#redflagromance

Not for the first time, he cursed magma for being such a pain in the ass. Ultimately he knew that he'd been right to pick it. It was the cleanest, most efficient power source available. It was plentiful all over the world, and not weather dependent. Once installed the longevity was unmatched. But it added a lot of overheating and design issues that solar or wind power just didn't have.

He played with changing out the plates around the computer chips inside, trying to protect them adequately from extreme heat. Most of the alloys he had tried conducted too much heat, and if it managed to keep the heat from the magma off the circuit boards, it conducted excess electricity, shortening the lifespan of the tech.

It was sloppy. He fucking loathed sloppiness.

"I need to clear my head." Luckily it was a good time to take a break. Marc slung his jacket over his shoulder and left, hitting the lights on the way out. Violence might help him take a step back and reassess.

He arrived at the venue- a cracking heap of asphalt and tar in the worst part of town- half an hour before his appointment.

Marc glowered at the ill-lit parking lot and wafted air pointlessly away from his nose. Every breath smelled like pancakes. That made him hungry and he was cranky about it.

A scuffed white car pulled into the lot, scraping the bottom of the car over the small curb. It swung around the parking lot, bypassing several parking spots.

It finally came to a stop in the darkest area of the lot- the broken streetlight where Marc was supposed to be.

His muscles tensed in anticipation, watching the car for any sign of the man he was supposed to meet.

The car idled, leaking tendrils of exhaust into the January air. It curled up past the streetlight and dissipated into nothingness.

A family left the restaurant, a colicky toddler crying on his mother's shoulder. They got into a blue van and drove away.

The car was still idling.

Marc was thinking about having eggs with his congratulatory pancakes.

The door opened, and a man unfolded long legs. He sauntered to the broken light, getting harder to see with each step. Marc moved to turn off his engine– and realised it was a different man entirely.

Someone in a hoodie came out of the restaurant, head down. They walked directly into the unlit space beneath the broken streetlight.

Marc cocked his head to the side, frowning slightly. He got out his phone, and pretended to text. He watched the person over the top of the screen as they seemed to pace back and forth.

In his notes application, he wrote "blueberry". He nibbled at his lower lip as if he was concentrating, and after a second added, "with strawberry syrup".

Several seconds passed. The person in the hoodie left, hands moving visibly in their pocket. About twenty seconds later, the other man went back to his car and immediately drove away. Marc turned his head to watch it go, eyebrows raised.

"What am I a witness to?" He muttered aloud.

A few minutes passed. Marc googled crimes on his phone. He looked up at the sound of a sleek engine pulling up into the same parking spot that had just been vacated. It was clearly the kind of car on the top end of budget for that asshole businessman, with two doors and a custom paint job.

"That's gotta be him." Marc stuffed the phone in his pocket and put on his game face. This was absolutely beneath him, so of course he was excited to do it. He just couldn't let his oh so superior older brother know he'd actually scheduled a fistfight.

The expensive car's door opened up. A woman got out, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She slammed the door shut and locked it audibly. She looked around the parking lot, and nearly made eye contact with Marc.

Marc screwed his mouth up into a pout and let his skull fall back onto the head rest. "Come on," he complained softly. He got out his phone again and became immersed in the task of pretending the reason he was disappointed was because he was being dumped via text. He purposely sniffled a bit as he tapped out amendments to his future pancake order. The woman was still looking at him, but less hard. Eventually she'd move on.

When he glanced up carefully, she was still watching him. He pretended he'd just received a text and sobbed loudly before punching his steering wheel.

"Cangela, whyyyy," he bellowed near the open window, hoping that this woman wasn't interested in his fake personal saga. "I told you that the puppets were only my friends."

He almost missed it when the woman huffed a laugh before slinking into the dark spot under the broken light.

"...Is this where all the crime in the city happens?" Marc leaned forward now, intrigued. "Wh- why did a fucking accounts manager know to schedule this here?" He put a hand on his face.

Wow. He'd actually cried a little bit. Cangela must really be something.

Now fascinated, he watched until the woman left. He didn't see any sign of someone coming to join her in the interim - was it a drop off situation? Or did someone come up through the shrubbery on the other side? He made a mental note to look at the bush when he went over there.

He checked the time. There were seventeen minutes until his fight.

Another car pulled up and parked in the same spot as the previous two. He didn't even get his hopes up, which was funny, because his 9:00 was the man to get out of the car.

"Finally!" Marc huffed, even though there was plenty of time left. The other fighter started walking towards the dark spot. Marc took off his seatbelt and looked over to see someone bolt out of the restaurant and cut his opponent off.

"Hey, it wasn't your turn," Marc said, a little too loud. The runner didn't seem to care. They disappeared into the shadowy spot underneath the broken light.

The businessman stood there awkwardly. He looked from side to side. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands.

Marc got out and slammed his door shut. "Gonna have to vulture the spot," he grumbled. "To hell with this." He made his way over, stalking between cars and over a pile of what seemed to be candy wrappers.

Too late, he realized that he didn't know what to say. But it was too late, he had gotten too close to avoid it. He probably should have asked someone. Harmes  was good at inciting violence, if the other night was anything to go by.

"Good evening," he said through sheer social muscle memory, kind of hating himself for the failure even as the words came out.

The businessman just stared at him.

"Nice night for it." He said, slowly.

"Shall we?" Marc gestured, extending his arm in what he suddenly realized was a loose imitation of one of those models on a game show.

'Do not comment,' he willed at the man, glaring. 'That was not weird.'

"After you," the businessman replied.

They both still stood there. It seemed neither of them knew how the hell to turn from polite nothings to a fistfight.

"Let's go. Bring it, you sad little man." Marc switched fears and lifted his hands.

"Likewise, lava twink." The man tried to roll up the sleeves of his cheap dress shirt. One of them fell back down immediately.

Tired of waiting, Marc threw the first punch- a precise hit to the man's stomach.

He wheezed and stumbled backwards, then pushed forwards, aiming at Marc's jaw.

Marc dodged, and the knuckle lightly connected with his chin. It made the businessman lose balance, and he stumbled forward into Marc's chest.

He tried to push the man away, but they were falling. He hit the ground and it took all the air out of his lungs.

Marc was pinned and gasping. The businessman rolled off just enough to the side to try to start punching Marc on the ground.

Every hit connected with a thud. Marc was just trying to catch his breath- if he could only get a second to recover. His hands were in front of his face, taking some significant abuse. His arms were going to be one big bruise.

The businessman got either tired or bored after a few punches, and Marc kicked him in the chest to get some distance. While the man was staggering, Marc went in to finish it.

'One to the stomach should do it.'

He punished the man's internal organs once, then headbutted him.

The man fell back onto the ground, contorting in pain. He groaned.

Marc watched as the man curled up into a ball on the ground. He had won. It was doubtful the guy wanted more punishment than that.

Marc grinned with teeth, breathing heavily and watching a single tear threaten to fall from his opponent's face.

Riiiiip

A millisecond later, he registered that his right ass cheek was stinging.

He yelped and slapped both hands to his ass in a bid for protection. It was too late. It felt like there were lines of fire down his right cheek. Teeth? Claws?

"What the fuck was that?"

Belatedly Marc realized something about what was under his palm.

The man on the ground opened his eyes and squinted. "Is that a huge weiner dog?" He wheezed, still in the fetal pose. "No, what? That's not a dog. The hell?"

Marc didn't feel jeans under his left hand. He felt warm, bare skin.

Affronted, Marc looked around in the direction the man was looking in. If he squinted, he could see the faint shape of some large four legged animal running away. It was definitely not a dog.

Then he angled his head around to confirm what he already knew. The back pocket of his jeans was missing. His ass was bleeding.

"It mugged me?" Marc slapped at his ass again as if that might make the pocket reappear. He repeated incredulously, "The thing mugged me?"

How and why? Why was this happening to him?

"Well, at least I beat you." He looked at the businessman, who seemed sympathetic. He was uncurling now. It took a few moments to stand.

"I'm not the one who got mugged by a rat." The guy said, gesturing a thumb in the direction of the fleeing creature. "That thing definitely took your wallet."

"It was not a rat," Marc said, standing. He felt lost. But he was confident it wasn't a rat. "It was some kind of…"

"Mustelid?" The other guy guessed. He rubbed at his face with a hand.

Marc pointed at him for emphasis. "That seems right," he agreed loudly. "It was- it had a very distinctive way of running."

"Almost hopping." The businessman swayed closer. He clapped a hand on Marc's shoulder. Marc wasn't sure if it was for support or balance. "With a characteristically long torso and short legs."

"Definitely a mustelid," Marc nodded. He didn't shake the other man off. He frowned, crinkling his forehead. "There go my victory pancakes. And my driver's licence. Do you think I should risk it or call someone to get me?"

The other man hummed low in his throat and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Ah…" He sniffled and then spat out some blood onto the sidewalk. "I'll treat you, you magma bastard. Let's have victory pancakes while we wait for your ride."

Touched, he noted he'd been upgraded from lava twink to magma bastard. Twink death didn't seem to be as bad as the internet said it was. He broke into a tentative smile.

"They're only victory pancakes for me," Marc specified. The man seemed nonplussed. "I kicked your ass, buddy." He nudged the other man in the chest.

That got him a wince and a companionable back slap. "Yeah, and then you immediately got mugged by a huge weasel. It was obviously avenging me." The other man seemed unreasonably cheerful about that. "That's a loss if I've ever heard one. Your asscheek is just hanging out." He snickered. "You cold? Let's get inside."

…Marc covered it with a hand. "Perhaps the dress code-"

The other man absolutely howled with laughter. "Don't worry." He slung his arm over Marc's shoulder and steered him to the door. "They will not care. At all."

NOTE:

He controlled the desire to smile. That was her.

As he looked up, her gaze snapped to follow a large, handsome man in red strut down the main thoroughfare. He was too busy chatting with Gene to see the assassin's whole body go tense as she honed in on him. Barry could see the whites of her eyes and her carefully controlled breathing from over here.

Even without seeing the man's face, he'd know that was the social media star, underwear model, and chronically small-time supervillain Hammer from her furious body language.

'She focused on him like a hawk,' Barry thought, bemused. 'She wants to attack him on sight, in a building with thousands of witnesses.'

The passion there always surprised him. Personally, Barry found Hammer to be a delight. But reasonable people can disagree on matters of taste. He broke his stare and cleared his throat.

"Harmes." His junior partner looked over from the other chair in their booth. "Would you mind getting coffee? I'll hold down the fort. I could really use the caffeine."

Harmes stood easily, clearly stir crazy. "Of course. The usual?"

"You know me," Barry agreed idly. "I'm a predictable man." He watched until Harmes was out of sight.

Barry folded up the newspaper and put it down on the booth.

"Echo," was all he had to say.

His contact sidled over with a swing in her hips. The furious tension in her shoulders was gone, for now.  "Mr. Grivus." Her tone was flat, but he didn't take it personally.

"Did you get my message?"

"Yes. What did you need?" The rogue had a brisk, flat tone that he didn't really care for. She must not have thrived in customer service, he thought.

He looked around in his periphery. Harmes wouldn't be back for at least a few minutes.

He reached into the secret pocket of his blazer, and pulled out a thick envelope.

"Instructions and cash. Non-consecutive bills." A deft little hand snapped out, but he pulled back the envelope in time. He leaned down. He lowered his voice.

"Just make sure it gets done."

"I can do any job related to my skill set," she retorted. Barry smiled faintly and handed over the envelope.

A few minutes later, Harmes returned. He had already resumed his paper. There was nothing to indicate he'd talked to anyone or arranged for anything that would infuriate his business partner.

About an hour later, his phone buzzed.

The notification from his secure channel said only, "job complete."

He was tempted to arrange things so that he could be present for the discovery. But it's too sloppy. More than a few people know about his grudge.

Barry is patient. Barry waits.

The end of the conference comes and goes without any mention of a discovery. It's two days, nothing said. His anticipation is only going to make the eventual fallout better. There's no news on Saturday or Sunday either. It's agonizing.

It happens. Monday, Harmes comes into work. Tired. Disgruntled. Driving an expensive car that he damn well knows Harmes would never buy.

He's thrilled. He can't quite keep the predatorial satisfaction off of his face. As he pours coffee Barry casually asks, "Did something happen to your car?"

Harmes is still. Their expression is best described as dangerous.

He has a frisson of discomfort, a bad feeling that he's been caught.

Harmes can't possibly know, Barry tells himself. There's no way.

"No," Harmes lies lightly. "It's just in the shop. It'll be back, as good as ever." Their fingertips turn pale as they clench their teacup.

His jaw is tense.

'Not if I have anything to say about it.'

"That is terrible," Barry responds. He can't help it. It's too heartfelt to keep in. "That old heap is the worst thing I've ever seen. Holly agrees with me."

Harmes narrows their eyes at him. He's imagining the suspicion there. Did he overplay his hand?

No. It's fine. Harmes already knew he hated the car. That's the whole purpose of the exercise, the reason to contract a rogue mechanic. It would be more suspicious if he was empathetic or neutral.

"My mother isn't always right," Harmes says stiffly.

He's irritated now. Even though he knows that Harmes is lying! His hackles are up. Barry excuses himself to his office and paces. He does some deep breathing to calm down. He checks his message again to confirm that the mechanic really did get rid of Harmes' car once and for all. The message still says "job complete." It's unambiguous. The car has been murdered.

"It's dead," he says grimly. "I paid a ludicrous amount."

The empty office didn't answer him.

"It was a good use of 500 thousand dollars," he says darkly. "I never want to see that thing again."

He stops. He had been pushing down the urge to contract his hitwoman again, but for what he'd paid her? She can cope with a follow up question.

Barry glanced to the main office once more, to confirm that Harmes isn't lurking out there. His junior associate is in their private office. He won't be seen. He messages the hit woman.

"The car is definitely not repairable?"

He waits a while. She must be working. Barry lets out a sigh and gets back to work. He examines the invitation he received for another company's event with a sigh. The owner came to his booth personally at the conference to say hello and give invites to him and Harmes.

The owner is new, but doing admirably to establish herself in the villainous industry. He's a little fond of her. He nearly hired her, in fact. But Harmes was just a little more… innovative.

He sends his confirmation of attendance. It would be a bit of a snub to not attend.

His phone buzzes. The hitwoman has responded, "It was barely holding together before I got to it. I sent a letter saying that it's totalled and detailing the insurance payout for a replacement."

Barry chuckles. He steals a glance at the office. He narrows his eyes.

Harmes is standing by Janine's desk, holding a familiar invitation.

Hm. He pushes open his door and takes a step out, curious. He takes his nearly-empty cup of coffee to have something to do with his hands and a pretense for going out.

"decline," Harmes is saying. "I won't be alienating anyone too important?"

…Ah. He controls the urge to smile. He wonders if Harmes even remembers that Sunny Aviichen interviewed for the same position at Grivus Events that Harmes did, all those years ago.

"No," Janine agrees. She's examining the invitation. "It would be good to go, but I'm sure they're not looking for you specifically."

…He sips the last of his coffee. He had actually had the impression that Ms. Aviichen was quite eager for Harmes to see how well she was doing in her career. Ms. Aviichen seemed rather competitive, even before Harmes got the position. People like that never enjoyed losing.

"Barry?" Janine looks up and spots that he's already out of his office. "You'll represent the firm at this?" She holds up the invitation.

"Of course." He agrees calmly.

"Great." Harmes flashes a smile at him and Janine. "I have pottery class that day."

Janine snorts. "I wouldn't tell anyone that's why you're declining to attend the Vice President's birthday party."

Harmes shrugs and goes back into their office. Barry finds himself watching until the door closes.

He's always enjoyed that about Harmes, he muses. They just don't give a damn.

Ahem.

Someone has cleared their throat. He looks at her.

Janine's face is amused. "Barry, I saw that poor Harmes didn't drive the usual car today." Her lips twitch. "Would you know anything about that?"

"No," he lies smoothly. He tilts his head at her in faux confusion. "But I'm very busy today." He busies himself with getting some water and leaves his coffee cup in the sink.

"Mm," Janine agrees, in a way that lets him know she's certain he's full of it. She pulls open a drawer and withdraws a yellow envelope. "Tell Echo that I said hello."

He frowns at her. She knows too much. She knows everything that happens. "I will," Barry agrees, defeated.

The car is vanquished, he tells himself. He goes back to work. He's finally slayed the beast. It only cost him a year's earnings to never have to see that wretched amalgamation of rusted metal again. His mood begins to lift.

'I wonder what Harmes will buy with the insurance money,' he wonders indulgently. Harmes' actual insurance would never have covered a suitable car, of course. Luckily, the rogue mechanic is also certified in car insurance. She was only to keep half of the money he gave her, and have the other 250 thousand allotted to Harmes.

…He's not certain what a half decent car costs, but surely that would have covered it.

Waiting to see what Harmes buys with his money is the most interesting part of his week. The pleasant anticipation gets him through the vexation that rises when he discovers that that little worm Duke has made a dinner appointment via Janine. "We can't cancel," he says darkly.

"No, but I'll know not to take further appointments with him," Janine says, a little embarrassed.

Barry sighs. "You couldn't have known. I didn't tell you." He turns his gaze out of the window, to the parking lot. "We'll go, find out it's not a good fit, and not take his business."

"That'll work," Janine agrees. She tracks where he's looking, but she doesn't say anything this time.

Harmes is still driving the rental to work.  Surely they'll buy one soon. The rental isn't their style at all. Barry's anticipation builds as the work days go on.

And then Harmes comes to work in something so wretched and old that he hears it two blocks away.

Barry stands up at his desk. That could be anyone's car clanking. But he has a miserable premonition. Slowly, he walks out to the main office.

Janine must have the same instinct. She's already at the window to pull back the curtains. She starts to laugh as Harmes pulls into the parking lot in a positively ancient truck.

"No," Barry breathes, wounded.

Janine starts snorting between gasping laughs.

He puts a hand on his heart. "This can't be happening." It hurts. Harmes is killing him. Harmes is doing him harm. This has to be purposeful.

Harmes drives over a curb. There's a demonic scrape as something unfortunate happens to the underside of the already ill-used vehicle. The car stops. Harmes clearly struggles to open the door. After a few seconds, they kick it open. It's somehow even more dented now.

Janine is fully laughing, and obviously struggling to keep the tears of mirth down. It's worse that she's pitying him. 

Barry closes his eyes. "I'm going to go lie down." He feels faint.

Janine passes him an eye mask and hiccups a stop to her giggles. "Set a timer for your 10 o'clock, sir."

"Thank you," he says, bleak. He's going to become one with the darkness. He's going to break down into his components to escape the pain of reality. And then the door closes behind him and he has another idea.

He could sink into a black miasma of despair. But instead, he calls the mechanic. Maybe there's a solution.

As soon as they pick up, he starts to speak. "Harmes must not have had an adequate budget."

There's a pause. "Hello to you too," says a disgruntled voice. "What are you talking about? I sent them 200 thousand dollars."

"250 thousand," Barry corrects offhand.

The mechanic makes an acknowledging noise. "That's an adequate budget," she says dryly. "Harmes could get any nice car on the market."

Oh. "Perhaps. But there's a rusted 2013 farm truck in my parking lot," Barry confides in a tortured whisper.

There's a bark of surprised laughter so loud that he pulls the phone away from his ear.

Barry scowls. He wishes that other people would stop laughing about this disaster. He crosses his arms and waits with ill grace for her to calm down.

The mechanic controls herself. "Is there some kind of outdoor hobby that might have prompted that choice?"

He freezes. He's finally compared Harmes' regular schedule and the timeframe that the car died in. He knows what happened. "Rocking."

"....what?"

Barry ignores the question and starts to pace. "The car gave out on some muddy back road," he says to himself. Damnit. He curses himself for a fool. "Harmes thinks the solution is a better backroads vehicle." He hurries to his computer and checks his theory. Yes. The exact model is the first example of a reliable used vehicle that results when you search for heavy duty trucks.

"Is there something else I can do for you?" the mechanic asks. There's the sound of a car door opening in the background. "I don't think a follow-up letter from the insurance company saying that the new vehicle is subpar would convince your associate to reconsider."

"No." Barry clears his throat. "You're right. You did your part." He runs a hand through his hair and winces when he realizes he's messed up the style. "Thank you."

"Have a nice day." The mechanic hangs up first.

There is a grieving process. Barry takes his lunch in the attic so that he can gaze into the parking lot undisturbed. The truck… it is wretched. It is a pathetic thing.

He tries convincing himself that it isn't so terrible. He wanted to indirectly buy Harmes a car that was safe and made them happy. The truck, however damaged the body may be, seems to be in better shape than the old thing. It doesn't even give off white smoke. That's certainly an improvement.

He spends a brief dip in the bargaining stage. Perhaps Harmes would buy a second car, a work-appropriate car? How much money would he need to give for that?

…it's a moot point. Harmes doesn't accept gifts.

Barry lets out a beleaguered sigh.

The week passes. The truck is an open wound. It only falls to the back of his mind in the wake of the disastrous dinner meeting with Marc.

…It wasn't his best showing. He hadn't even considered that the weasel was a desirable client for his junior partner. That oversight was embarrassing in retrospect.

He comes into work too shame-faced to even sigh about the truck. It isn't there yet anyway. Barry writes an apology and leaves it on Harmes' desk.

There's some excitement that afternoon when Gene pioneers a new and exciting way to get a felony charge. But Barry can't really enjoy it, because Harmes is avoiding him so studiously that they miss out on the resulting office party.

Eventually, Barry coaxes Harmes out. He's tentatively hopeful that he hasn't done anything irreparable to their working relationship.

Two mornings later, Janine gasps.

Barry makes a questioning sound. He's facing the counter, making his morning coffee before heading into his office.

"You're going to want to see this, Barry."

He puts down the cup with a clink. He turns around slowly. Her serious tone has his full attention.

Janine is standing at the window. Harmes doesn't drive over the curb this time, carefully whipping around the corner in a precision turn.

"This is worse," Barry says numbly.

Janine pats his back in sympathy. "It is," she says. Even she can't laugh about this. She goes back to her desk solemnly.

Barry can't move. He's still stuck there staring out the window in open-mouthed horror when Harmes walks in.

"Good morning, Janine. Good morning, Barry."

Janine responds. He can't.

Harmes walks over to him. "New car," they say cheerfully. "I'm just going to use the truck for rocking." Keys jingle.

He tries to respond. The sound he makes is a croak.

"Isn't it nice?" Harmes asks innocently. They indicate the bright red, shiny sports car in their parking spot.

Harmes bought a volcano car. Harmes gave his money to that insufferable businessman Duke.

Barry finally tears his gaze away and makes eye contact with Harmes.

Harmes is waiting for it. They hold prolonged eye contact.

"Marc gave it to me." Harmes keeps staring at him. There is something unhinged in those eyes. Barry blinks, and four seconds pass. Harmes doesn't blink.

His stomach twists faintly in disgust. Marc? Harmes was on first name terms with that twerp now? He can't find the wherewithal to muster a response.

The seconds stretch on. Janine staples something. Someone washes their hands in the next room. Harmes is still looking deeply into his eyes in some sort of sick dominance play.

"That's nice of him," Barry says weakly. He looks down as blood begins thumping in his ears and dimming his vision. He retreats into his office.

He's lost. Barry knows that now. He sits at his desk and buries his face in his hands.

Did Harmes know? Did Harmes realize he'd assassinated the car and do this to punish him? Or was it even worse- was it fate? Had he pushed Harmes and Duke closer together?

Barry inhales a long, shuddering breath. He lets go of his face. He accepts the total loss, and he gets back to work.

NOTE:

Ji-Min cracked her gum. "I'm fine," she said. She avoided looking at the wraith. If he wasn't gonna say shit, neither would she. "Let's open up this beauty." She put the glasses on the top of her head.

Gene held out the keys. She took them with a nod. "You need the car today?"

The cowboy shrugged. "Nah," he said. "We're in town another couple of days."

"Yeah?" Ji-Min kept any interest out of her tone. She propped the hood open. "Where's next." She stared into the engine block.

There was a hum. "New Platopolis, I think."

Figured. That was kind of the national center of super crime. It was a great place to go if you wanted to get arrested.

She sniffed. "Sounds nice."

"Yuuuup." Gene blew out some air. "Let me know if you wanna ride, ma'am."

"In your broken car, yeah." Ji-Min shot him a wry grin before she got to work. "You're the darling."

The wraith sighed. But he didn't say shit.

______________________________________________________________

Superdim ends here, but the next installment- Moonstrike- starts where Superdim leaves off. Keep posted for Moonstrike Mondays, coming soon!

Moonstrike Preview, Chapter 1

"I need to postpone basic training," Ji Min texted. She was leaning up against the kitchen counter. "Work is sending me out of state." Somewhere outside, a child shrieked. She could hear the beeping of a crosswalk.

The response came quickly. "For how long?"

"Two weeks," she texted back. The prediction she'd been given was 1.5, but these things almost always ran long. Besides, it was best to lie. She hadn't given them her identity yet. Any accurate information was a clue.

"That's unfortunate," messaged Alejandro, the suit who was arranging her government hero training. "We had aligned your training with another new start in the program. You're sure you can't rearrange things with work?"

Ji Min snorted. Well, she was glad to miss that. "Sorry to hear that," she lied. "It's non negotiable. I'll catch up in training as best as I can." She put her burner phone away without waiting to see what the government had to say about that.

She already knew that they wanted her to be financially dependent on them. They weren’t forcing the issue, but they were very clear that she could quit her job and live on the general salary and benefits package that came from state heroism. Ji Min didn’t need to wait for Alejandro’s reply to know that he’d be doom and gloom about her chances to catch up in training. He'd probably caution that it wasn't going to be that easy, she had to expect a hard time, yada yada. If training was as hard as he kept saying, she'd be genuinely surprised. There were plenty of incompetent heroes bumbling their way through life.

Birds chirped outside. She glanced out the window to confirm that the weather looked idyllic. She wanted to feel the sun on her face, turning her hair hot and warming her shoulders.

She let out a heavy sign and went to her closet to dig out her rain gear.

Ari thumped her way down the stairs and into the living room. She gave Ji Min an amused look. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Ji Min echoed. She snapped open a plastic storage container and started lifting up winter coats in search of what she needed.

"Your rain boots are in the hall closet." Ari opened the fridge and pulled out eggs and bacon. "You start the coffee?"

Ji Min tugged out the rain coat and shoved the box back into the closet. "No, sorry."

"I'll get it, then." She heard a drawer slide open.

"No, no, it's my job." Ji Min closed the closet and followed her sister into the kitchen. "Dark roast okay today?"

The burner flicked on. Ari snickered. "Long day?" The scent of olive oil wafted over as Ari unscrewed the cap.

Ji Min sighed theatrically without pausing in measuring coffee beans. "I've gotta go out of state, do field work after that hurricane." She started the grinder.

"Better you than me." Ari checked the heat of the cast iron pan and started cracking eggs into it.

Ji Min side-eyed her and resisted the urge to tell Ari to crack them into a bowl first. Ari knew that trick, she just didn't want to do it.

"Don't." Ari put the rest of the eggs away.

Ji Min put her hands up. "I didn't say anything!" She protested.

"You were thinking about the egg bowl."

"You don't know what I was thinking," Ji Min lied, and poked her sister in the side with a finger.

Ari made a satisfying shriek and brandished the spatula at her. "I will hit you!" She threatened.

Ji Min rolled her eyes. "Is this the limit of your pacifism?"

"Older sisters are an exception," Ari snapped back. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and proceeded to ignore Ji Min.

Fair enough. Ji Min put bread into the toaster, ready for the magic of transformation. Then she got out everything they needed from the fridge, moving around Ari as she set the table. She breathed in the sweet and spicy scent of fermented kimchi and the savory smell of cream cheese.

"Stop sniffing our breakfast, weirdo," Ari complained.

"I'll sniff what I want." Ji Min scooped out what they needed and mixed them together briskly. She stuck the remainder in the fridge and was spreading the dreamy mixture on toast by the time Ari brought over eggs, ready to slide on top. Ji Min poured the coffee. They ate in silence.

Ji Min was the first to break it, once her toast was gone. "Finals are coming up, right? Three weeks out?"

Ari sighed and looked into her coffee cup. "Yeah." She stirred it unenthusiastically. "I'm going to fail my Econ final. I'll scrape a pass, I did well on the earlier work. But it's not going to be good."

"You are not going to fail," Ji Min said, appalled. "We'd never hear the end of it. What's going wrong?"

Ari shrugged. "It doesn't make sense to me, and I don't have the time to study it enough. I have to prioritize the essays I have. I really don't think I can fit it all in."

Ji Min grimaced. "How many hours are you doing at the café?"

"25 a week." Ari looked up at her. "Why?"

She pointed at her little sister. "If you promise to pass Econ, you can take the next three weeks off, or quit if they don't agree. I don't care. I'll cover you. You're almost to graduation anyway."

"No way," Ari said, but Ji Min could tell she was tempted. "I don't want to leech off of you."

"In three months you'll probably be making more money than me in some firm." Ji Min shrugged. "You can get me a good birthday gift. Do you need a tutor?" She cocked her head. "If the way the professor explained things didn't stick, you're probably not going to get it by banging your head against your books."

Ari sucked in air through her teeth.

That was answer enough. Ji Min stood up, leaving her plate. "I'll leave my blue debit card, take out what you need."

"What's the limit?" Ari asked swiftly.

Ji Min snorted. "I'd pay a lot to keep our family from demanding to know why you didn't do well in one gen ed class." She pursed her lips. "Call me if you need more than a thousand, but I'll laugh at you for getting cheated by the tutor."

"That's fair," Ari said.

"You're doing the dishes."

Ari made a sour face, but she didn't argue. She left the apartment first, en route to a class.

Ji Min had more time. She finished packing and hauled everything to the door. Then she stretched out on the sofa and turned on the T.V. to the news.

She immediately huffed a laugh at how topical the story was. They were recapping the whole alien invasion thing. Ji Min was bored enough to turn up the volume and watch a manic-eyed reporter interview Heatwave. She bit her lower lip, watching the older hero talk.

Most anonymous heroes covered their eyes: he'd taken the opposite route by covering everything else. You could see that he had long lashes, brown skin, and orange eyes. He probably just wore colored contacts in his private life and wound up anonymous.

He was actually one of the impressive ones, an international hero with the U.N. His teammates were probably still engaged with cleanup as he calmly reiterated that there had been no civilian casualties and that the invaders had been successfully repelled.

"They were repelled because they came to Norway and that's atrocious," Ji Min sniffed, and turned the T.V. back off. She knew she was being bitter, but the E.U. had all the top hero teams. It was like soccer: the USA was too stubborn to get involved early on, and now they lagged behind. If they were the top of the pile, Americans would be insufferable about it. But since they sucked, they turned their noses up at international heroism.

It could change, though, she realized. They were putting a lot of money into recruitment. Maybe that was the goal.

Hmm. Would she want to be on a comparable team, maybe for North America or just the Americas in general? Mexican heroism was stylish. She'd work with one of them, for sure.

She thought about it. She was still going back and forth on whether she was genuinely becoming a hero or if she was just grifting the government for supplies and training.

"It would be pretty cool to be a founding member of an international team," Ji Min admitted to herself, toying with the idea.

Despite what Alejandro said… she believed that she was better than the average hero recruit. Maybe what he'd said had even reinforced that, if she was honest. The physical limits he'd mentioned were news to her.

"I might just have been born better than everyone else," she mused. She got up to make another coffee. "It might be nice to show off."

She dodged in a roll. She heard something hit the wall behind her.

"You're fast," Gene said. It wasn't a compliment. He fired again.

Ji-Min shrieked and leapt halfway across the room. She sprinted to the entry and bounced off a fast-moving wraith.

"Grab er!"

She dropped into a roll, hoping to move past the wraith below grabbing range. It was time to go, Hammer could just win this time.

It was too late for bargaining. Bony fingers dug into her shoulder and halted her motion. She tried to twist away. The world spun around her and her head hit the ground with a crack.

For a moment, she was dazed. Metal screeched and she was heaved upwards, against the wall. She didn't know what was happening but then there was a weight on her chest. That seemed…bad.

Then she heard the slow sound of footsteps toward her.

He was going to shoot her at close range.

Ji-Min struggled, trying to jerk away. The skeletal hands holding her had no give. She realized that the metal had been twisted off the wall to pin her.

“Thanks, friend,” said the cowboy. He sounded touched. “I treasure your reliability and consideration.” He pulled the gun out of his belt and pointed it at her head. “Goodbye, law woman. Awful sorry about this, but we are diametrically opposed forces.”

Fuck, what a stupid way to go.

“No!” Hammer bellowed.

Ji-Min blinked up at him. She hadn't heard him come back in the room.

Gene stopped, finger still on the hammer of his gun. “No?” He repeated. His voice was only curious. He cocked his head to the side. “Why no?”

Hammer staggered to his feet, using the wall as a brace. He pointed one huge hand at her. “That’s my rival.” He sounded scandalized. “Look- each supervillain needs a superhero. For balance. One day, one of us will kill the other.” He paused. “Or we could fall in love,” Hammer amended offhand.

Ji-Min shuddered.

“There’s only two ways for this to go,” Hammer explained passionately.

‘That’s three,’ Ji-Min thought. ‘I kill him, he kills me, romance. Three possibilities, according to his logic.’ She kept the correction inside. She wanted to live.

“Wow,” marveled Gene. He nodded slowly and holstered his weapon. “That makes a lot of sense. She’s your dramatic opposite.”

“The Ying to my yam,” Hammer said wisely. “We need each other. Our identities define the other.” He shook his head once and pulled his fingers through his hair to arrange it.

She wanted to die of mortification, just a little bit, but she wanted to live more. So she nodded along, in case her opinion had any weight.

“She agrees with me!” Hammer pointed victoriously. “Does this mean you’ll accept my help with your branding?” He made a gesture that meant nothing to Ji-Min. “The all-black thing is kinda cool, in a mean ninja way, but you could really use a public relations strategy.”

A wave of ice cold hate washed over her. She gritted her jaw shut so that she didn’t say anything.

“I bet there’s some really cool shit on the security footage.” Hammer put a hand on his hip. “I’m going to release the video of you throwing that big moon at me, that’s so awesome. That makes both of us look good.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out… a second phone. “Scoot over, would you buddy?”

Ji-Min didn’t track what was going on. She belatedly realized that she'd hit her head, like, really hard. Gene accommodated Hammer easily, moving a few steps to the left, away from her.

The phone clicked.

He…

“You took a selfie with me,” Ji-Min said. Her voice sounded haunted. It seemed to belong to someone else. Maybe this wasn't even happening to her. Maybe it wasn't her body lying on the floor. Had she double-checked?

Hammer turned around and grinned at her. “Well, yeah,” he said. “You’re going on my feed. Wanna check the photo before I post? We can retake it.”

Noooo. This couldn't be happening. Nooooo.

Ji-Min screamed again, a sad little shriek of frustration.

“Damn,” Hammer said approvingly. “That’s cool too.” He angled the phone so that she could see it. It…

It did look pretty cool. You could see the destruction behind her, and the twisted metal pinning her to the wall made it obvious that she wasn’t a total loser who had gone down easily. She wasn’t unconscious or anything, so it wasn’t that embarrassing.

‘I hate that he’s right. This will make both of us look impressive.’

He didn’t even earn it, though. Ji-Min gritted her teeth. She’d been kicking his ass until Gene and his boys showed up.

She might have lost some time. She vaguely remembered hearing Gene's voice. The next thing she registered was Hammer kneeling by her to show his phone.

She was aware he was talking. She vaguely registered his screen showed her and a caption that included "@ the Planetarium with my heroic rival Moonstrike 🌙 💥 (better luck next time 😜 🔥 🔨 to 💪!!!)"

Hammer said something that sounded like a question. She said yes, to make him go away. Her head was spinning and pounding.

They were gone, she realized.

That got her up. Ji-Min sat up-

And punished the breath out of her own ribs by using them to bend away the iron that Gene had apparently twisted in front of her. She gasped, hand to her chest, and then slid out from underneath.

She might have lost some time feeling sorry for herself. She'd lost. She'd lost to two hot dimwits.

Ji-Min sniffled, and tried to wipe away a tear. Her hand met her mask. Oh, good. That was still on. "You're not my yam!" She shouted to the empty building. "You're not my yam!"

A car door slammed.

She blinked. She got up, using the wall for balance. She tried to find a window. It took a while. When she did, that car was gone. She did see headlights, four sets of headlights. Heading for her.

"Oh, shit," she said. Her voice echoed. She stumbled towards the door, blood pounding in every vessel in her head. Someone was coming. She had to go. She was at the scene of a crime and she had to go.

"Moonstrike. I'm glad to see you up on your own."

Ji-Min would have jumped out of her own skin if she didn't feel so nauseous.

She stared. There were four people in suits coming up the stairs from the lower level.

“It’s good to see you in person. We weren’t expecting you,” the top agent said with a friendly nod at her. “We just follow Hammer around when he’s out of prison, since he’s sociable and easily found.” He surveyed the wrecked planetarium. “It’s generally a good bet that he’ll lead us to other criminals.”

Shit. They were investigating super crime. They were from the Bureau of Heroics. Feds? They seemed like Feds, not local.

Ji-Min felt her stomach twist into a knot. She didn’t say anything.

"Give us a minute, would you?" The man who seemed to be in charge waived off his subordinates and focused on her.

Ji-Min watched warily. He didn't get very close when he addressed her directly. He used the same calm tone you'd use on a wild animal. That was probably a good idea, given that all she wanted right now was her hitting stick.

"Moonstrike, is it?" The agent eyed the devastation. "I gather that you didn't expect ten opponents, but this was impressive nonetheless." He took a couple of meandering steps closer. He had a voice fit for movies, smooth and smoky. It was almost enough to make her relax. "I heard you did some good work earlier today in town." Something smug curled into the smile on his mouth.

“....Thank you,” Ji-Min said stiffly. She tried to look like she was not a criminal. Her heart was pounding. This was too many people to fight her way through. She was a sneaky type. This was bad, very bad. Any moment now, they were going to realize that she wasn’t any registered hero, that she must have been at the scene of a crime for a different reason-

The Federal agent nodded. “My superiors want you to consider getting into contact.” He produced a card.

She looked at it. After a moment, she reached out and took it. At a glance, it was his business card. She eyed him suspiciously. “Alejandro,” Ji-Min said, eyes darting between him and the card.

This was… good?

“To my friends, yes,” Alejandro the suit agreed blandly. “We understand that you seem to like your privacy. We can work with that. We want you to know that we can provide resources for your fight against crime.”

Ji-Min swallowed down a hysterical laugh. Yes. Her fight against crime. That was definitely what she was doing. “Resources?” She kept her tone neutral.

Alejandro nodded. “Federal heroes receive a competitive salary as well as a discretionary budget for crime-fighting paraphernalia.”

She realized, with a heady feeling, that she had accidentally conned her way into getting paid. Ji-Min stood stock still. The literal first thing that she’d done after getting superpowers was look up how to do crime for profit without getting caught. And the government wanted to get her on retainer.

‘This could be very useful,’ Ji-Min realized. “Thank you,” she said again. She cleared her throat. “I’ll be in touch.”

‘If I have a heroic persona, I can avoid getting in trouble. If I get caught or unmasked, I can say I’m a hero. No one is going to connect a federal retainer with larceny.’

Plus, holy shit. They’d pay her to upgrade her equipment. She liked the hitting stick, but the government could probably get her something better.

The ghost of a smile flickered over Alejandro’s face for the first time. “I look forward to your call. Now.” He indicated the room. “We can take care of this situation. You can leave, if you like.”

She took her leave, still in disbelief at how lucky she had been.

Ji-Min wasn't honestly sure how she got back to her car. She had the impression of walking a very long time. That might have meant that she got lost. It might have just meant that everything seemed very difficult with a concussion.

Her phone was in the car. Of course it was. Phones track you.

She sat in the driver's seat and picked it up. There was a notification from an account that she followed. She opened it to see Hammer's selfie with her. The next video had been ripped from the museum's security camera.

Extremely late, she realized that he'd had someone watching it live. That was how he'd snuck up on her.

Ji-Min looped a video a few times, watching herself wrench a concrete ball the size of a puffy reclining chair off of its frame and lob it at Hammer's back.

It looked pretty fucking sick, honestly. She took a screen recording.

After a while she realized that she had a voicemail from an unknown number. Her first thought was the paranoid jump that the FBH had already tracked down her information. She checked it.

"Sorry about how late this is," Gene drawled.

She shrieked and dropped the phone. The recording kept playing through her car's speakers.

"Calling in regards to your offer to help with my car. I'll send the - the gee pee ess point tomorrow. Thank you."

She listened to it again. Yeah. Ji-Min put a hand on her head. In the background she heard her own faint voice, shouting "my yam! You're not my yam!"