Us?
Hellcat walked by me, and with a slap on the ass, she bolted into the lobby. The gunfire started, a few screams, but mostly men grunting and the occasional cheer.
I eyed my shirt again. Us. I was one of them, a damned superhero. I did the only thing I could as the sirens grew louder, I ran for the door.
6
The fogfrom yesterday had barely lifted. The entire scene at the bank felt like a distant memory. When I returned home, I had spent plenty of time scrubbing the blood off my hands, standing in the shower, trying to dissect what Hellcat had said. Heroes were the bane of Vanguard, and I never hesitated in saying we’d be better off without them. Perhaps the stress of the situation had distorted my memory?
A shirt riddled with bullet holes rested on my coffee table. The evidence didn’t lie.
I plopped down on the couch. I had yet to do more than slide on a pair of briefs before making coffee. The steaming cup was the only thing that mattered in the world in this moment. It was all in my head, but the moment I took thefirst sip, the energy pulsed through my body. I’m a coffee slut, so sue me.
My phone vibrated, and I prayed it wasn’t the HeroApp™ reporting another robbery. Normally I was ready to jump into action and head to work, but today, my head was elsewhere.
Emergency.
I didn’t recognize the number. After a restless night of sleep, I prepared a long string of swears that would make a sailor blush. As my thumb hovered over the send button, the tiny rectangle shook again.
A: Sorry. It’s Aiden.
X: You scum-sucking telemarketing douche bag cum guzzler.
I swore my heart struggled to climb through the gaps in my ribcage, thumping hard enough my eardrums pulsed. There was no way “sorry” would quite cover it. Oh yes, thank you for saving my life, by the way, I think you’re a?—
A: At least one of those things is correct.
No, he did not end the text message with a wink. I nearly choked on my tongue, unsure if I should snort or sigh with relief.
X: Sorry, I thought you were a telemarketer. Didn’t know it was a handsome man hitting me up.
A: Grif gave me your number.
X: He mentioned Sebastian knew you.
“Xander.” I stood, pacing back and forth across theliving room. “You have a delete key. Use it. You sound like a barbarian. Why not just send him a dick pic?” The thought crossed my mind, but perhaps I should wait until the second conversation.
X: Emergency? What’s up?
Business. Assess the situation. Remove the emotion. Look for the problem. Examine avenues toward a solution. If only I could apply my paramedic training to every aspect of my life. Perhaps I wouldn’t be an angry man ready to punch holes in the wall.
A: They’re gone.
X: Who?
Let me guess, the mayor, victim of another clandestine organization of villains looking to empty the bank vaults. No, I’m pretty sure that was last month. The nuclear power plant? Wait, I saved the Winged Warrior after he got hit by a not-so-deadly death ray. In Vanguard City, emergencies were more common than jaywalkers.
A: The heroes. They’re gone. Every. One. Of. Them.
The pacing stopped, my feet half on the rug, half on the cheap linoleum flooring. Slowly, I turned until I eyed the t-shirt peppered with tiny holes. It made little sense. Hellcat had arrived at the bank.
“There’s not enough of us.” Her words had sounded like a warning yesterday. Did she know about the missing heroes? Sure, one or two would go vanishing as their alterego visited their mother in Kansas, but not all of them. Hellcat arriving at the bank proved there were…
“Xander, you’re an idiot.” I had mocked the alert on my phone, wondering why the only person swinging into action at the bank was a second-string hero. But unlike the vast majority of heroes gifted with cosmic power, alien abilities, or drawing on the supernatural, she was an everyday woman with a mean left-hook.
X: How do you know?
A: Reporter. I notice things.
