“I'm bored. Being a security guard is boring.” Complained Abigail as she lay down in a newly acquired chair in front of Eric.

It was very early in the morning, the sun just coming out, and the younger teenager had worked as a guard for the entire night, protecting some contraband operations that she was sure were of drugs. These first jobs, made to build confidence between herself and her new employer, were a necessary step, but their monotony was self-evident.

Nonetheless, the girl took her work seriously. She didn’t believe to tarnish her reputation by slacking off and doing a half-effort service.

“Tough luck, princess; we need him to get fake ID’s. Even if it's going to take a while.” Replied Eric.

The despondent warehouse ruin was now a soon-to-be old memory. Instead, the duo now inhabited a run-down, all-gray apartment.

It was close enough to their old home that Eric was able to move most of their stuff by himself. And it was not a fancy place, for while the girl's restraint on their expenses was softened, now that they had confidence in acquiring more wealth, it wouldn't do to go over budget.

He might not be strong or properly educated, but Eric was not an idiot, much less a liar. He stated days ago that he would be able to get themselves an apartment without any documentation, and an apartment he got. The rent was not as cheap as it should be, perhaps, but that was a small price to pay for a real roof above their heads.

Congratulations, Abigail, you are destitute no more. It only took a few weeks of crime.

The teenage boy was at their only table, surrounded by used middle school books and papers. The table rested in their kitchen, the only room outside the bathroom and their living room.

“Oh, you have already started. Did you understand exponentiation?”

“Not really.” He confirmed. “I was reviewing division and multiplication while waiting for you.”

Abigail nodded, not feeling inclined to mock the boy about his below-average math skills.

In the first days, Eric would blush and feel ashamed for his lack of basic knowledge, but Abigail knew that his illiteracy didn’t come from laziness or stupidity, despite what some had claimed. Eric has never been to a school before, and while Abigail's education was...sporadic, per se, she was still able to flip through books and learn, even when she was in containment.

They always praised how easily she learned any subject. And then proceeded to snicker at her friend.

Another unfairness of life. She only needed a few weeks to teach him how to read, and he evolved all by himself after that. But no one had ever bothered to even try to teach him.

“Right, no problem. Exponentiation is easy enough; it’s a loop, and the secondary number indicates the number of repetitions that you ought to do.”

He grunted. “Abby!”

She blinked. Was that too much? “Sorry. Er, the small number, exponent, is how many times you will multiply the big number by himself.”

“Oh.” Exclaimed Eric. “Like 3 times 3 times 3 here?”

“Yep.”

“Gotcha. And if the exponent is zero, the result is one, because yes.”

“Indeed.”

“Are you not going to explain any further?”

“I never bothered to learn why everything to the power of zero equals one.”

They continued for a couple of hours, mostly Eric doing things by himself while she rested her eyes and occasionally answered his doubts. She was tired from the lack of sleep after all, albeit less than she expected.

Eventually he finished and moved to relax on their couch, playing around with the TV remote. The girl mimicked him, lying down next to the boy. Abigail didn’t know how he was able to get cable channels into their home so fast, but he did. And he was already watching some dumb sport.

Boys…

She also hoped that the police would ignore the electrical cable coming straight from the street to their apartment. Eric claimed that paying for electricity is silly, which she didn’t disagree with, but surely the citizens would report them, right?

Well, Abigail supposed that it didn’t matter; she can trust Eric over these small matters, and if the worst comes, they can just run away. After all, what can the police do? Incarcerate her? Good luck with that.

The girl turned around to stare at the game, her belly touching the soft material of the couch and one of her hands resting on her cheek. “It will forever baffle my mind how you can find entertainment in a bunch of men running to throw a ball in a basket.” She raised an eyebrow. “I mean, if they were shirtless, at least I could get your… excitement, but no, none of that.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “If you get any more thirsty, you will dry this city bay. And that is what female volleyball is for. Basketball, however, is where you see fast movements, cool maneuvers, and planned strategies while cheering for a team to win.”

“Boring.” She said, in a lilting voice.

“Whatever Abby.”

For the record, Abigail wouldn't call herself thirsty by any means; in fact, her libido was low enough to be considered atypical, especially after she became an Empowered. It was not zero though, and she always liked her ‘Eye Candies’, which could be summarized as well-defined muscular sweating men.

And she surely was starved of candy in that horrid place, before they managed to flee it.

Shaking her head to get rid of unpleasant memories, the now-discontented girl pulled herself up and moved to their kitchen, which was close enough for them to talk. She rather liked cooking, and Eric preferred to clean, so they divided their obligations. She cooks and makes money; he does everything else.

Abigail stopped her stride toward the fridge.

Huh.

“Eric.”

“What?”

“You are a horrible wife. I make the money AND still cook.”

Granted, he does make money too, and her current job is fairly new. But that doesn't mean that she can’t prick him.

“And you're a horrible chef, but I am not the one whining.”

“Fuck off.”

Yes, she did burn the food a few times, and salted it excessively too, but no one had ever taught her how to prepare food before, and she is learning from scratch. Hell, they didn’t even allow her to see cooking before, much less holding a knife.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Eh. You wish.” Replied Eric.

Now it was the girl's time to roll her eyes. In any case, she went on to prepare their breakfast. 300 grams of bacon, 10 fried eggs, in the bacon fat, with a soft yolk, 200 grams of cheap cheese, and eight slices of bread that were toasted with butter. At the end, they had peanut butter, honey, and four bananas as their dessert.

Tying her apron, Abigail thought about how she didn’t buy into this story about how fats are bad for you. In her sincere opinion, having no food kills, not savoring the good ones. And about the quantity, well, they, and more importantly, she, are growing teenagers that are still a little too thin, although Eric had improved substantially on that matter.

“You are not making enough food for a family of five again, are you?” Echoed the boy's voice from the only other room in their house, bathroom notwithstanding.

“Perhaps if I cook for ten people, you will put some muscles in your skinny butt.”

“If you do that, soon enough we will need to buy a home in the ocean, where you will float along with the smaller cetaceans.”

First, he fights her because she was eating too little, so he, a bigger boy, could eat more. And now, months later, he ridicules her for eating too much. Asshole.

Eric liked to irritate her by calling her a whale in formation, but she really wasn't eating that much; she always finished before being truly satiated. In fact, she doesn’t even remember being full.

She ignored the boy as she turned on the fire and started to lay down the bacon, but the game was apparently slow enough for him to prefer to bore her.

“At this rate, we will need to kill people to feed you.” He sighed way too loudly. "Oh, little Abby, where did it go wrong?”

“I would eat you first, Eric; don’t worry.”

“Oohhh. Kinky.”

“Ew, Ew. Fuck you.”

“Hehehe.”

The sound of a helicopter came from the TV suddenly, and the boy's laughter came to an abrupt end. She couldn’t figure out what the voice on the TV was saying from the kitchen, but it was enough to silence her friend.

“Abby. I think that you want to see this.” Eric said, his mocking tone nowhere to be seen.

“Hm?”

Abigail ceased cooking, cleaned her hands in her apron, and paced herself to see the television. And the girl was left with her jaw open. The scene that should be part of an action movie was live on national news, filmed from the perspective of a helicopter.

Miami City, broken and blazed, its port engulfed in flames.

- | -

Unprecedented.

A ragged newscaster woman was talking in her microphone. She was dirty, with disheveled long hair, and sweat was pouring from her tanned skin.

“This is unprecedented; Miami is being torn apart by mad men.”

Just as she finished talking, the camera captured an explosion behind her. The woman and the film crew were far enough away to be safe, but the detonation gave her words weight.

“In the last two hours, a group that called themselves Red Dragons blew up two banks. They continued to wreak havoc around the city since then, having destroyed many more buildings and starting a fire that is consuming PortMiami. The causalities are not known yet, but the Memorial Hospital reported being full.”

The camera caught fire and destruction; the city looked less like a metropolis and more like a war zone. Sirens deafened the reporter's voice, the sound of military helicopters filled the air, and another discharge of fire and heat crumbled a background edifice.

One car floated, as if an invisible giant grabbed it, and crashed into a house.

“The police failed to stop the Empowered terrorists; the army is currently mobilized and engaging with the criminals, but so far they have not been able to stop them. The government declared an emergence and asked all citizens to evacuate—”

Perhaps, it would have been wise for the woman to follow her government recommendation, too. For the air where she stood was now soon to be filled with metal and fire. Fragments of a destroyed helicopter, descending freely towards her.

Her eyes widened, and for a single second, it was like she also had powers—the power to see her own, inevitable, death.

The melancholic scenery of decease, that was soon bound to be, was repeated endlessly around the city. Despite the bright and sunny sky, the inhabitants lived in grim torment. And the torment had no sign of an end.

A car flying straight towards doom. A young man trying to use his body to protect his pregnant wife.

A grandmother was bleeding from her forehead, her crumbled house reduced to ruins, and despair filling her face, as she dug and dug to rescue her grandchildren. Who were already dead.

The soldier, who, oh, so eagerly came to fight, would have no body left to entomb after a new blast vaporized him down to the bones. And the widow's mother would cry and die. Son and husband, mother and father, all lost in this single day.

Elderly to young, and rich to poor, lawful to criminal, and regal to commoner, all who breathed were coated in a layer of calamity.

And later, once the crisis had stopped, the causalities would number upwards of five digits.

But neither the man nor the lady. Not the soldier or the grandmother. No elder or young, nor rich or poor. Would would meet perdition this day.

An octagonal, neon green, translucent barrier appeared, and it denied all harm.

One faintly glowing shield blocked the steel shards that would soon shred apart the reporter.

Another stood immovable, saving the soldier inside the explosion range. Fire engulfed it, but like the legends of Moises and the sea, the blast was open in half. The shield, all protecting.

The man and the pregnant wife found themselves outside their machine, safe, and well. And the car crashed. And the barrier secured them.

A scorching flame was scattered, the green shield obfuscating its presence, and little by little, the port was saved.

The same scene happened all around the city; dozens upon dozens of shields surged and vanished. And where a shield wasn't enough, a breeze was all that could be felt.

Four were the number of criminal Empowered left, and even after losing one of their members, their combined mighty was unmatched. One would block all harm, the earth bowing to him. Other wielded ice, as she sliced it all apart. One still commanded fire, burning all with trauma. And the leader moved matter, all obeying her mind.

Inevitably, the army would win this fight. Sheer numbers that outscaled their enemies. But already, a pile of sacrifices was stacked, and it grew more and more after each second of fighting.

The future would make notice of how the kinetic Empowereds strength was far above average, a strike of bad luck in the early days.

What their claim over the city and the justification of the terrorism were, history would forget.

For it mattered not.

What would not be forgotten, what would be forever etched in the mouths of the folk, was that from start to end, from the first shield to the end of fire. Less than five seconds passed, and the catastrophe ended.

No more conflagrations, no more destruction, no more fear. On the front line, where the army fought the so-called Red Dragons, a masked man was seen, and the criminals were defeated at his feet.

He was dressed in black and green, the same green visible in his barriers and the same green that clothed his body in an aura. And his costume was far from ready, for it was a messed-up assemblage of a sweater and black pants.

The man stood, and his force fields continued to flow around the city, protecting, saving, and looking almost independent of him. Which was not the case.

It was his first appearance, and it was the start of his legend. And while the date was to be mourned, in the future, those who haven't lived that day, will speak of it with a smile.

On September 11, 1977, in Miami City, Demise was ordered to be.

Ascalon, disagreed.