#themutation

The Engine sat at the table pressed up against the back wall of the New-Moon Diner, his favorite table, he would say, as it let him see all the comings and goings of the day. “When your back’s up against a wall, you can see everything,” he had told Nate, which Nate thought was not only a stupid thing to say, but also factually incorrect. The diner was well lit, with two glass-doors for an entrance and windows scattered haphazardly across the perimeter of the restaurant. Across the walls there were simple paintings of moon-lit nights, which traversed to the ceiling all leading up to one, giant, painted moon on the ceiling, which a cheap chandelier dangled from. Nate and Jake sat at the very back of the diner, across from the bar where many poor, fattening men sat on the bright, cushion-covered stools talking abruptly about the abstract horrors they pretended to encounter on a daily basis. Nate could hear them bragging and complaining.

“You’re gonna love the food here, man, I come here like twice a day,” Jake told him while tapping his fingers on the table to no particular beat. He was dressed in his engine costume, a blue T-shirt, with his symbol — an uppercase E inside of a circle — plastered in orange on the center of his chest, and blue shorts with a white streak on either side. On his feet he wore white running shoes that had now become so discolored Nate could hardly tell that they had once been white. He had remembered the Engine once bitching or boasting (Nate was not quite sure) about how he went through one pair of shoes a week. On his face he wore a simple, stereotypical blue mask that only served to cover his eyes. The Engine’s costume was one of the most constantly changing costume of all the heroes. Nate has seen his costume go from red to green to yellow to blue, with eight or nine tries at an insignia before settling for the one he now wore. Nate looked down at his own costume, his black button-up, black pants, fingerless gloves, and goggles and wondered if he needed a change himself. He wanted to change it when he had changed his hero-name, but he had decided that brand recognition would help him rather than hurt him. The Engine had no such qualms. “Have you thought anymore about my plan?”

“I don’t like it.” Nate said shakily. He held his hands firm on the table as he looked up at Jake, who was still wearing his trademark smile. Nate internally let out a sigh of relief.

“Why not?” Jake pressed.

“Stopping villains when they do crime, well, that’s our job. Going to their homes and attacking them? That’s a little like what they do.” Nate said, slowly and carefully, attempting not to offend.

“Of course it is.” Jake agreed, and Nate’s eyebrows brushed his hairline. “To stop them, you have to think like them, do things that they do. It’s common sense.” He took a long sip of water. “Besides, what happens if we stop them ‘the right way?’ More often than not they escape with whatever they wanted in the first place, but not before hurting civilians or heroes.”

“While I can’t argue that, we can’t attack someone before they’ve committed a crime. How would you justify that?”

“Well, the courts generally don’t care where you find them, as long as they have super-villain priors.” Nate grunted, obviously finding the prospect unappetizing. “Look, if you’ve got a problem, you don’t have to come, I can do it myself.” Nate paused, looking at the hero in front of him. The third highest-ranked hero in New Monmouth City.

“Fine.” Nate said, forcing a smile. “Let’s get started.” Just then the waitress — a cute, young, ginger woman with a name tag tagged just above her right breast that read: “Hi, my name is: Jackie” — brought over their food, a burger for Nate, and a burger, two pizzas, and a salad for Jake. Nate watched in horror and admiration as the Engine devoured the food, his hands and mouth a blur as the food slowly disappeared from the table. Nate’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out under the table. It was a text from Courtney: Can I work the hero-shift with you today?

Nate responded: No, but if it’s any solace, the guy I’m working with is an absolute douchebag. Next time, I promise.

The Engine had explained the plan to Nate many times. They were to go to the residence of Trickshot, break in the door, and nab her before she had any knowledge of what was going on. Nate had not needed the plan explained so many times, as it was a fairly simple plan, but Jake insisted. Menace, ever-striving for efficiency (and recently striving to be well liked), had an idea to reduce the damage done, if not the legality of the entire operation.

“Hey, Liam.” Nate spoke into his phone. “You’re not on duty today, right?”

“Nope.”

“Cool, do you mind if I borrow your stuff?” Liam groaned into the phone.

“Does that mean I have to get up, get it, and get it to you?”

“No, I can swing by.”

“Then sure, man, do whatever you want.”

Twenty minutes later, Nate was back with the Engine, waiting outside the apartment of the villain. Jake glared at him impatiently as he returned, tapping his foot repeatedly. “What did you need to get?” The Engine asked, but Nate put his finger to his mouth. They were just outside the house, and Nate did not want to get caught breaking and entering, especially by the villain they were trying to capture. Nate pulled from his pocket the small, metal sphere he had borrowed. And felt the solid form shake and tremble like a liquid in his hands. The metal began to shift and shape, and take on the form and color of a small, golden key. Nate and Jake were standing on the second floor of an apartment complex, and not a well kept one. Garbage and broken things loitered the walkways, and there was a constant stench of cigarettes. The door they were trying to unlock was painted a sickly shade of green — as were all the rest — and looked as though it had been either out of use for fifty years, or constantly in use to the point that it was so dulled and broken that it no longer remembered the use it once had. Nate slid the key into the key hole, turned it sharply, and heard the door unlock.

The Forge of Creation was an interesting object, Nate always thought. It undeniably had a will and consciousness of its own, something that the Forge (the hero) never stopped talking about. With that consciousness, he would explain, the Forge of Creation would only respond to the touch of those it had an affinity for. Thus, it did not necessarily have to deem someone worthy based on merit or bloodline, but for any reason at all. For the most part, the Forge of Creation decided that he only liked the Forge, and for a long time he was the only one who could use it. That is, until one night at a party when Nate made a particularly stupid joke about fashioning it into an object used for female, sexual pleasure and, for some reason, the Forge of Creation began to respond to him. Since then, he and the Forge always joked about how he was chosen for his shitty sense of humor.

The Engine pushed the door open, evidently not caring who heard, and stormed into the room. Nate removed the key from the door and watched the key reform into the swirling metal sphere. He then followed the Engine into the room. As Nate stepped into the hallway/foyer, he noticed a few paintings on the wall that were fairly classy. The first was of a winter’s day in the city, an oil painting on canvas, and he wondered if she had painted it herself. The pictures all shared the same motif — a winter’s day in a crowded place — and all the same style. They were beautiful. It was the art of someone who had earned the skill, someone who had practiced day and night to create exactly what they intended. He had chills running up and down his spine as he walked out of the hallway into the large, open living space. For the apartment of a villain, Nate thought that it was exceptionally clean. There were no loose papers, garbage, or food strewn about, nor was the television left on or the pillows askew. The television was against the left wall of the apartment, separated from the powder blue couch by a dew feet and a coffee table. A bookshelf stood under the window on the north wall of the apartment, a window that opened to reveal many crowded shops and busy streets, from the perspective of the first painting on the wall.

Nate noticed the Engine was moving slowly, but not carefully. Nate could tell that Jake was far from overcome by the beauty of the apartment, but instead assumed a casual nature, as though any territory he might come across were as comfortable and inviting as home.

There were two doors on the right wall of the living room, and Nate moved to examine the one closer to him. It was clear white, which collided well with the soft, blue rug that that adorned the floor, and the wintery motif of the apartment. He held the metal circle tightly in his hand as he pressed open the door, and his nostrils were embraced by the warm scent of artful baking. His eyes had to adjust to the new color palette presented to him in the kitchen, the yellow-white tile floors, the brownish red cabinets and the harsh silver of the pots and pans hanging carefully on the wall. A girl stood washing her hands at the sink, glancing over at the oven every few seconds as she washed. She was humming a song from a Disney movie that Nate recognized, and he couldn’t help but allow a smile to cross onto his face. The girl had blonde hair, tied in a messy bun above her head, and was wearing a baggy sky-blue shirt that fell down to her knees, covering either underwear or very short shorts. She was wearing white socks as well, which Nate only noticed as he saw her slide across the tiled floor to the oven, where she easily pulled down the lid to look inside. She paused for a moment, squinted her eyes and puckered her lips a bit, shook her head, and closed the oven. She was clearly lost in thoughts as she turned around and noticed the boy dressed in black that had entered into her kitchen. When she turned, Nate saw her eyes widen, and his immediately followed, remembering that he had broken into a supposed villain’s apartment. He was more taken aback, however, by the girl’s bright blue eyes. They were vibrant yet warm, sharp and childish, the comforting contradiction of a hot cup of chocolate during a winter storm. From her eyes he followed the curve of her nose to small, supple lips that fell into and out of form with ease as she inhaled and exhaled.

She didn’t say a word, and neither did he, as they both stood there trying to understand what was happening and what was going to happen next. Nate could feel the metal sphere in his hand tighten as though it were in shock as well, or, perhaps, ready for action. He refused to give the sphere shape. He had never seen the villain Trickshot before, and had absolutely no idea what she looked like, but he felt that the girl in front of him could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be evil. He realized that he and the girl had now been staring at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time, but he could hardly help himself enough to look away. He felt he should say something, but he had absolutely no idea what. As fortune would have it, he did not have to, as Jake Silver flung open the door behind him and stepped in to take a place at his side. He was frowning quite pronouncedly, as though he were putting on a performance. The expression on the girl’s face turned from mild surprise to disgust as she turned away, back towards the oven to check her food.

“What are you doing here, Jake?” She said, her voice pointed with something that felt like the snapping of an icicle. Jake took a step forward and the girl grabbed a pan hanging on the wall, all while keeping her back to him. Nate silently cursed the Engine as he suddenly felt a desperate need to be alone with this girl, to see what her face looked like when she smiled, to hear her voice be calm and collected, or feel the warmth in her laugh. He maintained composer, nonetheless, and turned to face the Engine, despite his current state of unhappiness.

“We were charged with bringing you in.” Jake lied to her, as he took another step closer. The kitchen was not very large, and he was almost within reaching distance of the blonde girl. Nate could see Jake vibrating now, as he often did when was excited. The Engine, while impressive, was never the best at controlling his powers, something Nate had seen on many occasions. Steam began to rise from Jake’s feet and legs as he kept shaking faster and faster. “Either come quietly, or we will make you come.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” She said, and Nate could hear the fear lining her words as she spoke. “This has to be some kind of mistake.” She said, clutching the handle of the pan tightly enough for the color to drain from the back of her hand. “I haven’t done anything.” Nate was watching the scene in horror, but he had no idea what to do. He had had people deny his charges before, but this was different.

“Then maybe we should go.” Nate said, trying to lock eyes with Jake so that he might leave her alone.

“That would be counterproductive to the mission.” Jake insisted, taking another step forward. Nate could not explain why, but he felt it essential to enter into the first stage of his powers. He felt the snap inside of him, and suddenly the colors of the room seemed more vivid, and somehow even more cohesive. The girl who was a stunning beauty before seemed to be immaculate in the new light, and he could not understand how someone was able to construct a room so appealing to hyper-sensitive eyes unless she had them herself. His hands surrounded the Forge of Creation now, as well, but he was not sure what would be the most useful to him. “Why don’t you turn that thing into handcuffs for our new prisoner, eh?” Jake said, noticing Nate’s hesitance. Nate felt something almost like vomit bubble in the back of his throat. “Or are you going to come quietly, Trickshot?” He asked, turning back to the girl.

“That’s not me anymore.” She said, on the verge of tears. “I don’t want to go back there.” She took a large sniff in, in attempts to regain composure, and she turned to the two heroes in her kitchen. “Please leave.”

“I think we might be able to do that.” Jake said. Nate looked at her, noticing the redness of her eyes and how her sadness unequivocally contradicted her entire appearance, her entire persona, her entire being. “If you do something for us.” Nate looked at Jake curiously, wondering what he could possibly mean, when he made the mistake of glancing down at the revealing portion of Jake’s shorts.

“No.” Nate decided, feeling the vomit rise further into his mouth. “We’re sorry for bothering you, ma’am,” he continued, “we will confer with our director to make sure we got the right order. I’ll make sure someone other than him comes to get you if there is a problem.”

Jake turned to him and Nate could see the anger on his face. The steam that rose from his back intensified until the room was nearly filled with the mist coming from his body. The Forge of Creation that Nate held formed instinctively into a large, circular shield that covered most of Nate’s body. They were staring at each other now, Menace with curiosity, apprehension, and fear, and the Engine with annoyance and disgust

“After I extended my willingness to help you…” The Engine was sure to rise to his full height, which was not much taller than Menace’s. “Forget it.” Before Nate could blink his eyes the Engine had disappeared from the room, leaving only the footprints across the blue rug of the girl’s living room. Way to go, Nate, he complimented himself, trapped in the dichotomy of being a good hero, probably gonna be the number one hero next time around.

“I’m sorry about all this.” Nate told the girl, who had been watching with a mix of interest and fear.

“It’s alright.” She said, and he could feel the warmth of a gentle breeze in her voice. “He comes here from time to time.” Nate could not hide the confusion on his face, so she continued: “We used to date, you see. So I don’t mind it that much.” Nate was afraid to ask what “it” was referring to.

“If I wasn’t here, would he have done it?” Nate asked. The girl looked at him for a moment too long. She opened her mouth, then shut it, moving to go check the oven.

“Who’s to say?” She answered, finally. “My name is Eloise, by the way. From the way you were staring back there, I was sure you’d want to know.”

“Some heroes do that.” Anthony explained to him. “They feel it’s their right, their place in the world. They own all of the villains, because villains are bad and heroes are good, and so the heroes get whatever they’d like from the villains.”

“Why do you know this?” Nate asked; Menace had been a hero far longer than the Mutation had been, and he had never once had an inkling that something like this had transpired.

“I pay attention.” He responded. They sat on the couch in Anthony’s apartment, a small couch in a small apartment. They both sat, drinking water and watching Game of Thrones on low volume, so that they might converse.

“I’ve been telling myself,” Nate began abruptly, “that I would let Courtney come with me on the hero thing. I promise it to myself, I promise it to her.” He paused. “I just can’t. Look at things like this happening. What would she do if she were stuck in that situation? What if she got hurt?”

“Don’t let her get hurt, then.”

“But what if that gets in the way of stopping criminals?”

“Then let her get hurt.”

“You aren’t helping.”

“Heroes get hurt, Nate, deal with it. I can’t remember the last time you or I fought someone and did not get hurt. Case in point.” Anthony held up his wrist, still wrapped in a cast from his fight with Magnet Man. “As a teacher and teammate, all you can hope to do is teach her right from wrong and how to not get herself killed. You’re one of the best heroes at doing that.”

“If you say so.” Nate sighed. “I think today I shot my chances at being the number one hero in the foot. I guess it’s back to solo-work for me.”

Nate’s neck was sore. He moved his finger around the two tiny incisions made in his neck by the Count’s fangs, wincing each time he did. He was still reeling from the effects of the blood-loss; he felt weak. Officially, Menace was on bed-rest for the week, having been injured severely in a fight with a super-villain, who escaped the scene shortly thereafter, before reinforcements could arrive. Unofficially, Nate was in the middle of the Wharton State forest, planting a garden with the White Witch, while the Mutation kept a close watch on the mannerisms of Count Drake. Said Count woke up in the daytime with a severely broken jaw and no memory of the night. The moonlit persona of the Count seemed to be out of commission, at least for the time being.

“I don’t understand why I have to help.” Courtney puffed as she forced a wooden plank into the ground, establishing the makings of a fence for the garden. She was wearing her trademark white sweater, which dropped past her knees, and white ballet shoes. Dirt marked her clothes, something she was less than thrilled about, and the notion of physical labor seemed to be foreign to her. She didn’t understand why Nate wouldn’t simply let her use her magic to establish  a boundary line, or let her use her magic to do any of the other labor.

“You’ve basically been living here the past couple weeks,” Nate told her, “you’ve gotta earn your keep somehow.” Nate didn’t really care that the kid had been living in the cube for the past couple weeks, nor did he really need her help in planting the garden. In the time it had taken her to plant one picket, he had dug up the grass inside a six by six square for the garden; she wasn’t so much helping as she was constantly complaining. He had asked her to help to make sure she was okay: she had been sleeping at the cube for almost three weeks now, without having gone home in the daytime. Nate was waiting to see a missing person report in the paper, but none had come. He was worried about her, and he wondered if he was the first person to ever feel that way. “Besides, when you’re a hero, you’re gonna need to do much harder work than this. Maybe you should consider this training of sorts.”

“Cool your jets there, Mr. Miyagi.” Courtney said, deciding, finally, to expend the effort to put another stick another wooden plank in the ground. “I don’t need your help.” Nate stood across from her, slightly befuddled, waiting for an explanation. “I practice my magic for six hours,” she took a small breath then repeated with emphasis, “six hours a day, Nate. You know what you do with your time? You go on dates. You hang out with friends. You plant gardens. Why don’t you train sometime?” She went to pick up another stick, and shoved it down into the third corner of the garden.

“You gotta take time to be a person, Court.” Nate responded, smiling just a little. “Otherwise what’s the point?” He grabbed the fourth plank of wood and forced it into the ground around the perfect square of prepared land. He pulled from his pocket a bag of garlic bulbs, and began to plant them in the ground; he hoped Bram Stoker wasn’t full of shit.

The Mutation was a hero worth the title. He, much like the white witch, spent much of his time training, working, thinking. He attempted to always be prepared, to always be ready. There was a special function of those who signed on to be heroes, and this function scared the living daylights out of most heroes. It was called the “catastrophic event function,” and its protocol was to call every hero in the state together to halt the end of the world. During the last CEF, Mutation remembered, Ultraman took charge. He assigned everyone tasks, and everyone obeyed him without question. The Mutation sighed and pulled off his jacket, a brown aviator jacket with the sleeves cut to the elbow, and a hooded man insignia on its shoulder. He was wearing, now, a hooded gray shirt with the sleeves similarly cut, but the insignia on his chest was that of a broken strand of DNA.

His name was Anthony Carlucci, and he had only joined the hero business six months before Ultraman died. He hadn’t been a hero long enough to be relaxed in his duties, and he was afraid of those who had. He kept training because, when the next catastrophic event occurred, he knew that someone had to be ready. He fingered the metal ring that shone over his right index finger, and then squeezed it into his palm. The palm of his hand began to take on a metal hue, the silver-gray tang of the metal climbing around his hand and then up his arm to the elbow. His shift had just begun.

He sat atop the roof of his house, a small town-house near the center of the city, and looked out over the town. If he looked North he could see the town-square, a small brick square surrounded by grass, with small benches on either side. The sun was just setting, and the air was cool against his skin. If he looked to the South, he could make out the tree tops of the Wharton State Forest, where he knew the Menace was attempting to grow garlic to hang around the Count’s Burlesque House. He sighed, wishing he had made it in time to apprehend the Count after taking Nate to the hospital, but the Count was gone when he had returned, and Count Drake seemed to have no recollection of the night when he had gone to speak with him. He then looked East to the location of the Count’s mansion, which he could not make out because it was shrouded in trees. To the West was the shopping district, and the main center of crime in the city. Anthony could not remember the last time a night had passed without some crime occurring in the shopping district. He sighed as he stood and climbed to the ground.

“Nate, I need you.” He spoke quietly into the phone as he hid inside the Ye Olde Music Shop, closing the blinds so that no one outside the shop could see in.

“What’s up, Mutt?” Nate responded.

“There’s a bank robbery about to happen, a truck has been parked outside the Capital One for about an hour now, no markings, no nothing. It looks like they’re waiting for the guards to switch shifts.”

“Why do you need my help?” Nate asked, yawning a little to show mild disinterest.

“I think it’s Magnet Man; the metal on my arm is acting weird, like it’s giving me resistance when I move it in certain directions. You’re better for fighting him than I am.”

“Fine, give me twenty minutes and I’ll be right there.”

“I need you to do it in ten.”

“No promises.” Nate hung up the phone.

The Mutation swayed his arm back and forth, feeling the odd tingling that came whenever his metal came near Magnet Man. He thought about the last time they had come into contact, and how thoroughly the man had trounced him. That was nearly four months ago, he reminded himself, I’m different now. He had no more time than that, however, as the bank alarm exploded into existence. God damn it, Menace, he thought, cursing the fact that Nate hadn’t arrived yet. He burst out of the music store, running across the street, through the bullet-proof glass door into the bank. He looked around, seeing a man and woman cowering, stuck together in the corner of the bank. The bank attendants all seemed pinned to the front desk by some invisible force. The black plastic rope that was used to keep  a line in order had been pushed to the ground.

In the back of the room, a man stood collecting money from the safe; Anthony wondered why, in a day of technological advancement such as this, bank still held safes. He was dressed very oddly, with his hair spiked up to a few inches above his head. He wore a bright purple mask to cover his eyes and another for his mouth, the suit he wore was a skin-tight, leather-looking suit that was entirely black save for four large purple half-moons, two on either side. Around his waist he wore thin needles that dangled loosely against the suit. “Freeze!” The Mutation yelled, and the man turned to look at him.

“Oh, hello there, Mutation, is it?” Magnet Man laughed. “Listen, kid, turn around and walk out now and I won’t hurt you.” Anthony didn’t move. The man stepped forward. “You do remember what happened last time, right?” Still, the Mutation remained standing to block the exit. “Alright, I suppose we have to do this the hard way.” The man dropped the cliched sack he’d brought to loot money, and stepped forward to stand straight across from the Mutation.

He unlatched a needle from his waistband and hurled it at the Mutation, who quickly moved his metal arm to deflect it. Magnet Man, taking advantage of the Mutation blocking his own line of vision to block his needle, ran forward while throwing another needle at his leg. Anthony dropped his arm to see the Magnet Man running towards him, and decided to square himself into a fighting position, just as the needle ran through his leg. He grunted in pain, and glanced down to see what had done the damage, as the villain grabbed his wrists, one in either hand.

Suddenly his wrists began pulling towards each other ferociously, held back only by Magnet Man’s hands. The Mutation pulled his good leg forward and kicked the villain in the center of his chest, forcing him to let go of his arms, and fall back, but not before he made a desperate grasp for the leg that kicked him, and brushed his foot with his  left hand as he fell. The Mutation knew what came now, he remembered it so well from last time. His two wrists flew towards each other, his metal one slamming into the one of his skin, and he could feel his wrist bone shatter. He yelped in pain as the polarity of his arms returned to normal, allowing him to separate his arms.

Magnet Man gasped for air as the kick had done a number on him. He, still gasping, put on a small smile as he moved his right hand around four needles that were still around his waist. Suddenly, all stood at attention, pointing themselves vehemently at the Mutation’s foot. He started unlatching them, one by one, and they flew towards his foot, dragged by the invisible, magnetic force. Anthony, letting his gut reaction dictate his movements, immediately pulled his foot upwards and backwards to avoid the needles, realizing as he did it how stupid of a move it was. The needles followed his foot, but at the new angle they had to travel, they slashed through his ankle. Anthony shouted some profanity then fell to his knees.

“Still want to fight, good man?” Magnet Man said, having recovered from the wind being knocked out of him. The villain laughed in triumph as he moved to get his moneybag from the back of the bank. The Mutation’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out. It was a message from Menace: Kiss the ground. Anthony fell down onto his stomach, and let his arms fall to his side with him. “I see you’ve finally given up.” Magnet Man said with glee, as Anthony felt a cool breeze wash directly over him. He noticed that the wind didn’t recede and resurge as wind normally does, but it kept coming, slowly at first, but then continued to build rapidly until the clothes began to pull up on his back. Magnet Man approached him, obviously unfettered by the wind, and looked down on him in condescension. “Looks like you aren’t quite ready to be a hero.” The man said, as the wind buildup reached his peak and Menace was launched through the door, flying on the gust of wind straight into the villain.

He hoisted the villain into the wind stream and flew with him until Magnet Man was slammed into the back wall of the bank. He screamed in pain as he and Nate slowly fell to the ground, Nate landing perfectly upright and dropping the human magnet to the ground. Nate turned and ran towards the Mutation, bending down to hoist him up.

“You alright?” He asked, looking down at the Mutation’s lacerated ankle, knee, and shattered wrist.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, just some bedrest.” He laughed. “Take me to the hospital.” Magnet Man was still howling in the background. “How did you do the wind thing?” Anthony asked, as they walked out the door, and he saw a young girl, dressed all in white, with dark hair flowing out from under the hood of a sweatshirt.

“This is the White Witch.” Menace introduced. “A friend of mine.”

“Nice to meetcha,” the young girl said, obviously thrilled to have been allowed to come along. Anthony noticed the cops streaming in to the bank to capture Magnet Man, and let out a sigh of relief, knowing that he could not escape.

“You know,” the Mutation began, “flying in there like that, you kind of looked like Ultraman.” Having said this, the Mutation relaxed his muscles, let the metal recede from his hand, and, as soon as Nate put him in the back of a cop car, fell asleep.

“That was really cool!” Courtney practically shouted as she and Nate walked from the crime scene. Nate had never allowed her to come along before, as, technically, it wasn’t legal without a permit. She would always hear his stories about grueling battles, high speed chases, or just working alongside Ultraman, and she wanted nothing more than to come along. “What’s next? Are we going to go stop another robbery? Fight the Gentleman? Battle some henchmen?” She might not have realized that, with each suggestion, she was tugging harder on Nate’s arm, but he just smiled.

“Well, I’m not on duty, so no, I’ve got nothing.” Nate admitted, and the girl’s smile faded abruptly. “Tomorrow, we can pick up a side-kick permit for you, if you like.” He said, almost immediately regretting the decision. She was a little girl and he’d just offered her a means to risk her life on a daily basis. “Only if you agree to only work with me, and only when I say it’s okay.” He defined. It seemed to satiate her, as her grin had returned to her face, and the skip in her step was back as well.  

“Do we have to go back to the cube now?” She asked.