Turns out I couldn’t have been more wrong about the whole supervillains moving into new territory thing. Listen, Old-Port isn’t the worst place you could come from in Liberty City. Heck, Jersey still somehow exists and most of downtown Liberty City is a Mutant-infested spider-web of streets one bad day away from spilling into the rest of the city. Old-Port is your casual kind of grungy. Drug dealers. Gangsters. Lower-Tier supervillains trying to cash-in on the latest villain trend—bank robberies, bodily harm, you get the picture—and a bunch of wannabe vigilantes who think they’re helping ‘the cause’ or whatever but only ever get in the way with their weird justice monologues and higher-than-thou narrowed eyes because they chose to be poor and filthy and struggle their way through every single day of their lives. There’s nothing noble about not paying your rent and secretly saving your block, too.

  You’re a superhuman—well, most of them, anyway—there’s tons of ways you can make money.

  Like moving literal cardboard boxes up and down a flight of stairs until my costume is soaked with sweat and the useless delivery guy with a truck full of them drives off into the night with a lot more cash in his pocket than he deserves. I swear, people see a superhero and expect a life-changing tip. Here’s one: do your fucking job, because I get paid to do mine, and I think you do too, so why the hell should I… Nevermind. It’s whatever. It’s not like I was expecting a stakeout or a beatdown or to punch some gangsters through a couple of brick walls. No, no, I’d rather break my back carrying a bedframe up a set of stairs that only screwed my spine because Logan thought it was a better idea than taking it apart and just putting it through his girlfriend’s window. I am fine. Totally fine. Not angry at all. Like Dr. Lively said, I should feel grateful that I get to do this. Look at me, being helpful. Being super.

  “And that’s all of it,” Logan says, hands on his hips and staring at the cluster of cardboard boxes in the tiny apartment. Kinda shitty place. Cracked windows. The water reeks of sewage. I’m pretty sure there’s either a dead body in the walls or someone got shot in this place, because it stinks of decay. Why even live here? I’m pretty sure Logan has all kinds of advertisement deals. He’s literally going to get drafted highest in his class—there’s no way in hell this guy is leaving his girlfriend in a place like this where I can hear literally gunshots echoing just a few blocks away. And dogs barking. And yelling. Tires squealing and hobos fighting over a dead cat carcass in the dark alleyway outside the single window. Mr. Perfect turns his head and grins at me. “Thanks for the help. See? Easy.”

  I stare at him, my face blank, and wear a tight smile. “Fuck you.”

  He blinks as his hands slide off his waist. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “I thought you meant weight as in drugs or trafficked people or something.” I wave my hands, almost madly, at the boxes surrounding us. “Not this! And why’re they so heavy? Is your girlfriend some kind of Bruiser?”

  Logan scratches the back of his neck, not sheepishly, just in thought. “She did used to hit me pretty hard.”

  “And I’ll hit you even harder if you go around telling people I’m violent, knucklehead.” A moment later, in comes a woman—I say woman, but she’s probably around Logan’s age—with scarlet hair pulled into a loose pony tail, sparkling green eyes, an overlystuffed handbag on her shoulder, and a polaroid camera hanging from her neck. She pecks Logan on the cheek, leaving his cheeks to go the same color as the scarlet kiss she left near his jaw. She’s tall even without her thick sneakers, kinda athletic, and running purely on coffee. I can smell it in her throat and see the caffeine in her eyes as she sticks her hand out toward me. “Katie. Katie F. Williams. You’re a lot less scary than what I thought you’d be.” I raise an eyebrow, then she takes my hand anyway and shakes. “Thanks for helping me out with all of this. The only reason it weighs so much is because the dummy over there is a hoarder.”

  “Hey,” Logan says, folding his arms. “It’s not hoarding if it’s sentimental. There’s a difference.”

  “There’s no difference,” Katie tells me, shrugging off her beige trench coat. Black turtle neck, black pants. She undoes her pony tail and sighs as she looks around the apartment. “Well, here I go, finally with my own place.”

  “Listen, Katie,” I say, folding my arms. “No disrespect, but…why here? This place is a dump.”

  I can almost hear Roxanna and Harry scream from halfway across the city. I know I’m not to say things like that out loud, but I’m pretty annoyed that I’ve been dragged out of my bedroom this late at night for something that doesn’t involve putting someone through the concrete. Besides, there’s about a dozen smells assaulting my nose right now, and I can’t blame the wild packs of dogs tearing apart the night with all that barking if this is what they’ve got to stomach day-in, day-out. I don’t ‘investigate,’ I don’t ‘look for clues.’ I save the day. I get the win.

  I defeat the bad guys, smile for the cameras, and look fucking great doing it.

  This is none of those things, so it qualifies for a waste of my time.

  Katie bursts out laughing and says, “I know! Isn’t it great?” She spins around on her toes and leans against Logan as she looks at me. “It’s my dump. It’s my shitty water pressure and bad security and horrible maintenance and an even worse landlord, but it’s all mine.” Her smile softens. “And I kinda like it that way. It’s not the first place I’ve owned, but it’s the first place I’m happy I paid for and fully moved into. It might not be much, but it’ll become something eventually.” She shrugs one shoulder. “Besides, for the shit I get paid to do, Old-Port is pretty perfect.”

  Weirdos. Weirdos everywhere.

  “Lemme guess,” I say, waving at her camera. “Journalist?”

  Because, yes, the superhero and the journalist, a match made in pre-determined nirvana and every single Golden Age Superhero comic. I swear Star-Sentinel himself used to date some journalist too before she got killed.

  Now that I think about it, isn’t Hope also…

  There’s gotta be a meaning to all of this.

  “Nope,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Private investigator of the superhuman nature.” She fishes through her pocket and holds out a stiff black card. I take it from her and flip it over. The Cowl Company. Call Katie F. Williams for All of Your Cape-Related Crime. I raise an eyebrow and look at her. “Crime pays. At least, it’s done that so far.”

  I look at Logan. “And you’re totally alright with letting your girlfriend get mixed up with Capes?”

  He shrugs. “I’m surprised that she lets me get mixed up with Capes.”

  Katie says, “I’m pretty sure he’d be dead without me by now.”

  “Oh, please,” Logan says. “Remember when I caught that bullet and you—”

  “Whatever,” Katie says, waving her hand through the air. Logan rolls his eyes and still smiles, and…

  Ew.

  “Alright,” I say, clapping my hands together. “This was fun, but I think I’ll head back to campus.”

  Mom is a lot more into this kind of stuff than I am. Greasy, love-stuffed soap operas give that lady one more reason every single day not to take apart this planet. This is the kind of shit I tend to avoid, whatever this is. It feels old and minute, like I can squint and see the middle schoolers they used to be years before I could probably even get off the floor and stand on my own two feet. Sure, mom showers me with love, but it’s hers. It’s not like I’ve got a dad around telling me I’m a good sport or whatever. And no, love doesn’t make me uncomfortable. It just weirds me out because humans produce a smell when they start finding their mates. It’s sappy and stinks, and makes me want to vomit if I inhale it too much. I won’t even tell you about the hell Valentine’s Day used to be for me in school. All those flowers and notes and prom proposals, all those teary-eyed girls squealing with stupid excitement.

  Conveniently, I’d call in sick for the week and stay as far away as I could from this species.

  And right now is one of those times, because Katie’s arm is around Logan’s shoulders, head tilted toward his, and they’re not saying anything to each other, but they don’t have to. It’s in the way her fingers slowly slide over his bicep. How Logan’s heart keeps skipping a beat every time a breeze makes Katie’s perfume fill his lungs.

  My skin feels itchy, my gut feels tight, and I’m probably gonna head home and shower. A lot.

  Preferably with water so hot it would kill a normal person.

  “Not before I at least pay you back,” Katie says. “Pizza? I don’t exactly have the kitchen ready right now.”

  “I’m good,” I say, then jerk my thumb at the window. “Plus I’ve got class in the morning, so…”

  “You know, Sam,” Logan says gently, “it’s pretty easy for superheroes not to make any friends, and take it from a guy who’s done what you’re doing right now.” He shrugs again. “You’re a freshman. Things are gonna get a lot trickier by the time you’re in your fourth year at PU. Enjoy things. Try things. Before you don’t get the chance.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Right,” I mutter. “I’m really enjoying my mandatory sidekick-detention gig right now.”

  “Sidekick gig?” Katie asks, looking at Logan. “You told me she wanted to help out.”

  Logan purses his lips, then steps back from Katie. “Before you shout at me—”

  Katie sighs and looks at me. “I’m sorry. My boyfriend’s an idiot. Thank God he’s got superpowers, or else I’d be terrified of what the future holds for him.” She gets a little closer. “I’ve been around enough superheroes to know that doing anything for free kinda pisses you guys off, but a lot of you are also pretty good at hiding it ‘cause of all that media training—or as I like to call it, the civilian-shackles. Say you didn’t mind saving people from a burning building. Tell that old lady she can take her time crossing the street as you help her.” She smiles at me. “Get that cat down and tell that little girl she can always count on you for help.” I open my mouth, almost automatically to rebuttal everything she just said, but my tongue stays flat and the words catch in my throat, and I decide to shut my mouth again and shrug—mostly because I’m exhausted, partially because, well, she’s right. And she knows that. Katie pulls out her phone. “Stick around for pizza at least. My treat. Just don’t break the bank. I’m a little tight.”

  “So you say all of that and still want me to stick around for something I won’t like doing?”

  “Yeah,” she says with a shrug. “I think a part of you kinda likes the freedom of this city, so going back to your dorm room would probably feel like heading back to prison. You can fly. And they get mad at you for that?”

  “I know right!” I say. “What kind of bullshit even is that? I flew before I even walked.”

  “That’s why I’m a private investigator,” Katie says, pointing her phone at me. “Rules kinda suck, and when they get made by people who’ve only ever flown in planes before, then what the hell do they know? I say that you can fly wherever, whenever, and however you like. Like when the police tell me to stop ‘tampering with evidence’ or else I’ll ‘get booked and go to prison,’ you don’t see me giving up who I am. I’m pretty sure I was born with a cigarette in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other. My mom probably gave birth to a camera as my twin.”

  “Now you’re speaking my language, lady,” I say. “What’s a rule if it can’t bend and get broken?”

  Katie’s eyes sparkle again as she grins. “It’s taken twenty-one years, but I finally found my sister.”

  “I think this was a bad idea,” Logan murmurs.

  “And the other thing that pisses me off,” I say. “Are the—” My mouth snaps shut. I swallow. Step back. Too much info. She’s just another human, but also an investigator. She could be recording all of this, because what’s a private investigator except if they’re not just journalists with more secret stories to tell. That phone has been in her hand for a while, and I haven’t heard anything close to a dial tone. I narrow my eyes at her, then at the cardboard boxes. I slowly step backward and hover half an inch off the wooden floor. “If you’re recording me, delete that.”

  Katie blinks, frowns, and says, “Ah. You think…” She shakes her head. “Trust me, I’ve learnt my lesson trying to pull that kind of trick on superhumans like you. A lot of you people can hear radio frequencies even. It’s kinda spooky. Besides, Sam—can I call you that?” I keep my eyes narrowed. “Alright, then—well, Sentry, I think it would be kinda shitty if I tried recording you right now. You don’t live long in the work I do if you make rookie mistakes like assuming superheroes won’t notice when they feel like they’re saying too much. I get it. Sponsors. Big contracts. Legal shit. And do I really want to get sued? No. Because then I’d be homeless, which would suck.”

  “Prove it,” I say. “Show me your phone.”

  She flips it over to show me the apps she’s got open.

  Nothing.

  For several long seconds, there’s silence, and nothing except silence inside of her tiny apartment. I can hear rusted water pipes groaning and boilers juddering, walls shaking and floorboard squealing above and below.

  And not for one second does Katie’s heart skip a beat as she looks at me.

  “I think,” I say finally, interrupting the quietness, “I should probably go.”

  “But I thought we were gonna get—”

  “Maybe some other time,” I say.

  Something feels wrong. Maybe it’s in my head, but there’s something about her that makes my skin crawl, just like Hope manages to make me feel more tense. And come on, since when are humans honest about anything? She’ll buy me an entire pizza? Really? What’s the catch? Lemme guess, she’ll buy my friendship, that ‘sisterhood’ she was talking about, and make this place some kind of haven I can feel free to come to, and before I know it, I’ll be here all the time, she’ll be recording me more and more as I lower by barriers and stop paying attention to the static hum in the air, and the next thing I know, the Liberty Herald is running a smear-campaign on me because I said something bad about humans or Mutants or even superheroes as a whole. Yeah. Sure. Like I’d fall for that.

  Being ‘kind’ and ‘nice’ and ‘sweet’ are humanity’s way of going in for the kill. Colorful frogs do that. Colorful Mutants, too. Before they rip out your throat and eat your heart, lay their children in your gut and make you famous on the back of the newspaper because you’ve gone missing. So, no, I think I can do without pizza.

  “You’re tense,” Katie says quietly. Her brow creases a little. “If you think I’m gonna do something…”

  “Kates,” Logan says softly. “It’s fine. I’ll take her back to campus and come back here later, alright?”

  Katie’s smile dips. “I was really lookin’ forward to hanging out with you, Sentry. Another time, I guess. When you come back, I’ll have the kitchen all set up, and I’ll make you my world-famous, slightly-salty pasta.”

  “Sure,” I say with a smile.

  And I can tell from her eyes alone that she knows that’s a lie, just like she’d said superheroes do.

  Logan jerks his head at the door. “We’ll take the scenic route back.” He hesitates around Katie, before she sighs and kisses him first—just briefly, enough to give him the ounce of confidence he needs to kiss her back—and then he’s hurrying out of the door before I see his face bloom crimson. From down the hall, I hear: “You coming?”

  I can also hear his heart thumping rapidly against his chest.

  “He catches a bullet for me before he even knew he was bulletproof, and he’s still more afraid to kiss me,” Katie mutters under her breath. “Logan Wilde, the idiot that you are.” She looks at me. “Keep my card at least?”

  I slide it into the folds of my costume that separate the top and the bottom. “Good luck with…this.”

  “Thanks,” she says. “And hey, who knows, maybe we’ll bump into each other out in the field. You saving the day, myself trying to figure out why some thug is going around infecting people with shadows. That way—”

  “Wait,” I say. “What was that?”

  “Bumping into each other?”

  “Not that,” I say, flying closer. “The shadow thing.”

  “Oh,” she says. “I thought you’d know since you were the first Cape to come across him in public. He’s been around for months now, but nothing big-time usually. Smaller things: robberies, assaults. Enough to make something of himself, not enough to stand out in Old-Port compared to all the other crooks and crazies running around on these streets, you know? No clue what he calls himself. All I know is that he’s a strange guy with a weird costume and nasty powers. I haven’t heard him doing much since you stopped him after his failed robbery. Just whispers and rumors, but that’s Old-Port for you: Whisper Town, Rumor Street, and Secret Avenue. Fun times.”

  But I killed him. I literally watched the wind sweep up his ashes. I watched his brain boil.

  Hell, I made his brain boil.

  “What’s wrong?” Katie asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Are any of those rumors actually true?” I ask her. “Or just people being people?”

  “Fifty-fifty,” she says. “You know how Old-Port is. Information is king until it has to be true.”

  Logan’s blonde-haired head pops around the doorframe. “You guys re-considering the pizza or…?”

  “Give me a call some time,” Katie says. “Maybe I’ll try digging, see what I can find out.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “For a price, I’m guessing?”

  “Duh,” she says. “Pizza doesn’t come free.”

  See what I said about humans?

  “Fine,” I say. At least it gives me a reason to get out of school.

  Not that Katie was right. I love PU and I love my custom room, but having an extra-curricular that actually means I get to be a superhero instead of being in a classroom all day arguing about theories and whatever means a lot more to me than it does those losers who think ‘debates’ helps them get any better. I’m a firm believer in getting your knuckles dirty. Cutting your teeth on some nasty supervillains who want you dead. There’s nothing to debate when a Threat Level 8.2 wants your guts in his fist just because you looked at him funny. That shit doesn’t get taught in classrooms or set as homework. And on the bright side, if Katie is right, then this is gonna be so fun.

  I don’t usually get to kill supervillains more than once, except on rare occasions.

  A guy as dumb-looking as Shadow-Helmet, though? Oh, man, he can be my villain of the week.

  You know, kinda like a way to keep my body loose.

  “Hey, Sentry?” I pause at the door and peek back inside. Katie waves at me. “I know it’s not glamorous or cool, but it really means a lot helping Logan and I move in. Things like this mean a lot to me, so when I say I’ll pay you back, trust me, I’ll pay you back. Who knows, maybe one day I might even help you save the entire world.”

  Right, like a human can help me do that.

  I shrug one shoulder. “It’s no biggie. Helping people out is what superheroes do, y’know?”

  “Like saving cats from trees, that sort of thing?” She folds her arms. “You don’t strike me as that kind of Cape.”

  “What kind of Cape do I strike you as?”

  “A kind I don’t see much of anymore,” Katie says. “The kind I grew up reading about.”

  “That’s nice, but I don’t think there’s ever been—or ever going to be—anyone like me.”

  Katie grins. “You better keep that promise, because I’ll be really disappointed if you joined Ultra Force.”

  I frown and stare at her. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m gonna be the best to ever do it, why not join the best?”

  A worse kind of silence sits between us now.

  All she does is stare at me, chewing her tongue and pursing her lips, like she’s saying something and I just can’t pick up the frequency she’s whispering it. Maybe… Maybe it’s a human thing, some kind of ironic joke I don’t understand. Her boyfriend is probably gonna end up right there alongside Titan this time next year. She knows that, Logan knows that—I’m sure the entire school knows that. I figure Katie’s just one of those people.

  Just another weirdo in a city full of them.

  Katie nods slowly, then waves her hand. “Logan’s waiting, and I know how he gets when he does. Before both of us know it, he’s gone off on some kind of wacky solo adventure and gotten himself tangled up with all kinds of nonsense.” She pockets her phone. “Anyway, I’ve got you covered, alright? Pizza is on me next time.”

  Before I can grill her some more, I hear Logan shout my name from down the hallway.

  I drum my fingers against her doorframe, watch her begin cutting open some of the boxes, and slowly leave. But not before I pause just beyond her door and listen to Katie do the same. I turn my head enough to face the peeling green wallpaper and squint to see through it, and there she is, staring right back at me, eyes shining.

  Katie F. Williams, I think, watching her go back to unloading the boxes.

  It’s the first time I can remember saving a new contact on my phone.

  And the first time I'm pretty sure a Vanilla has made me feel uncomfortable.