Part 1

— 1 —

‘Why are you grilling the kid like that?’ Pierce asked, leaning against the drab grey corridor walls. A fluorescent bar flickered above them, and the water cooler gave a steady drip-drip-drip. ‘He’s just an ordinary kid, nothing special. He’s not even a proper suspect, if we’re being honest. What with his being powerless and all.’

‘I don’t know,’ John replied. ‘I just…’

‘One of your hunches?’

‘Yeah.’ He scratched the nape of his neck, ruffled his messy black hair. It was starting to grow out more than he liked. ‘I just…I think he’s hiding something, trying to pull the wool over our eyes.’

‘He’s a nineteen-year-old. Every nineteen-year-old’s got stuff to hide. Open up that bag of his, and I guarantee you’ll find some weed and a pushbutton knife at first glance.’

‘Sure,’ John said derisively, glancing back at the door to the interrogation room—the good kind, with potted plants and some proper light fixtures. He had half a mind to spend another three hours in there, asking questions, doubting answers, trying to get the kid to trip up—but he had no good reasons to do so.

‘You know we love your gift, Johnny. Just enough powers to make you useful without giving you so much as to turn you into one of those super pricks. But that sensing, those weird hunches…it can be wrong, can it not?’

The fluorescent flickered again. John decided to cut his losses and declare failure, saying, ‘All right, all right, cut him loose. Guess that seals the Usurper case.’

Pierce nodded and walked toward the room with the cacti on the windowsill (what else takes so little effort?), and John heard him muttering ‘Thank god’ along the way. The lock clicked, and Pierce vanished, leaving John alone with the drip of the cooler. He gazed up and down the corridor. After a few seconds—spent listening to Pierce say goodbye to their would-be suspect through that cardboard excuse of a door—he decided to call it a day and head home. It had been a while since he’d gotten a good night’s sleep.

— 2 —

‘So I can go now?’ Charlie asked, leaning against the bright, beige interrogation room walls. The blare of the overhead light was giving him a headache, and the voice in his head going ‘Lie, lie, lie…’ didn’t help. ‘As you said, I’m just an ordinary kid. Doesn’t that…Power Thief, doesn’t his power only go to people who already have powers? I don’t.’

‘Yes,’ Pierce acknowledged. ‘And I’m sorry we had to keep you for so long. But you know, due diligence and whatnot. You may now leave.’ He cocked a thumb at the door. ‘Want me to show you out?’

‘I got it,’ Charlie said, shouldering his messenger bag. Pierce stood aside to let him by, and a few seconds later, Charlie found himself on the cold, grey steps before the police department. A biting breeze heralded the imminent arrival of winter. Charlie whipped up his coat’s collar and hugged the soft fabric closer to his chest, breathing vapour.

He almost stumbled down the last shallow step when he heard a voice calling out to him. ‘Well done, buddy,’ it said, ringing in his head. The voice was quiet, ominous, androgynous and a little commanding at times—like thirty seconds ago. ‘Didn’t think you had it in you.’

The voice came from inside his head.

‘Can you, like, announce yourself somehow? Before you speak up?’ Charlie asked aloud, causing a passerby to do a double-take.

‘You don’t have to talk out loud, you know? And also, no. How would I announce myself before speaking if I can only announce myself by speaking? Gosh, what kind of a host did I end up in?’ There was mockery in its tone.

‘Tough luck,’ Charlie retorted. ‘Should’ve done a better job of choosing.’ He crossed the street when the light turned green, keen on rewarding himself with an iced coffee at the corner store before heading home. He plugged headphones into his ears, tuning into his station to see what godawful songs the algorithm might pick and choose for him. ‘So…why did I just lie for you?’

‘Because if you told them the truth, they’d lock you up. Or worse. You saw what they did to your predecessors.’

The voice made it a point to repeat that scary story throughout the interview with the investigators. Charlie had had no time to question nor doubt it, being simultaneously bombarded by questions and doubts by that black-haired officer. But now, it seemed a little far-fetched. ‘Why would they lock me up?’ he asked, entering the store and heading for the cold section. ‘Your MO’s literally to body-hop like a single-target strand of the flu. They’d just…force you into some acrobatics, make you…I don’t know, enter some braindead body? That’d be a nice lockup for you.’

‘And how do you think they’d force me? I’m you, and—like it or not—you’re me. If they want to force me out of your body, they’d have to make me so uncomfortable you’d want to jump out of your own skin, too.’ There was a sneer in its tone now. ‘Doesn’t sound so nice now, does it?’

‘So…you’re saying you’re a douche who’d hold onto my body for dear life instead of relieving me of unbearable torment?’

‘Precisely.’

When their hypothetical discussion ebbed into a brief silence, Charlie was queuing by the register, iced coffee in one hand and debit card in the other. The cashier was a perky young woman with a blonde bun, and Charlie felt downright jaded next to her life-loving energy, like an old, grizzled man huddled in a hovel amid the untamed wilderness.

And it had only been a couple of days since the incident.

Suddenly, the iced coffee felt like a stupid idea, and he decided to catch some Zs the second he got home.

— 3 —

In a downtown studio right off Sixth Street, a white wall was propped up in the middle of a rather barren room with dull walls and high-rise industrial-type windows framed by exposed brick and mortar. Several sizeable spotlights encircled the interview backdrop, dousing the wooden stool before it in a white glare fit for the camera standing just past the circle of light. Behind the backdrop was a makeshift changing area.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Cindy squeezed herself into her flame-resistant white-gold bodysuit, the kind the public loved to see but many heroes were loathe to wear. Cindy, however, was even more loathe to admit she’d gained a pound or two during her abrupt intermission a couple of days past. It was a tight fit.

‘Are we finishing up back there?’ Matt Weber called. He was sitting by the camera, pointed at the stool, and shuffling through a bunch of index cards. Only a few years back, he could never have dreamt of inviting such high-profile heroes onto his show (or rather, them accepting the invitation), but his indie spiel had worked; the public loved the raw and authentic portrayal as much as spandex and capes, and he’d turned into a prolific source of hero news—straight from the horse’s mouth, as Matt would often say.

‘Just about,’ Cindy replied with a strain in her voice, pulling at the sleeves and the calves of the suit, trying to work out the remaining folds and stretches. When she finally appeared, she walked backwards toward him and asked, ‘Would you be so kind as to zip it up for me?’

Matt gently yanked on the zipper and returned his focus to the grand picture. Everything was ready to go. He dove in when Cindy took her seat, hands folded in her lap and her back as straight as a ramrod.

‘Even though it is mostly certainly not necessary,’ he began with a smile, ‘please introduce yourself to the audience. There are always new watchers and listeners unaware of even household names like yourself.’

‘Right,’ Cindy said, plucking at her pixie cut. ‘I’m Cindy, and I’m an A-rank hero.’ She made an A with two forefingers and a thumb, smiling that press-ready smile every upper-rank hero had to master. Judging by how Matt puckered his lips, a slight giggle could’ve been added—not that he complained. ‘I’m one of those elementals, which means I can control and manipulate an element to my will.’

‘In your case, what element would that be?’

‘Fire,’ she said. ‘A particular ferocious one. That means plenty of guidelines, regulations, and countless seminars to attend regularly, mostly annually. You know, don’t go about spewing flames in a narrow, underground corridor lacking proper ventilation…Stuff like that.’

‘You don’t sound too excited about that,’ Matt said matter-of-factly. ‘Are you of the opinion that heroes should be given greater freedom when using their powers?’ This wasn’t the original line of questions he’d intended, but he wasn’t going to not pounce on juicy titbits whenever they presented themselves.

‘No, not at all.’ Cindy threw up her hands. ‘Powers like mine can cause irreparable damage, as we often see when the wrong people get a hold of them. I’m just saying that there’s a lot to be learned, remembered, and adhered to, even during active combat. Sure, it can be a drag when you’re actively fighting someone, but better safe than sorry.’

Matt nodded. ‘Statistically,’ he continued, ‘fire elementals—such as yourself—lead the charts when it comes to ne’er-do-wells and super-powered troublemakers, right? What do you make of that?’

‘Goes to show that proper regulation is a necessary evil. Fire elementals tend to be a little…hot-tempered, impulsive.’ The interview had only just begun, and Cindy was already feeling the urge to do something impulsive herself. She took a deep breath to calm down. The air came out steaming ever so slightly. She hoped the camera wouldn’t catch it. ‘It’s why they—or, I guess, we—often cause minor disruptions and incidents but don’t make up a disproportionate number of villains.’

‘Speaking of dangerous powers and villains,’ Matt said without a moment’s delay, ready to steer the conversation where it needed to go. He glanced at one of his index cards, brushed at a stand of chestnut hair, and said, ‘For quite a while now, the media has been abuzz with a certain villain—or rather, two different villains who shared a bizarre and special connection. They wielded a power never seen before.’

‘The case of the Usurper,’ Cindy said, nodding, feeling an itch in her back like a bite of the zipper. ‘Yes, that was quite the problem. Both times. The first one—Sybil, was her name—had been cautious and meticulous. The second one, on the other hand…’

Matt knew that most of his audience was well-versed regarding recent developments in the supernatural world, but some still wouldn’t know what to make of this. To clear it up, he asked, ‘Could you explain who exactly those two wrongdoers were and what their power entailed?’

‘Sure. Uh, the case concerned two villains: Sybil and her successor, Dorian. They…how do I say this? They shared a power, you see. When Sybil was defeated at the hands of the S-ranker Starstruck, her power hopped over to a civilian at the scene. Nobody realised that, and soon after, he became a villain in his own right—but not for long. He had inherited her power but not her meticulous planning and scheming.’

‘So they weren’t in cahoots together?’

‘No,’ she replied. ’Dorian just happened to be the one to come into physical contact with her right before Starstruck dealt the final blow.’ She remembered the fight—quite a bit had been filmed by passersby or street surveillance, CCTV and storefront security cameras. It brought her back, reminiscing when she faced the first incarnation herself…

‘And what about Usurper and incarnation? Every time you read a news piece, those words get thrown around. Why are those terms so frequently in connection to our outliers and their freak power?’

‘We talk about a second and first incarnation because of the nature of their power—I think it’s self-explanatory. As for Usurper, every hero has an alias. Mine’s Cindy. And just as Dorian inherited Sybil’s power, he also inherited her name. After all, they usurped the powers of those they fought against—or merely touched.’ The longer she lingered on those memories, the more vivid they grew, playing out in her head like a film. The burning buildings, the red-hot tongues of fire licking at the air, sucking out the oxygen and belching black smoke, the unbearable heat radiating from all sides…She had never felt such heat before…She had never really felt heat at all before then…

The zipper continued biting her back.

‘And how does the power work? Could you go into that?’ He continued, apparently not realising how warm the studio was becoming—or was that just her? ‘Cindy?’

‘Oh, yeah, right.’ She stammered, forcing a smile. ‘Sorry, I’m swept up in work as of late. You asked about the workings of the power, yeah? No one’s a hundred per cent certain. There are theories, and the leading ones say the power’s not bound to a host but to other powers. Only people with an existing power can inherit it, which is also why there’s no fear of a third incarnation. Some civilians were present during Dorian’s defeat, sure, but none had any abilities of their own.’ She was starting to sweat underneath her suit’s thick, skin-tight material. She shifted uncomfortably on the uncomfortable wooden chair. She wanted to reach back and adjust that damnable zipper but refrained—like trying to meditate when your nose suddenly starts itching.

‘And how were they defeated, having such an uncanny and rather powerful ability at their beck and call?’ Matt continued unabashedly, his eyes glued to his index cards and the camera’s small screen. A small mole was near his ear, a dark brown spot, and Cindy wondered whether he could grow a beard. And if he could, why he wouldn’t? The itch was incessant. The corner of her mouth spasmed ever so slightly in agony and annoyance. ‘Could you say something about that?’

‘Sure thing,’ Cindy replied, her voice rocking slightly. ‘As we figured out, they couldn’t simply grab the power of an S-rank hero. Their unique power can only steal abilities which…how to say this…Most people start small, you know? I could only produce a minuscule flame—’ she opened her palm and ignited a wisp of red above it ‘—so meek, it paled compared to a gas stove. But now, I can incinerate this entire building without batting an eyelid. And that evolution…you can’t skip it. The first Usurper was smart about it; she evolved slowly, and soon, she rivalled top A-rankers…’ Her expression grew solemn, her eyes staring out as though they were seeing something that wasn’t there. The temperature in the room had reached a staggering pitch, she thought. Not as bad as back then—the heat had been unbearable, she recalled, and the metal zipper had done more than bite. ‘So then,’ she muttered, ‘several S-rankers were pitted against her, all with the imperative instruction to avoid bodily contact at all cost…and Starstruck, striking a blow so potent only the air had to connect, put her down.’

‘And the second incarnation?’ Matt prodded, fearing Cindy might be growing despondent, judging by her sudden pallor and the queer look in her eyes. He knew she had been one of the heroes who fought against the first incarnation, and she had paid dearly for a while there. That kind of stuff tends to stick.

‘He was in over his head,’ Cindy replied curtly. Feeling she might’ve been too curt, she gave an impish smile and added, ‘You see, he tried to jump ahead but ended up jumping the gun. He did copy the power of an A-ranker in passing, like a pickpocket, but they overwhelmed him. He could control them no more than the weather. It made for easy prey.’

‘And each time the Usurper was defeated, all affected got their powers back, right?’

‘Correct.’

‘And now it’s safe to say we’re in the clear, right? The Usurper(s) have been defeated once and for all.’ Probably the headline he’d use, Cindy thought, and was hesitant to put her name under it. But she knew she’d get an earful from her agency if she didn’t.

‘Also correct,’ she finally said, tugging at her suit’s sleeve and returning her press-ready smile.