I wipe my brow as my computer box boils and bubbles from the strain I’m putting it through, the sweltering heat disrupting my laser-focus on the beer can in front of me. My sweaty grip practically slips off the aviation snips I’m using to slice open the aluminum casing, disrupting the delicate guts of my makeshift grenade as I fumble to keep it steady.

“Fuck.” I mutter, glancing towards the brute-force search running on my desktop. The screen displays a little magnifying glass graphic as it bounces around the screen, windows popping up for just a moment while my program searches for key-words and phrases.

Everything on ‘King Midas’, nothing on the Dealer. At least, nothing that fits the modus operandi of the Dealer we’re talking to. Not in Mantis City or anywhere close, anyway. Public SecForce databases don’t have a lock on him, so he’s either a small fry or good at covering his tracks.

I fiddle with the marble-filled mechanism as I force an actuator attached to a lever inside, the switch jutting out haphazardly. Should have a solid three seconds, give or take a second, before it shoots its shrapnel everywhere it can find.

I tap my nails against the table anxiously as the data collected folder on my computer skyrockets in size, everything sorted into the King Midas subfolder and nothing but red herrings and false alarms in the Dealer’s.

With a bit of tape, the lever is fastened securely enough that it won’t fall off and cause a misfire any time soon.

With the functional side of things done, all that’s left is to slide out a bit of cardboard and rest my new creation atop it. I snatch up one of the many art-supplies stacked in my drawers, and spraypaint it a dark green, like a real grenade would be. Hopefully, given it’ll be soaring through the air, anyone who it's thrown at won’t have a clue that they’re not going to be pelted by real grenade fragments.

I rub my hands together, looking over my work with a sense of pride. While it’s a subpar craft, the deviousness of its design still makes the villain in me purr with satisfaction. Unfortunately, I can’t just spend all day bathing in my success, because I need to actually get ready for school. And… eat breakfast with my parents. The best part of the day, when they can be actually bothered to show up.

Ring ring, blares my dingy old alarm clock, as if summoned by my thoughts. I sling my backpack onto my shoulders after cramming in my cobbled-together equipment, rushing through the long hallways and into the kitchen.

The sight that meets me is pretty standard. Three bowls in front of each chair, with each neatly filled with a different part of the meal. Assorted greens, scrambled eggs, and some syrup-coated waffles. With, of course, a glass of chocolate milk for me. I slide into the same seat I always sit in, glancing at the empty-chairs and already eaten food that are left in my parent’s wake.

I chug the chocolate milk, pick at the greens, and nearly swallow all the waffles in one giant bite. In my rush, I don’t even bother to throw anything away, simply grabbing the two plates with food left and running with them in hand. Utensils clink together as I dash to the door, reaching up with my shoe to press down the handle and lock and then kick it open.

“Morning, Mr. Krills!” I shout, glancing at the old man as he rocks in his porch-chair. A flash of inspiration hits me, and I bolt over to him and pawn off my uneaten food onto his side-table. “I never ended up getting you those coffee grounds, but I did bring you some food!”

He grunts something that I hope is affirmative and waves me off, head still buried in his newspaper. With that dealt with, and my hands freed, I can run instead of stumble towards school.

The wind brushes past me as I bolt across town, my curly hair getting even more frizzy and messy with every step. Shouts and bumped shoulders are left in my wake as I weave through tepid crowds, students and adults alike left in awe of my agility.

That is, until I skid to a halt in front of my normally dreaded school. The front is painted with color, banners and decorations of all kinds strewn about to show what makes today the worst day of every year…

The Annual Mantodea High Superhero Festival.

For others, a lauded day where they get to meet their idols, chatter about the latest exploits of Dumb-Hands or whatever superheroes decide to show up…

But for me? It’s a day where I’m bombarded by my opposition, with fliers staring daggers at me while cheerily announcing that if you gain a metahuman ability, you should report immediately to the nearest Cowls evaluation facility.

Of course, I wouldn’t be doing that. They’d have me swooped up and in spandex in an instant, joining… well, joining the clowns I’m about to see paraded around school.

As I step through the doors, the normally incessant chattering of my peers -a very generous title for them- is even more intolerable, mixed with hero buzzwords and empty praise. The halls are decked with propaganda, and I do my best to keep my head down and get to class, the only place that won’t be intolerably decorated.

One foot in front of the other, press down against the tile and then lift back up. You’re only here for a little, Megan, and then you can kiss the ash-gray lockers and choked air goodbye and say hello to… crime! And not stupid crimes like fraud, but a cool crime, spying on supervillains for a shady backer.

That brings the smile right back onto my face, making the buzz of school life ever-so-slightly more tolerable while I go through the motions. The classes are easy, at least the ones other than history- and the only one I really care about today is the one with Ming.

I slide into my seat next to him, pushing a note onto his desk, and do my best to look like I’m paying attention to Mr. Beezly while I sneak glances at him. After a while, he seems to get the message, both literally and physically.

He unfurls it, looking confused for a second, before he suddenly lets out a small giggle that he barely keeps to a low-enough volume for our teacher not to notice. In a flash, he jots something down and slides it back.

‘Dumbass there is no bar think what if note intersepted. Besides I knew youd bite’

I frown, but concede the point mentally. Alright, fine, maybe he isn’t the worst planner. He’s just- ugh, so so so smarmy. He doesn’t even wait for me to pass it back before sliding over another message, this one with a bunch of scribbled arrows pointing towards his encircled words.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

‘Left side of school near track field meet us’

I glance at him, silently sending him one of my patented death-glares that he ignores completely. I swear, he’d be whistling innocently if it weren’t for the fact that we’re in class… but, I guess there’s nothing I can do about it now.

I’ll just bide my time, like a good villain should. An evil cackle bubbles up in my throat, but I force it down with a cough. No Megan, civvies should stay civilian and not very obviously mad-scientists in plainclothes.

Well… I guess if I’m trying to achieve that, I shouldn’t be talking to myself. Alright, from the top! Where was I… ah, yeah. School passes by like a breeze, my annoyance soothed by the fact that I’ll get to shout at Ming later with him not just being able to up and leave like he usually does, or kick me out like he usually does, or, in fact, do any of the annoying things he usually does. Because we’ll be on a job. A real, supervillain-related job.

I can’t withhold my squeak of joy at that, but luckily the bell rings and declares that I can leave right as it slips out. Under the cover of the bell by day, and lurking in the shadows at night. Perfect.

I practically spin through the hallways like a whirlwind, skirting by everyone - except for my favorite person in the whole wide world, of course. It’s not hard to spot her, even in my hurry. Her long, jet-black hair, mixed in with her sun-kissed skin and signature sense of style. Today, she’s wearing short, faded blue jeans marred with tears and an earthy-colored jacket with uneven leather strips.

And, of course, the one thing that makes it even more obvious who she is- the Captain Cosmo comic sitting on her lap, unopened. It has a cover I don’t recognize, even when I approach to get a closer look, so it must be a new issue.

Her bored expression brightens when I slide in next to her, my cheeks stretching as my own grin grows to match hers. “You got the new comic?” I mutter, slinging my bookbag on the side of the concrete slab that the school calls a bench.

“Of course I did, Maggs! It wasn’t like you were in any rush to get it- so I went out and bought it, special, for us to read. After school. No, that’s not a request, it’s a demand.” She says, cutting me off before I can interject.

“But I-” I start, before she interrupts again. “I know you have something with Ming, it’s never just one thing with him. But we’re besties, and besties cut out some time for each other. So when you’re done with whatever mischief he’s up to, you’re gonna give me a call and I can read it to you. Deal?”

I can only stammer out a yes in response to that, my freckled cheeks feeling oddly warm at the gesture. “Good. See you then, Maggs! And oh, don’t get hurt out there. Ming might be an idiot, but you,” she says, poking me in the chest. “You’re my favorite idiot. So don’t get caught up in something dumb on his behalf.”

I nod, knowing full well I’m about to do exactly that. I don’t like lying to her… but it’s for the sake of villainy. And the number one villain’s creed… is to keep your civilian life and your evil life separate. Or something like that, anyway. What she doesn’t know can’t come back to haunt her.

I give her a small side-hug before standing up, snatching my bookbag from the bench, and continuing my run around the school to finally reach the track-field. All that’s left is to wrap around the seating area pressed against the side of the school, and bam! Ming and Ed, sitting on some classroom chairs and chatting animatedly.

When Ed spies me out of the corner of his eye, he gives me a big wave and beckons me over. “Meg! Come on, sit down!” he says, standing up from his chair with a broad smile. Ming gives him the stink eye, but he ignores it- sliding out the chair in an almost ceremonial gesture before waving his hand as if presenting it.

I slide into the chair with a smile, giving him my wordless thanks before my focus settles on Ming. He looks haggard- more than usual, anyway. His greasy hair is somehow even more oily, his glasses foggy and his lips a shade that only results from biting at them. I’d seen it in the mirror one-too-many times after anxiety attacks- but I’d never expect something like that from him. I catch the tail end of Ed’s conversation with him, something about how he should be nicer to someone, but the specifics are lost on me.

“Megan, finally you fuckin’ showed up! Alright, let’s see what you got.” he starts, making a grabby gesture. I take my backpack off and place it in my lap, rooting around before I pull out my makeshift grenade. His eyes widen, and I hear a soft gasp from behind me as well.

“Damn, you are something else!” Ming says, mirth in his voice as he scans over the device. He doesn’t reach out to take it- smart of him. “I don’t know anyone who’d, hah, bring a bomb look alike to school less’ they were real crazy. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

He scratches at his stubbly chin for a second, before continuing. “That isn’t a real bomb, right?” he says, suddenly a bit more wary.

“Of course not! Who do you think I am, some amateur? It has a payload of marbles, rigged to launch radially and slam into things. Should trip some people up, scare them, but not kill them.”

Ming raises an eyebrow, but Ed is the one to interject. “Uh, radially is like a circle, right? So it’s like a frag grenade, but it’ll hit like a punch instead of like knives? Awesome.” The last part is mumbled out, but I still get a warm feeling in my stomach at the recognition.

“I think so. And if I maybe went a little too hard, well, they’re supervillains! They can take it.”

Ming smirks, snatching it out of my hand with little preamble and gingerly avoiding the lever. “So just flip this thing and it’ll blow? It’s delayed, right?”

I scowl in response to both his clearly intentional belittling of my skill and his disrespect of my equipment, grabbing it back from him and correcting him.

“Again. I’m not some amateur- it has roughly three seconds before the propellant turns it from a perfectly safe tool into a hazard. Got it?” I say sharply.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender as a response, opening his mouth to say something that clearly isn’t the acknowledgement I’m looking for. “Jeez, alright, Megs. No touchy, I got it. You’ve got your equipment, and I’ve got mine. Speaking of… check it. Headsets, courtesy of yours truly. They’re nothing fancy, but they should work for the job. Just… don’t mouth off.”

Ed chimes in with a ‘got it’, and I begrudgingly nod. He passes them to us, and slides it around his ear, which we both take as a sign to slip ours on too. They’re simple, but sleek- with the signature black and red color palette of CommsTek. Effective, cheap, and easily jailbroken- the perfect trifecta for criminal use.

“Right, so, basics of the plan-” he starts, before a crackly voice cuts him off on the intercom. We all jump in surprise at the sudden voice, its croaky and hoarse nature interrupting his explanation.

“Let me explain that, kid.” The new voice rasps out, interspersed with what sounds like a puff of an inhaler and a cough.

“Name’s Dealer, if ‘Eyes’ over here didn’t inform ya. All you gotta do is sit nice and comfy in the pawn shop across from Midas’ casino, stakeout the joint, note down what you think is important. Whether that be some thug you recognize from TV, or some boisterous wacko in a colorful suit. Real fuckin’ simple. Capiche?”

Ming’s eyes widen in the way they do when something isn’t going his way- and that gives me a little satisfaction, even through the worry filling me.

“First off, the fuck? Since when was there a pawn shop involved? And second, why the hell are you using my radios and jumping in like that? Would it kill you to be more professional?” Ming half-shouts, half-grumbles, clearly irritated at being upstaged. I’m trying to restrain my anger, too, but only at the mocking of themed supervillains- although I can tolerate it if it means pissing off Ming.

“Professional? Kid, you’re one to talk. Anyway, if I was gonna be professional, I wouldn’t be working with squirts like you three. And, uh, third, of course I’m using my own system. Side note, I just heard your whole conversation, so I’m not bothering with your dumb codename, Ming.”

Ming sputters at that, but Dealer continues as if nothing happened.

“Second side note, don’t argue with the guy paying you in this business. You typically… don’t last long.” He finishes, ending his sentence with a chuckle. “You should be glad I’m the generous sort. Now get to it.”