When Lyssa ran back to the steel girder cage she found it empty, save for one. There was a rent in the makeshift bars. Lyssa could make out handprints on the metal. She hesitated, but only for a moment. She fanned her fingers on one hand, prying open the bars, and stepped inside.

“What the hell?” She said.

Lycosidae glanced at her.

The hero wasn’t paying attention; she was staring into the middle distance. Lyssa felt her cheeks flush.

“I captured them all,” Lyssa said. “Even when you thought I wouldn’t. And you let them go?”

As if her soul had just returned to her body, Lycosidae turned her head and acknowledged Lyssa.

“I was on the phone,” she said, deadpan. “The report said you were reserved, quiet, like a lost puppy.”

“There’re reports about me?”

“The oldest ones date back to the entrance practicum. Anyways, we have work to do.”

“What work?”

“I planted a tracker on the chameleon girl when she tranq’d me.”

“Am I to believe you planned for all this happen?”

“Yes.”

“Even the part where they nearly cornered you.”

“My metabolism handles most toxins almost instantly.”

Lyssa wouldn’t back down. “There was a moment when your psychic defenses were down. What were you going to do then?”

The mask shifted subtly, like a Rorschach card Lyssa had stared at too long. Was the hero smiling or frowning. Lyssa had no clue.

“There’s value in an apprentice that dares to question,” Lycosidae said. “Most nascent heroes nowadays are worried that insubordination would reduce their opportunities. That being said…

“Try it.”

“What?” Lyssa said.

Lycosidae’s mind suddenly appeared in Lyssa’s mental awareness. She had lowered her guard.

“Try to stop me like you stopped him,” Lycosidae said.

Lyssa was not cowed. Even though a more reasonable monologue in her mind urged her not to, she tried. She dove into layers of memories. There was a girl on a swing set. A girl being harassed by cruel schoolmates. A girl in a prairie, under an apple tree.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Wait. Lyssa tried to withdraw. The images disappeared in a flourish of dark fur. She was in the middle of a forest under the deepest night. Red eyes glared at her from behind foliage, one pair, two, then three, finally four. The leaves parted. Before she could raise her arms, powerful paws had pinned her on the frigid floor, a pair for every limb. She cried out soundlessly, ineffectually, as a monstrous face lunged towards hers, and two dagger points dug into her skull.

She wasn’t a lost girl in the woods. She had never left that torn-down office. Lyssa fought her way out of that illusion back into reality. She was being pinned against one of the steel girders. The fingers against her neck were cold, the nails like icicles.

Lycosidae’s voice was a whisper.

“You haven’t even finished half a year in M.A.G.E. If it were so easy to become a hero, a third of you chaff wouldn’t drop out before they reach second year.”

Lyssa was paralyzed. Her gifts sputtered like an old engine. Gently, Lycosidae let her go, and her powers returned.

Lyssa flexed her gifts.

“How did you do that?” She asked, more amicably this time.

“It’s a part of me,” Lycosidae replied. “Venom, psychic and…” She brandished her nails. “…Biochemical.”

The mission resumed. Lyssa followed the hero through the night. The hero moved as if immersed in honey, but Lyssa was barely keeping up.

They landed near the Victorious Stadium, on a border of buildings consisting of old apartments and new environmentally green glass towers. Lyssa took the time to catch her breath.

“You’ll need to improve your stamina,” Lycosidae said. “We did field trips in our first year. They last days.”

“I see.” The breeze had calmed Lyssa down enough to see the past hour in a different light. She wanted to say something, but it was stuck in her throat. She feared how it would make her look. It must have been apparent.

“I understand,” Lycosidae said.

“I didn’t say…”

“Authority issues. You’d be surprised to find how common that in career heroes. That and anti-social behavior.”

“I’m not anti-social. I have… friends.”

“Convincing.”

Lyssa had a feeling she was being poked, despite the lack of change in Lycosidae’s tone. Every hero she had met so far had quirks. The boisterousness of Giantsbane, the headstrongness of Victory. She wondered if she ought to count herself fortunate to have met such popular figures.

“What are we doing now?” She asked.

“Waiting for backup. The signal stayed still”

There was more waiting than she had anticipated with this line of work. The wind howled, carrying with it the notes of winter. It would be coming late this year, as it always seemed to with every flip of the calendar. The seasons were no longer reliable in their coming and going.

She looked at their surroundings, noticing again the city’s scarred build. New-age ‘green’ towers beside old brick and mortar. Construction and destruction. An entire business of waiting for something to happen, so losses could be recouped and rebuilt. Every hole in the ground from some deranged maniac’s ambitions was an opportunity. The profit margins of an average big city construction company were over forty percent—growing higher by the year. Lyssa had always felt that something else was happening behind the veil, all while they fought in tights and television friendly colors. But someone had to defend the world from the ambitious. With all the growing population of gifted, people could probably save the world. If only they could all agree on how to do it.

The wind suddenly changed direction. Lyssa looked in the direction of the presence on her awareness.

“Late night jaunt, Lae?” Ace Pilot said. He floated a few feet above the roof. A new design fit his toned body like a snug glove—a sky blue letter ‘A’ on white with a flowing azure cape. He noticed Lyssa.

“You look a little young to be here,” he said.

Lyssa almost laughed. He had forgotten her.

“Don’t you read the memos?” Another hero landed on the rooftop. Hawktress, the Iron Talon. She wore striped reds and steel-silver colors. Her wings were uncolored, remaining a spotted light brown. “That’s Whitworth’s new fancy.”

“You seem oddly familiar,” Ace Pilot said, frowning in thought.

“Focus,” Lycosidae said, reining them all in. She began to explain the situation.