment Ayda stepped into it, her nose was assaulted by the smell of breakfast. With a yawn, she followed the smell. The person she found in the kitchen was not who she expected, yet it was a pleasant discovery all the same.

"Rio?" She said, sounding more tired than she felt. The woman standing before the stove looked over her shoulder with a smile.

"Hey, good morning."

Rhiannon Lord had an ovular face with strong cheek bones. Curtains of wavy hair naturally colored a pale metallic blue fell just past her shoulders. Most striking were her eyes, so light blue they appeared to glow pure white from a distance. A couple inches taller than Ayda herself and with a slim build, the only word Ayda could really think of to describe Rio was pretty. While no one would ever call her unattractive, she wouldn't be modeling for Victoria's Secret anytime soon.

"When did you get back?" Ayda rubbed a bit of the sleep from her right eye.

"Just a couple hours ago, around five," responded Rio simply.

"Is your strength up?"

"No."

"Can I hug you?"

Rio smiled again. "Sure."

Ayda crossed the room. Rio opened her arms just in time for them to embrace. Her grip was weak, almost tentative. Ayda gave a quick squeeze, but lingered only a second before letting go. She stepped out of Rio's personal space.

"Pancakes?" She said, peering around her friend at the long griddle pan on the stove.

"Strawberry pancakes, your favorite." Rio turned back to her cooking to flip one of the confections, though it looked already cooked on either side.

"You're too good to me." Ayda sniped one of the thin strawberry slices next to the stove and quickly plopped it into her mouth.

"I really am."

"Did you say hi to Top-Down?" Ayda said before swallowing.

"I popped my head in, but didn't stay long. You know how she is about being interrupted."

"Yeah, she's worse than Elliot, there, and that's saying something."

"Speaking of Valerie..." Rio placed a pair of plain pancakes on a plate on the counter to her left. "Would you mind finishing these up and bringing them to her?"

"Of course."

Ayda stepped up to the counter next to her teammate. She grabbed a knife and opened up a tub of margarine. Valerie didn't have the biggest sweet tooth, and as such liked her pancakes mostly dry. Ayda applied a thin layer of imitation butter, and even less syrup. A fork from the drawer was the finishing touch.

When that was done, she picked up the square black plate and went down the short hall, where she stopped outside the closed war room door. She leaned in close to it and gave a duo of sharp knocks.

"Val? Rio made pancakes. I brought you some."

"Okay, come in," called a muffled voice from the other side. Ayda opened the door and passed the threshold.

Sitting before the impressive array of monitors was a Mexican woman in her late thirties, her slick black hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was rather average in terms of looks and build, and her dark brown eyes burned with an ever-present intensity.

"Here you go." Ayda said as she stepped up to Valerie's left, more to announce her presence than anything else.

"Thanks," Valerie said as the plate was placed down on the expansive desk.

"Everything alright so far?" Ayda straightened up only enough to peer over Valerie's shoulder.

"It's been quiet tonight," Valerie confirmed. "Kindle is managing just fine on her own."

"That's good. This should be the last day of solo patrols now that Rio and Dominick are back."

"Yeah."

"Alright, well, I'll leave you to it." Ayda stood up and began to leave.

"Thanks. Tell Rio thanks, too." Valerie called after her, hefting the plate for emphasis.

"I will," said Ayda without looking back. She closed the door on her way out.

Ayda re-entered the kitchen to find Rio pouring the last of four portions of batter onto the griddle. The taller woman began meticulously placing strawberries on them.

"Val says 'thanks,'" reported Ayda.

"You're welcome," Rio called, more than loud enough for Valerie to hear.

There came a few seconds of silence as each woman allowed the atmosphere to settle a bit.

"So, how'd the mission go?" Ayda asked, coming to stand at Rio's left.

"Other than having it be extended for a week, it went really well," said Rio.

"Was there any difficulty with that? The extension?" Ayda added.

"Flashbang's parents weren't happy, but they didn't try to stop him."

"Not that they could've, anyway. They know they can't overrule NAAME."

"I think they only tried because this one wasn't a mandatory assignment," observed Rio.

"Maybe," Ayda shrugged.

"Dominick was excited, though. He really wants to prove himself."

"Is he here right now?" Ayda turned her head left to look around the living room, just in case she'd somehow missed him.

"No. He asked me to take him home, and I was more than happy to." Rio smiled. "He was determined to stay awake and keep me company, but he fell asleep about halfway here."

"That's adorable."

"You have no idea." Rio checked one of the pancakes before flipping it. This led to the others being turned over within a few seconds of each other.

"How did he do?" Ayda asked while her friend flipped.

"Ayda, he was incredible. I barely recognized him, at times." Rio said.

"That good?" Ayda raised an eyebrow.

"He had one little slip up near the end, but that's it, and I think it was exhaustion more than anything else. You can tell he's still a bit green, but he's improved so much from when he first joined. He was always on time, stayed focused in the action, followed the plans and even came up with a few himself, and held his own in combat. I was surprised, in the best possible way."

"Impressive," Ayda nodded. "I'll have to follow up with him later."

"If I have any criticism, it's that he struggled a bit with the methods in Corpus, but that's not his fault. Halberdier doesn't have an intel team, so the way they do things is a bit different."

"Can't really blame him, either," Ayda said. "He wasn't around before we got the bunker."

"He's lucky. Do you remember how difficult it was to organize ourselves before?"

Ayda groaned. "Don't remind me. We barely all fit in Elliot's living room." Ayda turned around and leaned back against the counter.

"Hard to believe we've only had this place for eight months."

"It's made things easier, that's for sure."

There were still a few strawberry slices left on the place, which Ayda helped herself to. She held the plate in one hand to eat with the other.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"There won't be enough for more pancakes if you eat all of those," cautioned Rio.

"It's fine. Strawberry pancakes are good, but rich. I don't think I could eat more than two."

"I probably could."

"Oh." Ayda looked at the one remaining slice on her plate. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. It's just fruit." Rio gave her best reassuring grin. Even so, Ayda neglected to finish off the last few slices. She put the plate back down behind her.

"Did you file your report yet?" She changed the subject.

"Not yet," denied Rio. "I typed it up while you were sleeping, but I didn't have time to go over it. Three weeks is a long time, and I don't want to miss anything."

"That's fine, no rush. Whenever you have time."

A few seconds squeaked by in silence. The scent of hot batter mixing with the warm acidity from the fresh fruit threatened to make Ayda's mouth water. She was hungry, but hadn't realized just how much until right then.

Something warm and furry rubbed none-too-gently against her leg. Ayda smiled and looked down at the white cat trying to get her attention.

"Good morning, Snowball." She bent down to pet him. He meowed at her. "Did Rio feed you yet?"

"It's literally the first thing I did," said Rio. "He wouldn't leave me alone until I filled his bowl." A pair of knobs on the stove clicked as she turned them off. "These are done."

"That's a good boy." Ayda spared one last pleasantry for the cat before straightening up.

She held an empty plate as Alloy piled two pancakes one atop the other. Ayda then set it aside so Rio could get at the one beneath it. Breakfast looked heavenly, cooked to a perfect golden brown with big pieces of strawberry lightly caramelized around the edges. Rio's cooking always came out excellent. Ayda couldn't wait to dig in.

…

Cooper sat on a long, cream-colored couch. A big green screen behind him done up to look like a window showed a loop of a busy downtown city street. Of course, he could only see this through the monitors in front of him. If he turned around, it was only green. The couch was filmed in a way to make it appear closer to the fake window than it actually was.

He was in costume. The most striking bit was his helmet, a Corinthian design that came to the slightest of points on the top before sloping straight down into long cheek guards which stopped well past his jaw. A long strip, flared at the end, dripped between two ovular eye sockets to protect his nose. The eye holes weren't fully closed, and instead formed on their inside edges into the aforementioned cheek pieces, leaving a slot down the middle for his mouth and clean shaven chin.

The rest of his outfit was simpler. His chest was bare save for the pair of criss-crossing leather strips which slung over his shoulder and attached to his tight brown cloth trousers. The broad shoulders and bristling muscle left exposed drew more than a few gazes. Bronze schynbalds protected him from the knee down. They were strapped over leather boots that matched the pants. His weapons had been stored behind the couch so they didn't ruin the shot.

Cooper was far from alone in the room. There were four people on the couch, including him. To his left were two women in their forties, one of them Asian, and the other Caucasian with dark hair, Jasmine and Kelly respectively. To his right was an older African-American man—Harold—his hair taken completely by grey. They were, all three of them, dressed smartly.

Along with the monitors showing the manufactured commotion behind him, there was also an array of equipment and people. Operators pointed big cameras at him. Three producers sat in chairs supervising the action. As Cooper watched these folks run around, he realized he had no idea what most of them did. He was sure they all were integral, but what role they actually served escaped him. But, he was the hired talent. The particulars weren't really his concern.

He took a long breath in, allowing a menagerie of scents to enter his nostrils. Most of what he smelled was cheap cologne, perfume, and deodorant, with just a hint of fabric softener. The male host had chosen a plain bagel with cream cheese for breakfast, the latter a vegan brand judging by the amount of chemicals in it. One of the cameramen had a half eaten bag of warm Skittles in his left front pocket. Three of the women on set carried pepper spray on their person. One of the producers had a pistol on him. What Cooper actually smelled, there, was the gunpowder. The weapon itself had no residual gunk and the oil was pristine, indicating it had never been fired.

All of these observations may have seemed small, but they revealed possibly usable information on the people around him. A person's diet or choice of soap said just as much about them as their fashion sense. These things helped him read the room and gave a more exact picture of who he was dealing with.

If he had a watch, he would've checked it. Things were beginning to settle behind the scenes. His prior experience taught him that meant it was almost showtime. He sat a bit straighter, unnecessarily adjusted his helmet. It was important to put a good foot forward.

Cooper heard the male host lean in a bit closer, felt the air swirl as his torso moved through it.

"You ready?" Asked Harold.

"Yeah." Cooper nodded. Harold went back to his original position.

"Alright, people, we're on in ten!" Shouted the executive producer a second later.

Cooper noted it wasn't the director shouting the orders, though that probably meant nothing. He made one final adjustment to his posture. Time to go.

The executive producer held up three fingers. He counted down two, then one, and pointed at the couch. A red light on the center camera—the one with the wide shot—flickered on. Kelly gave a brief pause before speaking up.

"Welcome back to Good Morning El Puerto! It is currently eight o'clock on your Monday morning. Here at the top of our second hour, it's finally time to introduce our guest. I'm sure you all know him by now. He's a superhero, a member of an official NAAME team, and one of the defenders of El Puero. Please welcome Bronze Knight to the show!"

The crew clapped and cheered to make it seem like there was a live studio audience. Cooper waved at two random points in the room to make viewers think he was waving at the crowd which didn't exist.

"Bronze Knight, I'm so glad you could join us," Kelly said.

"The honor is all yours," Cooper responded simply. His joke was eaten up by the moment, but he thought it was rather clever.

"It's your first time on the show, if I'm not mistaken," said Jasmine.

"It is," Cooper confirmed. "I've done talk shows in the past, but never one this early."

"I hope you didn't have any trouble getting out of bed," Harold joked.

"Don't worry about it. I just got done with my turn on the late night patrol, so I would've been up at this time, anyway."

"That's an interesting part of your operation, the way you conduct your patrols," Harold said.

"I think most people would say the Neo fights are more interesting than our schedules," countered Cooper.

"Even so, I don't think most folks consider the logistical side of superheroing."

"You'd be surprised. There are some very... dedicated fans on the internet."

"Your team has changed a bit over the years," Jasmine interjected. "Has that effected the way you operate?"

"It has," Cooper nodded. "I wasn't around for most of it, but it was just Pulse, Flechette, and Alloy for about a year before Kindle and I showed up. The system we have in place now works pretty well, I'd say, but it differs from team to team. We're lucky to have an even number."

"And do you receive any guidance in that area?" Kelly asked.

"No. The specifics of that sort of thing are left up to the teams, but NAAME does have advisers if a team needs help in any certain area."

"How much authority does NAAME have over each individual team?" Kelly continued. "Do you have to wait for permission to take on certain threats? Do you have an agent assigned to your team?"

"No and no," denied Cooper. "All of this information is out there if anyone wants to know more, but NAAME teams are largely independent. We set our own schedules, decide our own command structure, determine when and how to deal with individual situations, and even build our own rosters. NAAME sometimes steps in to give us specific missions, but we mostly operate alone."

"Is that what happened recently?"

"Are you talking about the away mission Alloy and Flashbang went on?"

"Yes, I am."

"I thought so." Cooper paused for a second, collecting his thoughts. "Yes and no. Corpus Christi reached out to NAAME for assistance, and we were asked to help. It wasn't an order, though. We could've said no, and then they'd have found another team. Not that we would have, of course.

"There's actually an interesting side to that," he continued. "We weren't originally going to announce the away mission at all, but people started catching on. Someone posted on Reddit that Alloy hadn't been seen for a week. From there, the theories got a little out of hand."

"Out of hand how?" Asked Harold.

"There were the obvious ones, like she'd died or been injured. Some were more tame, like she was just taking time off. Others thought she'd gone villain, or been force to transfer, or had some falling out with the team, all of which are completely ridiculous." He forced a chuckle to keep a light atmosphere. "Eventually, Pulse decided it was best to just tell people what was going on."

"That must've put you in a difficult situation."

"It did. The criminals knew we were a bit weaker, but most of them remembered how we kicked their butts with just four people in the past. The uptick in crime wasn't nearly as bad as I expected, which is good." Cooper put a perhaps undue emphasis on that last part. If it came off as a veiled threat to some unsavory individuals, then he wasn't really responsible for how they interpreted things.

"Definitely," said Harold.

There was a short pause, just long enough to let everyone—including the audience—know this conversation was over.

"So," Jasmine began. "Let's talk powers for a moment."

"Alright." Cooper nodded.

"I think it's safe to say you're the most mysterious member of the team."

"I'm not sure that's true, but okay."

"Well, who would you say is the most mysterious,then?"

"I think Flashbang is the obvious answer. I mean, you can't even see him most of the time. It doesn't get much more mysterious than that." Cooper hoped his slight annoyance with the current topic was obvious.

"True, but it's not really clear what your power even is." Jasmine pressed.

"Again, I'm not sure that's true, but okay."

"Could you explain a bit about what you do?" And there it was, the question he saw coming from a mile away.

"No, I can't," Cooper flatly denied. "I'm sorry for getting snippy, but I hope you understand why I can't give out the specifics of my power, especially not in a public forum like this."

"No, I get it. Sorry I asked."

"It's fine. I know you're curious. There are just some things I can't talk about. For security reasons, and all that."

"Well," Harold said. "One thing I hope you can talk about is your fitness regimen."

"My what?" Cooper honestly hadn't been expecting that question.

"You're a strapping young lad-"

"Thank you."

"-and I've noticed plenty of people wondering how you stay fit. Do you train?"

"No, I prefer cars."

There was a silence as the joke hung in the air, followed by laughter. Real, genuine laughter, not the fake kind so very common on these kinds of shows. Even if surely some of it was out of pity, the fact that he'd caused such a reaction made him feel better about the interview.

"But, seriously," he continued. "Yes, I do work out a bit, but chasing criminals all around town keeps me in pretty good shape regardless."

"I imagine it would," agreed Harold.

Cooper was about to say more, but his train of though was interrupted to a series of mechanical clicks and whirs, interspersed with small jolts of electricity. They were faint enough to be indistinguishable to any normal person, but his ears picked them up just fine.

"Hold on," he said, digging in his pocket. "I just got a text, and I think I know exactly what it is..." He held the phone up to his face and opened the message. "Yep. It's Pulse yelling at me for that joke. She says: 'Goddammit, real name, that was physically painful,' followed by an unimpressed emoji."

More laughter, which Cooper this time joined in on.

"And, I'm probably about to get another angry text for outing her." He allowed a few seconds to slip by, more than long enough for his teammate's deft fingers to shoot him another message. When she didn't his smile widened. "Nope, she's not gonna do it, now that we're on to her. I'm sure I'll hear about it later." He began to put his phone away.

"We should see about getting Pulse on the show again," said Kelly. "She's always a blast to have around."

"In more ways than one," agreed Cooper with a chuckle.

"You guys all seem to get along so well," Kelly added. "It must be great to work with your friends every day."

"It really is," Cooper said. "We don't always get along, of course, but that's normal with any group of people. We're all friends, and we always have each other's backs."

"I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say it's nice to know the people fighting for us aren't fighting each other, too." Maybe a bit of a bold statement from Kelly, but one Cooper couldn't disagree with.

"I think this is a great time to play our clip," Jasmine said.

"Great idea," Kelly said. "You've probably seen this before, Bronze Knight. It's the cell phone video of you fighting off some guys robbing and old woman."

"I have seen it. Great stuff, but I may be a little biased."

"It is pretty cool. Why don't we give it a watch and then talk a bit about it?" Kelly smiled into the wide shot camera until the red light went out, when she promptly returned to a neutral expression.

The footage played on the monitors, but Cooper ignored it. Why watch it for the umpteenth time when he'd lived it? He was glad for the momentary reprieve, but still somewhat dreaded that he had roughly twenty more minutes left of this.

It wasn't the conversation or the people that bothered him, but rather the production behind it. Even if the show wasn't scripted, it seemed a bit forced. There were things he couldn't say, talking points the producers wanted them to hit, and a bunch of other things he'd rather not think about. But, appearances like this worked wonders for his team's public relations. If it got more people to trust him, and reminded the criminals that he was always around, Cooper would do a thousand talk shows.