“I consider myself a fair man, Mrs. Goodberry,” Matthias drawled, “Which is why I think ‘tis only fair you help us out a bit, hmm? After all, we helped you first.”

  The old lady’s fearful gaze turns up at Avery and myself, but she’ll find no sympathy here. Avery nods, his garish outfit making the sight offensive to the eyes, while I simply smile, keeping my eyes almost closed and my perfect white teeth in full view. A friendly smile, ‘cause that’s all we're asking. To be friends.

  She gulps, and turns back to Matthias, whose finger lazily traces the heavily, heavily modified sixgun holstered at his left side. The man’s cowboy look isn’t all that intimidating to most people—in fact, I hear he’s the subject of much satire online regarding hero personas, though not half as much as Avery—but that all ends when you see him drop a half dozen men with that gun in the span of a blink. Which Mrs. Goodberry has, and recently.

  “Look at me, Mrs. Goodberry,” Matthias continues, despite the woman already very much looking at him, “We saved your life. Surely that’s worth…something, to you?”

  He puts his arm around the old lady’s shoulder.

  “Money’s awful tight these days,” he says casually.

  Shaking, the old woman reaches a hand into her bag, pulling out a small checkbook. Matthias grins like a cheshire cat, smelling blood in the water, and it takes no small effort to keep the same off my face. A good score is always pleasant, these days, and the old bag doesn’t look like she lacks for cash.

  She writes a few things on the first check, then pauses, “W-who should I make it-”

  “We’ll handle that part, ma’am,” Matthias says quickly, snatching the paper from her hands, “Pleasure speaking wit’ ya.”

  Then he takes three steps towards us before pausing dramatically, and whipping back around to face the old woman, “Oh, and…” he flicks the side of his gun, “Let’s keep this between us, catch my drift?”

  She nods, still shaking.

  “Good,” he finishes, and the three of us don’t waste another moment before leaving, moving just a little faster once we’re out of sight.

  “How much?” Avery asks eagerly, once we’re far enough away. You can almost see him lick his chops, like a scavenger eyeing a corpse. Avery Moore, aka ‘Candyman,’ never had so much as a scrap of morals—he was almost a villain, before I brought him in and convinced him our racket was better in the long run. He’s useful because he’ll do anything, even the stuff Matthias balks at, and has really fucking good synergy with the man, but most of all I keep him around as a scapegoat.

  If we ever got caught, his known crime streak would make it child’s play to pass the buck to him.

  “A thousand,” Matthias replies, staring at the check, “An even thousand dollars.”

  Matthias Hewett, aka ‘Ten Gallon,’ is the best enforcer a man could ask for—tough, dumb, and so deep in debt you could fill a house with cash and it still wouldn’t be enough, even if you sold the house too. He has two vices: drinking and gambling, though if you asked his ex-wife she’d tell you he had a third.

  I’d never admit it, but I need him for the muscle. I can wade through a pack of men and come out the last one standing, but all it’d take is some range. Him though? He is range, and could probably be deadly with a knife too if I ever convinced him to use one. Hero fights are harder without him, but more importantly, I’d be dead meat if I was ever caught by a stronger hero, but not if I’m with him.

  Avery whistles appreciatively, “Not bad, right Al’?”

  And then there was one—myself, the mastermind Alex Calder, aka ‘Thunderfist,’ though I chose the name more in hopes of people thinking my fists were the part they needed to watch out for. It’s served that purpose more than once.

  I nod, “For a crime of opportunity? Yeah, pretty nice.”

  Avery shoulder-checks me, surprisingly strong for such a skinny man, “Enough with the big words, ‘boss,’ be happy! This is good money.”

  I shake my head, smiling because it’s what he wants from me but seething inside. Of course the rat who would’ve ended up rotting in a cell years ago without me thinks this is worth it, but I have bigger dreams than shaking down grandmas after scaring off some glorified purse-snatchers.

  It’s truly unfair that we get paid so little, working as heroes. After five years of good service I have what? A little less than six figures and free healing at the Soup Bowl? Even supplementing with my influencer status, I’m barely upper-middle class. A few miles south of the cloudwall and I could live like a king. I deserve at least seven figures and a penthouse suite, anything less is grounds to move south.

  One day, I’ll have all that and more, but not today. Today I’m stuck with scraps.

  “Just cash it and be done,” Matthias buts in, dropping the schtick when it’s just us, “we still have to make the rounds today.”

  The joviality slides off Avery like water off a duck’s back at the thought of profits unearned, and so of course the rest of the way he’s all grim faces and short sentences. Given he was the most talkative before, that makes the rest of us just as quiet. It’s in a sour mood that we reach the beginning of a small collection of shops and homes a little north of the city center.

  “Remember, nine-tenths today,” I tell the men, “We’ve been gouging them a little too much lately, so we’re dropping it to keep one of them from trying their luck with the SAU-P.”

  Matthias nods, but Avery scoffs, “Don’t see why we have to. What are they gonna do, report us?”

  “Yes,” I remind him for the tenth time, “That is exactly what they’ll do. Don’t forget: this entire operation comes crashing down on our heads if word gets as high as Nightingale, or even just a little bit lower. We’ll be lucky if we’re villains for life, Cand’” I say, using shorthand for his hero name, on account of us still being in costume.

  Avery scoffs, but doesn’t say another word, which I know is as good as agreement. Without so much as a pleasant goodbye, the three of us split down an intersection, each taking a different road.

  I take the center path, and start calmly walking down the street, keeping my eyes moving. I pass a dozen shops or more before finding the first one—a small jewelers, the perfect target for enterprising young villains hoping to score, which is why that’s the one I walk in first.

  The bespectacled old man running the counter flinches as I enter, a bell over the door ringing, but his eyes on me well before he hears it, “Th-thunderfist, I need a little more tim-”

  “Mr. Nook,” I drawl, extending the word and ending with a harsh click that has him flinch, “I’m here for your weekly—and rather generously lower than usual—dues. Surely you wouldn’t cheat me of that, would you?”

  A sharp crackle of voltage and the smell of ozone follow me as I pull ever so slightly on Electric Aura, the ability straining against the limits I place on it like a caged beast. It wouldn’t do to turn the man’s shop into a bonfire, though, so I restrain myself. He can’t pay me if he doesn’t make money, after all.

  “I-I just don’t have enough!” he says, eyes wide with fear, “Rent was higher this week and-”

  I don’t lay a finger on him. I don’t push my power any further than the small bleed I already allowed. I don’t even threaten to hurt him.

  “I wonder,” is all I say, “Who would be the first? With your shop…unguarded…there are more than a few villains in the city who would be more than happy to take advantage. Probably some good old hardened criminals, too. I wonder if they would be half so patient with you, if they heard there wasn’t enough money.”

  He gulps. It’s almost comical, really. I can even hear him do it.

  “I,” he starts, “would not presume to do such a thing, sir, of course not.”

  Slowly, he takes a stack of bills and places it onto the shop counter in front of him. Then, almost as if it physically pains him, he takes another stack of bills out of the register, and adds it to the pile. His fingers hover over it for a second, before pulling back.

  “Good man,” I say, letting my aura drop just long enough for me to safely grab the bills. Burning nearly three hundred dollars to ash would be quite the waste.

  “I’ll be seeing you,” I finish, “…later.”

  Then I turn on my heel and march right back out the door.

  —

  “$9251,” I say to the two men, “Split three ways makes around three thousand for each of us.”

  Avery’s eyes shine greedily, the man practically drooling over the numbers, though Matthias looks grim, almost resigned—the man knows it will never be enough. None of them comment any further though, as I’ve long since convinced them of the danger should we discuss our little racket where we are now.

  They thought the Bowl would never be bugged, but I know better. It doesn’t take a bug to listen, when heroes are about. And someone’s always listening.

  “You wouldn’t bring us here just to say that,” Matthias surmises, “What’s up, Alex?”

  I frown at the implication—he’s right of course, but he should know better than to speak out of turn to me. Something might be wrong; if his loyalties are fraying, I’ll need to do something about it. He does notice my expression, and coughs into his hand.

  “Meant nothin’ by it,” he hastily corrects, defaulting to the persona when under pressure.

  I nod, “You are right, I’ll give you that. There is something I’ve been meaning to discuss with the two of you.”

  Avery cocks an eyebrow at me, leaning closer.

  “It is about time,” I continue, “that we expanded our operation.”

  Despite my theatrics, neither of them seem impressed. Avery scoffs, “Wasn’t that what we’re already doing? We’ve got thirty locations, and ‘profits’ are up.” He says, keeping to the codes we’ve agreed on. If someone hears, they’ll think it’s nothing but totally legal business dealings, if a little shady.

  What’s bad is that we’re barely earning pocket change, a sentiment I hastily bite back.

  “And we can barely manage those thirty with the three of us,” I reply, “I’ve been thinking about adding someone else to our little club.”

  Avery considers that, but I can see the stubborn resistance on Matthias’ face instantly, “And split the profits with another person? I see no reason why we should do that.”

  It’s a herculean effort to keep the annoyance off of my face. Of course he doesn’t see it. For a man so obsessed with clawing his way out of debt, he has a terrible shortsightedness to him. It’s probably how he got the debt in the first place.

  “In the short term, it’ll hurt,” I agree, “but think bigger. The more people we get, the more opportunities we have. In a year or less, we’ll be back up to profit, but in ten, or twenty? Imagine, one day, having dozens of influential heroes in our corner. A power bloc that can see us getting some real work done.”

  “I still don’t think-” the man grouses.

  “We,” I say calmly, “Are doing this.”

  He glowers, “Whatever you say, boss.”

  Avery watches the interplay between us with disinterested eyes, perking up when he senses his chance to speak, “So who’s it gonna be? The newbie. You gotta have someone in mind.”

  I smile, “As it so happens, there’s a pair of heroes who’ve been recently inducted—Force Knight and Dappled Princess. The latter’s been scouted by Nightingale, but the former may be a good option.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “I take it you’ll be making the introduction?” Matthias prods.

  I nod.

  “Why even ask, then?” the man grumbles.

  “I did not, in fact, ask,” I say calmly, causing him to look up at me in surprise, “Do not mistake courtesy for anything it is not. The two of you work for me, not with me. There is, in fact, a difference.”

  Matthias looks like he has some choice words to say to that, but he keeps his head low, as befits one still on a leash, “Yes, boss.”

  Avery smiles, never needing convincing.

  “I’ll keep the two of you posted,” I say mildly.

  —

  The newcomer I had my eyes on was a much more intentional choice than I let on, though I’d never let the two of them know that. I had picked them out more of the knowledge I could control them than any real trust or favor, and the kid is much the same.

  Not a month into the work, which means he has few ties, though newbie heroes tend to have much grander designs of honor and duty than those that have seen a few things. Luckily for me, the boy has already received a reprimand—on official record, no less—for failing to report an incident on mission that a teammate had. Apparently the whole matter had been swept under the rug, but it showed he can, if nothing else, be relied on to keep his mouth shut when told to.

  I can exploit that.

  I find him in an empty training room, lifting a dumbbell weighing about as much as myself like it’s light exercise—definitely not a weak SAU, this one. I spot earbuds as I approach, so I make a point to put myself in view of the mirror before him, causing him to turn around when I pause.

  “What do you want?” he says, rather confrontationally. I’ll need to beat that out of him eventually, but for now I allow it with a smile.

  “Louis Stone?” I ask, eliciting a glare of suspicion from the man, “I’m Alex Calder, the hero Thunderfist. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  I offer my hand for him to shake. He glances at it, then returns his eyes to mine.

  “Forgive me if I don’t trust that, with a name like yours,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. I continue to smile, more practiced than to let it slip so easily. His taunts seem habitual, and not out of any particular spite.

  “If I wanted to shock you,” I say, voice lowering slightly, “I would have already.”

  He glances at my hand again, then lazily reaches over to grab it, never even bothering to put down the weight in his other hand, as if it barely bothers him. I notice a slight shimmer to his skin as we shake—perhaps supporting himself to seem stronger? Not that it’ll work on me.

  “I’ve heard of you,” he says, “You’re one of the more publicity-inclined heroes. What could someone like you want with someone like me?” The way he says the words somehow makes them seem more insult than humility.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Louis,” I say, “A very promising young hero, but with a black mark to your record so early into your career. I would imagine that might limit your ability to make connections somewhat—make it harder to, say, rise the ranks.”

  He glowers, but I will not be intimidated by a boy, “And?”

  “And I,” I say, “would be a useful connection to have.”

  He meets my eyes for a moment, expression masterfully unreadable—my compliments, honestly, it took me a while to learn that myself—but I can see the moment when he concedes, a sigh escaping his lips, “I suppose this is where you tell me the price.”

  “No price,” I say, not yet, “just a meeting so we can talk.” I hand him a slip of paper, location and time written in neat cursive visible only as he unfolds it. He glances between it and me a few times.

  “I’ll consider it,” he replies, turning back to his workout, but I’m not disappointed, taking that for what it really is.

  He’s taken the bait, now to reel him in.

  —

  He’s five minutes late.

  Four minutes ago, Avery started impatiently tapping his foot. Two minutes ago, Matthias started cleaning out the barrel of his sixgun, the modified piece often leaving scorches on the inside whenever fired too heavily. One minute ago, even I started getting impatient.

  Avery begins, “We’re sur-”

  Then someone pushed open the door to the stairwell.

  All eyes lock on to the boy as he strolls out onto the third floor of the abandoned parking garage I set up in advance, his eyes narrowed, yet darting back and forth as he slides around one of the columns to make his way towards us. He’s not the only one suspicious though—following him in is a man I don’t recognize, sunken eyes and stubble-lined cheeks contrasting with hard eyes. He carries a bottle in one hand, taking a swig from it as he walks.

  “Shit,” I hear Matthias mutter next to me; I give him a look, “I know that man,” he tells me in a hushed whisper, “Ol’ drinkin’ buddy of mine. He’s got a nasty ability for a fight, even if it won’t kill ya. Boy prob’ly brought him as backup.”

  I ignore the sudden shift to his persona, and nod, “Level five. If it goes south, hit the drunk first.”

  Matthias’ eyes flash with something akin to apprehension, but I’m already turning away. This got bad quickly, but I might be able to salvage things. Either way, the two are already here, and there’s no world in which acting suspicious ends well.

  Best case scenario, Matthias kills the veteran before he becomes trouble, and we bury both bodies deep enough they’ll never be found. I’d rather it didn’t come to that, though.

  “Force Knight!” I greet, slipping forward, “I didn’t expect you to bring company.”

  “I know,” he replies, “That’s why I did.”

  Don’t react. If you react, he’ll know he’s won.

  “That’s a shame,” I say, “because, you know, connections are built on trust.”

  The man takes a swig from his bottle, “Says the man who asked him to come alone to a secluded location while he brought backup. What’s up with that, huh zap-fist?” My hands curl halfway to fists, small sparks jumping between my fingers. He knows me. He knows me and he messed it up on purpose. I will not, cannot let this man win.

  I smile, though I know it doesn’t reach my eyes, “Nothing ill, of course, though I’m sure you understand I’m hesitant to let someone into the fold without even knowing who they are.”

  “Reveler,” he replies, “that’s all you’re getting from me, though your little friend might know more. How you’ve been, Matthias? Still deeply in debt, or a little less so?”

  “Still making doe-eyes at my wife, you drunk bast-”

  Calmly, I put my hand in front of him. He freezes.

  “I think,” I say, “that it may be prudent for us to part ways here. No need for enmity.”

  “Screw that,” the boy, for he is little else but a petulant boy, says, “You guys have something shady going on here, and I’m not letting you get away with it.”

  “Agreed,” Reveler says, “The three of you are coming back with us.”

  Then he raises his bottle, and all hell breaks loose.

  The bottle flares with a searing light, and suddenly I nearly fall to the floor, my balance all but gone and my entire world spinning. Sluggishly, I realize something is wrong, but before I can move a staccato of fire rings out, and I watch the man duck to the side, his bottle shattering and his clothes tearing, but the bullets mainly passing him by. Matthias isn’t so bad a shot—he’s affected as well.

  The boy is surrounded by a ghostly translucent shell in the next instant as Matthias fumbles to reload, his ability relying on the element of surprise. Avery lurches forward, looking as unbalanced as I feel, but draws the garish red-and-white-striped cane he uses as his main weapon and with a flourish, causes a phantom copy to appear, pulling the boy towards at a rapid, if erratic, pace.

  Reveler, evaluating the highest threat, charges me, ignoring Matthias for his fumbling. He still clutches the shattered bottle by its neck, flipping it around so that the shards point towards me in a makeshift knife. I muster a growl of rage, all decorum lost, and oh so suddenly Electric Aura flares to life.

  I move with blinding speed towards him, the man hastily backing away as the air around me becomes charged, my hair standing on end and bolts being thrown out like from a tesla coil. Dimly, I become aware that I’m bleeding charge, but my befuddled mind is barely able to take that in before I trip.

  I barely manage to catch my fall, my arms sticking out at the last moment. Reveler halts his retreat, tossing the remnants of his bottle at my head as I rise. I smack it out of the air with my hand, screaming in incoherent rage, my mind unable to focus on anything at all but oh so certain it wants to kill.

  Ignoring the burning dampness of my hand, I slam it into the ground, forcing enough charge through to kill an elephant a dozen times over, sending it all screaming towards Reveler. Being a SAU, and the charge attenuated as it is, the shock merely paralyzes him, smoke rising from his clothes as it cooks him, but slowly, agonizingly so—literally, in his case.

  Then a staccato of shots once more, and even with a superhuman’s senses I can barely register the shots as the individuals they are as the man becomes a red ruin in an instant.

  My mind clears, suddenly sober.

  My head whips to the side, glimpsing Matthias, slack-jawed and wide-eyed as he stares at the corpse, his sixgun hanging limply in his hand. Behind him, Avery’s still fighting the boy, swinging his can around to toss him into a pillar, all the while bleeding profusely from a smashed nose, yet grinning like a madman.

  I blink twice, and take stock of the situation.

  We have to kill the boy—that much is clear. We’ve gone too far to leave witnesses now. Except Matthias is still shell-shocked, having killed Reveler, and while Avery can hold the boy off, he’s losing that fight. The man’s a coward at heart; he’ll run if it gets too bad.

  What can I do? I’ve drained quite a bit of my ability, and the boy is sure to be more durable, given how he’s already walking off being thrown through two feet of solid concrete. I can’t kill him outright, but I may be able to stun him. Matthias could take advantage of that, I need him to do this.

  “Matthias!” I shout, drawing the man’s gaze, “Get ahold of yourself!”

  “Wha-” he sputters, “But…I-”

  I run up and slap him, hard, but without electricity.

  “If the boy lives, it’s all over,” I hiss, “We can’t have a witness. Do you want to rot in prison for the rest of your life?”

  It’s well known that a decent villain can escape with ease, but Matthias? He’s useless without a weapon, and he knows it. Draw can’t do much without something to draw.

  “I-” he hardens, “Yes, boss.”

  I give him one last nod, watching as he turns to reload once more, then charge into the fray.

  I’m on the boy in an instant, but melee is suicide. He broke Avery’s nose, and that man’s tougher than I by a mile. Instead, I move to harry him as Matthias reloads, running up just close enough to shock him before leaping back, my speed superior to his. He turns to meet me, but Avery gets his cane around his leg and flips him to the floor.

  He pushes to his feet, and I give him another shock and run, but he just growls and forces through it. Avery strikes him with the cane, but the blow glances off, even the man’s rock-crushing strength insufficient against the boy’s armor. He turns and smashes his knee into Avery’s ribs, doubling the man over with a grunt. I rush in, but as he prepares to meet me I go low instead.

  Thrusting my hand into the ground, I send a jolt through the floor, stunning both Avery and the boy. Half a heartbeat later, I hear one more pulse of staccato fire. Unbefuddled, Matthias’ aim comes through and all six bullets strike the boy dead in the chest, each not an inch apart. SAU-killers, one and all.

  The boy stumbles, coughs up a spurt of blood, but stays standing.

  My pulse fades, and he turns to run.

  I charge after him, but even as I reach him, he ignores me, my shocks glancing off of his armored skin without so much as singing his clothes. I almost slam my hand into the back of his head, desperate as I can be, but at the last moment Avery pulls me back, his Hook tearing me away from the boy in an instant.

  I stumble, but he catches me, “No, boss,” he says, “You’ll just break a hand.”

  “He’s escaping,” I hiss, but even as I do it hits me. The next moment, the boy charges straight through the short wall between the edge of the parking garage and the outside, and disappears over its edge.

  He’s escaped, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

  —

  I sigh, running a shaky hand through my striking blue hair—something I need to deal with, I think dimly; it’s too recognizable—even as I flinch away from my own gaze in the mirror. It all went so wrong, so fast, and now I’m reduced to nothing. A villain. A hero murderer, of all things.

  The three of us are holed up in Avery’s apartment, him being the only one of us not to take up residence at the Bowl. Said he misliked being around so many heroes. It annoyed me, once. Now it might just save our lives.

  We’ll have to leave soon, regardless. How long it’ll take for them to send someone, I have no idea, but they will, and when they do this is the first place they’ll check. I need to go south—Mexico and beyond. The cloudwall only keeps people out, not in. A quick swim across the canal and I’ll be safe in South America. Maybe I can join up with one of the local warlords, work as an enforcer. That could work.

  With a sigh and a deep breath, I reach for the knob to the bathroom door when…

  A thump. People move. I hear Avery start to speak but it’s cut off. I don’t dare open the door.

  “Two,” a voice says, one that sends a shiver down my spine. They sent him? God, I’m dead. God.

  “Where is the other one?” the voice asks. I don’t stay to hear the response.

  I’m out the window before it even gets that far.

  Who needs them anyway?

  I’m not fighting fucking Jonathan Alston for those useless grunts.

  I don’t want to die.

  —

  Stumbling, clutching my broken arm, I tread slowly through the woods. I hadn’t thought they’d send someone else too. How many are hunting me? It doesn’t matter. I still need to get away. The motorcycle burned out—lousy piece of junk. I should have kept better care of it. I didn’t think I needed it. It doesn’t matter.

  I need to find my stash. The money I had saved for a rainy day—I thought my assets might be seized, a war on legal terms. Not this.

  Still, I have to find it. It’s my only hope. It’s-

  A rustle. I turn. I’m grabbed, a shooting pain going through my arm. I flare out Electric Aura, not caring how much I burn. It isn’t enough. I don’t even see the blade.

  Instantly, everything below my neck goes numb.

  The last thing I feel…

  …blood splatters on my face…

  …a blade enters a sheath…

  …someone vomits…

  …it all fades, and I end.

  —Electric Aura—and Force Knight's is straightforward—just an energy coating acting as Armor. Matthias, aka Ten Gallon (as in ten gallon hat) has Draw, which bends time to make him significantly faster just after drawing his weapon, allowing for those quick shots. Avery, aka Candyman, has Hook, which lets him hook and move around objects at a distance. The whole candy cane thing was just his aesthetic. Lastly was Reveler, whose Toast let him make his enemies effectively drunk when he toasted them, ending upon his death.

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