Stared at it; the creases lining my palm.

  “I have a super power.”

  Every super’s journey began with chaos. Sometimes they were welcomed by the world. Like superman in most of the comics. Other times, they were called an anti-hero by the papers of public—like Batman or Spider-Man.

  It could grow into something powerful and unique.

  This was a part of the test. I needed to define myself until my enemies and cynics were forced to respect me. Maybe Neptune thought he could squeeze me into non-existence. But how can you make someone disappear from a path when the whole world knew them?

  There was a way to win this…a way to get to V-Shock without bowing to Velvet’s instructions. And a way to protect myself from mortally dangerous super challenges. I could either take the route of running away, or the route of running toward the thing I feared. I saw that clearly now.

  My body trembled with anticipation and fear about what I was going to do. I took a deep breath of air. Turned the light on. Slid the dresser open. Unable to find blank sheets of paper to write on, or even a pen, I took out my phone and opened up the notes app. I needed to write the plan down.

  If you’re going to do something, do it properly. For the next three hours, I poured out my first ever mission as a super, factoring each angle from best-to-worst case scenario.

  ***

  “I need to speak to the city super-sergeant,” I said in a hushed low voice. “Look, my hood’s off now.”

  The receptionist frowned as though deciding whether that would do. I looked around now, feeling more exposed. That stop-by at Zoo York for some incognito wardrobe updates was a waste of time then, I thought grimly. Then again, a change of outfit was better than walking around in the one Neptune had tried to inflame me into the stratosphere in.

  That was one face I didn’t want to see…well, there were two. The sun had already set, leaving the sky a dark-blue. The streets outside were wet from rains though now only a sprinkle remained from the sky. Early evening. But New York in this season liked to darken early.

  “I’m sorry,” said the nasal receptionist with large round ‘problem’ glasses, “he’s unavailable out of hours. Also, you’ll need to go through our regular non-super police first. Our super division is highly stretched on time.”

  “I know, I know but this is different.”

  She blew bubblegum. Eyes bored and voice incredibly scratching to one’s inner ear. “Lesser cases go through the non-super—”

  “This isn’t a Lesser case!” I said, raising my own voice.

  Her bored tone didn’t change. “Are you Registered?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Then sorry I can’t hel—”

  I balled a fist. Stormed past the reception desk and slid through the barriers. A few people in the waiting area watched me with surprise.

  “Sir!” she yelled and took a too-long stunned pause to scramble out of her desk after me. “Sir, you can’t be back there.”

  But I only sped up; that delayed reaction had been a particularly important part of the plan should the best-case scenario fail—the unlikely gall of a Lesser boy.

  My heart picked up a pace… Cooler-looking than I expected, I thought, which I later found to be an odd thought considering the situation. The corridors were wide and plush in a lived-in way, with cream walls and brown carpet. A series of colored papers with scribbled and printed notes were pinned to a corkboard notice-board.

  Donuts laid on a trolley outside a meeting space with a whiteboard and seats. The space was currently empty. I grabbed a chocolate-sprinkled donut with a hole in its center—I liked the look of rainbow tic-tacs decorating its face—and took a bite as I continued. Man, that was satisfying. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was after that three hours of plotting.

  We weren’t quite at worst-case DEFCON but I needed to hurry and keep my eyes pricked. As expected, the receptionist wasn’t a super, which explained why I wasn’t half-sunk into the floor or vaporized at the head. I kept my composure and nodded at a tall man and accompanying superthot as I passed them. Waved the donut. They both twisted to look at me. Glanced at each other. But I had already turned the corner—taking a left.

  For some reason, there was no sign-posting to the superintendent’s office. My skin pricked a little at that… I was now going on blind luck. This direction looked to be the more likely one for offices though—the other one had pointed to holding cells in the basement levels. I scanned the different doors on this strip of hallway while flashing past them, prickling with nervous energy: Detective Rod M. Gillian, Meeting Room II, Inspector Lizz R. J. Pipp…

  “C’mon, c’mon,” I groaned. Though my breaths had picked up, I walked with a bouncing stride and found it surprisingly easy to push.

  It was a pleasant hall. The air smelled of hot chocolate, coffee and something like fresh newspapers. Each door had that old-style frosted pane at the very top with the super-police’s name emblazoned in gold letters… Very noir-retro. I could see myself working in a place like this. The brown carpet was very cool too.

  Again, despite the situation, a surprising thrill leapt across me. That kind of thing can happen to a person when they set out on a boldly novel course of action. As the whole mode of being is unfamiliar to them—like jumping into strange waters, especially if they plan it clearly enough in their eye—momentum can carry them across impossible unplanned leaps.

  “SIR YOU CANNOT BE IN HERE,” wailed the receptionist who had unfortunately tracked me and was no longer in a stir of shock. “HELP! INTRUDER!”

  I sighed. Well she hadn’t been sharp enough to press an emergency buzzer… I heard deep voices questioning behind me as a hallway door opened and a face peered out a few paces behind. His head was pointed away from me, toward the receptionist who I didn’t deign to look at myself but who probably resembled an angry hawk.

  Supers. Quickening my power-walk, I swallowed the last of the delicious donut. The sugar gave me a little unexpected boost in optimism. The hallway forked off again… I didn’t have time to guess which direction was more likely to be opportune.

  As Tyson said: everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face. Well, the next occurrence was so unlikely that it seemed quite impossible. As it happened, I was so convinced that this particular worst-case scenario couldn’t be true that my mind set into a sort of dream trance. First, I turned the corner—choosing a left—then instantly banged into someone and fell back.

  “Oh sorry there,” the bassy-voiced culprit said. Offered me a hand. It took a few seconds for his green eyes to darken a shade. For the muscles around his mouth to quiver in a complicated swirl of emotions. In that space, his demeanor turned from helpful to enraged—though perhaps it only occurred in the time it takes to take to count to one.

  You lose a sense of time when in the presence of Neptune.

  “Y-You,” he growled. “Howww!?” He looked around, baffled. That face now contorted into a trembling mask of fury. It sort of reminded me of a two-year old unable to control its wild fits of sudden anger. He shrugged his massive shoulders, eyeballs popping. I saw his fist imprinted in my skull with the caption Death.

  Just then, a door to my left flung open. “WHAT IN THE NAME OF JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IS GOING ON HERE, EH?”

  The thick New Yorkan accent was like a drill-sergeant’s. It was the one I’d heard at my father’s crime scene—and it bellowed out from a now-opened office door. Even Neptune cowered. Pushed himself against the cream hallway wall where a glass-covered display of medals hung.

  “WHO’S GOT THE FUCKING BALLS TO YELL IN MY HALLS? PULL DOWN YOUR DRAWS.”

  The smell of tobacco, masculine deodorant and shoe polish wafted through the halls. A floating hat with a suit and shoes to match—with a silver tie—appeared to have its hand on the door frame, except that I could see no hand. City Super-Sergeant Walters-Smithee was notoriously loud, which I’d expected. Also he had no visible body. This I’d expected too but it was no-less surprising and disconcerting first-hand.

  To settle the mental concussion of it all, I reminded myself he was in fact descended from a long line of supers. According to Walters. As he was the only invisible man known to have existed, people took his word for it. Photographs of him as a child, before disappearing, showed him as redheaded with spiky hair and a no-nonsense look about him.

  Due to the risky nature of his profession, Walter-Smithee had made the decision to never show his face in public—work included. This only made him more dangerous and more of a threat to super-villains, particularly the ones he’d gone undercover on in order to infiltrate. Not knowing whether you had come across the most powerful police-detective reduced your confidence in carrying out major villainy schemes that could end up with valuable goons and resources being possessed. Plots were always being foiled from the outset due to superb infiltration.

  In a way, the things Sergeant Walters knew made him potentially the most villainous super about. Other than my father, he was a large reason super-villains as a whole remained hidden from public—living and working under the cloak of night, like rats, or disappearing after a hit. Many conflicting images of who the sergeant was, facially, had been leaked. My guess was deliberately. In fact, so many leaked images existed that—in order to eliminate each and every suspect—villains would have needed to kill thousands of people with no names—some with just visual descriptions behind them.

  That was a lot of redheads. And perhaps he dyed his hair now.

  He was altogether brilliant. And terrifying. More-so in public. It struck me that he might not even be a New Yorker. In fact, I highly doubted it in that moment though it should have occurred to me earlier. This near him, it became obvious that his accent and use of words were all exaggerated to the point of near-satire and absurdity—no doubt to further mask his true identity.

  Neptune stuttered out a reply as smoke misted from the open room. I could hear the sergeant’s teeth grinding, preparing to chew Neptune and spit him out. Indeed, he spat some tobacco on the floor. I swear I could feel his breath. Behind him were hardly any lights. His office was dim lit. Perhaps he’d been about to leave for the night and get home.

  “BIG DING-A-LING. EXPLAIN WHY I’M INTERRUPTED AT DUSK WHEN I GOT KIDS TO GET HOME TO?”

  Neptune looked to be trying to escape by sinking his back into the wall like Blood Velvet could. It wasn’t working… I was still on my butt—which I’d fallen onto after smashing into Neptune—and looked up at the strange sight; a floating suit yelling at the top of his voice. I recalled something else: he’d been yelling back at the crime-scene… Yet, he hadn’t been actually there. At the time, Walters had mentioned being busy in the office and being annoyed that he’d been interrupted.

  Did it mean that he had some kind of telekinetic ability? Some way to transport his presence to another location, in a similar way to Blood Velvet? It would be a very useful ability—a way for him to manage his underlings. But he was certainly physically present currently. “Sergeant sir,” Neptune said, attempting to cool the barrage.

  “SALLY, SAY SOMETHING TO MAKE ME LESS ANGRY. I’M ABOUT TO EXPLODE!”

  The receptionist had caught up with me. She shot me a white-eyed glare. Pointed. “No, I won’t!” she said. Adjusted her problem glasses and was breathing heavily. We met eyes as she straightened her booty-hugging, calf-length skirt. “This boy just ran into the building. He shouldn’t be here.”

  “What’s happening?” yelled another voice from further along the hall.

  “Gawd,” said Walters, “I’m gettin’ a headache.” He rubbed his invisible forehead.

  Little legs ran from the opposite end of the hallway. Didn’t stop until it was stood over me. The panda scowled. “So we finally caught the bugger,” the panda said. He stared up at Neptune, who looked to somewhere between fury and fright. “You bring him in?”

  “Someone explain what’s happening here!” Walters fired.

  “He broke the code of conduct rules,” Sally said. “Just ran inside.” She turned to the panda as some gear clicked into place… Backed away a step from me. “Y-You mean he’s a criminal? A super-villain?”

  The panda didn’t take his eyes off me. “Absolutely no doubt about it,” said the panda. “What do we have here, Neptune?”

  But the big man couldn’t speak. His eyes tore across the room like a wild animal. He’s thinking of killing me, I thought desperately. I needed to say something before he made an excuse to stomp me into non-existence. One stomp would be all it took.

  “I brought myself in!” I exclaimed.

  The panda leapt back, surprised. His words emerged slow as first dawn of light. “Yourself? Why!”

  “SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHAT’S GOIN’ ON!” Walters exploded. He THWWACKED the wall, which cracked…leading to a shell of crumbling wall that spilled down the floor into a pile of dust. Neptune stepped away, which was an unexpected benefit despite how violently powerful Walters himself seemed. I preferred for the former not to be anywhere near me, nonetheless. The panda backed up too, so that I was in the middle of the super circle, laid on my butt on the hall floor like some big kid.

  The receptionist stomped one foot now, making the whole scene like some excerpt from Stomp the Musical. “Sir!” she burst out. “We don’t go around smashing property. You know that perfectly well. I specifically worked with your team on proper indoor etiquette.”

  “Ah gawd,” Walters sighed. Rubbed at his invisible forehead. “Not this again.”

  “Yes this again!” she bleared back in that nasal tone of hers. “Do you think the budget is inexhaustible? Do you think you can just go around smashing things indoors like an angry child? Don’t rub your head for pity. Your headaches won’t get any better when the construction men come around banging and drilling about.”

  “Look, just leave me alone woman.”

  She aimed a finger at him. “What did you just say?”

  “Nothing…” Walters coughed in a grumble. “Sorry. Er Jess—what’s the deal with the kid?”

  The panda—whose name seemed to be Jess—now aimed its finger at me (notably, the receptionist still aimed hers at Walters-Smithee). “This is the kid who killed Climax,” the panda said. “His own father, in cold blood.”

  There was a sudden quiet.

  “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” Walters said. He leaned over me I could only assume to get a closer look. His head turned down a little toward the panda. “And why’re you always in that form when indoors? You look ridiculous.”

  “Why’re you invisible?” Jess pinged back.

  “Just get on with it. You’re saying the boy took out the Climax?”

  “Yup,” Jess said. “In cold, cold blood. Cold as a reptile. Seems he’s ready to make a confession.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “That isn’t it.”

  “That isn’t it?” Walters said, now scratching his head again. “You’re here to provide information on the case?”

  Neptune tensed.

  “I haven’t come to point fingers. At myself or otherwise,” I said quickly, not looking at the towering figure to my right. “I’ve come to make an offer. An offer that could benefit everyone.”

  Another pointed silence.

  “And what kind of offer would that be!?” cracked out the panda.

  “To partner with you.”

  Neptune choked. Didn’t utter anything comprehensible. His whole body was taut, poised either to strike me to a pulp or flee. Maybe both, which was why I’d listed coming across Neptune tonight as the worst possible scenario.

  Whatever Venus and he claimed about my fate, I didn’t believe the whole department was corrupt. You know the saying: if you want to work against your enemy, partner with his enemy. The enemy of your enemy knows things. He can act as a shield against any abrupt action from your main opponent. In short, your enemy’s enemy is your friend.

  And I was looking at my friend. The panda, that is… I stood. Slowly. Gulped. My legs quivered so hard I thought it must be visible. “I d-don’t have any intention to make any accusations,” I repeated loudly. Again, didn’t look at Neptune. “I’m not here to incriminate anyone.”

  “The hell does that mean?” Walters remarked. His body tossed around.

  “You high?” said the panda, sniffing.

  “Just—” I restarted, hoping that Neptune understood my meaning. I didn’t want to bring him down. He had to recognize that, right? “Just, what I mean is: my goal is to find my father’s killer. That’s all. I’m not interested in any other drama. Or infighting.”

  “You’re the killer!” Jess said.

  “That’s against the rules,” the receptionist shrilled.

  “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” roared Walter. “The hell is this? Get him outta here!”

  “Wait!” I said. “One moment, please. I can explain.”

  They paused. I could feel Neptune’s glare on the side of my neck and Walter-Smithee’s temper about to flare.

  “The panda—” I said.

  “My name’s Jess.”

  “Oh, Jess. Sorry. You think I’m the killer.”

  “I do.”

  “And I want to find the real killer.”

  “Just look in the mirror.”

  “Well, what better way to prove my innocence…or guilt—though I’m not guilty—than by partnering with my biggest detractor?”

  “We do not allow that,” Sally said. I almost expected her to lick a finger, take out a rule-book and flick to the concerning page.

  The panda, however, went unusually silent. Watched me. I didn’t know what its expression meant…pandas aren’t the most facially animated creatures. Which was probably part of the reason for its choice of being in this form. He’d make a pretty sick interrogator. Whoever Jess was, he had an anamorphic superhero abilities. In other words, he could shift from human to animal form.

  Walter-Smithee scratched his head. Took the hat off. Sighed. Put it back on. Rubbed under his eyes. “What do you think of all this, Detective Nep?” Walters asked.

  Everyone in the room turned to the giant. It took a second for him to stop gawking at me. He cleared his throat. Straightened up. Then his voice turned into the official-sounding booming voice that he normally used. “Sounds ridiculous to me,” Neptune said with a shrug. “I don’t care.”

 

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