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I.
It's pretty much over for now. His mom and Blue are talking to the press, while his dad coordinates with Centropolis PD to keep the public away from the more dangerous areas of battle debris.
Silver Flame has little to do, even less since they're all pissed at him.
They were just kids, really. Noisy, annoying, obviously capable of mischief, but kids. Supervillain kids , Blue's voice corrects in his mind.
Flame sighs to himself. If he's honest, he's gotten bored of it all. Helping the innocent, sure, that's great. But these days it seems all they did was round up supervillains for the sake of it. What's the point?
He can't remember the last time he's just been able to enjoy a sunset. He's seen so much of the ugly in this world, and he's come to appreciate beauty when it shows up, no matter how briefly. It's nice here, far away from the press and public,
Peaceful, even.
He hears a crackle…a cackle? And a flash of green is all he sees before he feels the blast and crumbles into darkness.
II.
She almost feels guilty. He drops like a stone, not even a cry of pain or gasp of surprise.
Surge moves to his side. The others are already gone - the idiot with the hammer who'd taken down her mate Siren and the older woman who'd trapped Mace in some sort of web. Just picked them off for standing on the corner, minding their business. Apparently, even an off-duty supervillain is fair game, these days.
"What's the matter, Superhero? Not pretty enough for the cameras?"
She prods the unconscious superhero with the toe of her boot. Dead to the world, but still breathing. The power crackles in her fingertips. She should finish him off. What's one less superhero anyway?
They hadn't even been doing anything, really. Just playing about, when this gang of supers comes along and attacks them for no reason.
"No good villain but a dead villain," she mutters bitterly as the power surges in her veins.
The superhero stirs at her boots, blinking his eyes open to stare up at her. "Who are you?" He asks. And then, before passing out again, he adds, "That stung…"
Surge squeezes her fingers tightly as the rage falters.
It's a weakness, of course, but this one hadn't even fought. He'd seemed…uninterested in the battle. It was the others who attacked Siren and Mace. Surge had been in the corner market, nicking snacks for the evening when it went down—seen it through the store window. By the time she’d gotten there, the cops had shown up and her mates were being cuffed.
She’d been too late to fight. But not too late to blast Sunset Boy to within an inch of his senses.
Finish 'im off, her grandmother's voice echoes in her head. No good superhero but a dead superhero.
She should, but she can't. Unlike the superheroes, she won't kill just because he wears that costume.
No one is watching. No one will know. Just let him go.
Besides, it's no fun killing a superhero who can't even beg for mercy.
"I'm your worst nightmare," she mutters as she turns on her heels and leaves him lying in the street.
III.
It's not enough that his family is laughing at him. Once sated, their initial concern for his well-being is quickly replaced by good-natured (if heavy-handed) teasing. After all, he was shocked into a stupor by a supervillain he could only identify as "green."
But Silver Flame is in no mood for the desk officer's attitude.
"Why can't I question them?"
"Because they're not here," the officer said. "After a ton of paperwork, I had to cut 'em loose, because contrary to what you Supers think, it's still not a crime to gather on a street corner in broad daylight."
Flame steadied his breath because, despite the arguments he's had with his brother on the very same topic, he does not want to fuel the old man's temper. "I just need information…"
"No," the desk officer corrected as he pushed away from the desk and stands, closing the file he'd been reading. "I know it's not cool to say it, young man, but the law still matters. People–even so-called supervillains–have rights…up to and including the right not to be hounded by glory-seeking vigilantes who care more about the cameras than justice. "
"That’s not fair…" Flame begins, but he's no match for the old man's tirade.
"Don't get me wrong, kid. When an Onyx or Dr. Doom is causing trouble, there's nobody happier than me to see you Supers." He scratches absently at the balding patch on his head. "Hell, I was still a beat cop when Mr. Mysterious took down Jade Dragon back in '93. We lost a lot of good cops before that day, and we were grateful for the help. But superheroes are not cops, and have no business trying to be."
"I understand." Flame makes a stab at charming, but that's really his brother's forte. At best, he comes across as conciliatory as he continues. "We appreciate everything you do for the good people of Centropolis, and I'd never want to cause extra work-"
"But…?" The cop flashes him a tired grin. "Look, I haven't had lunch and I may just miss dinner at the rate the paperwork is piling on…."
Flame shrugs apologetically.
"If I answer your questions, will you leave me alone so I can at least heat up my frozen burrito in peace?"
A deal, at last, is struck.
IV.
From this vantage, she's not sure exactly what he's up to. One thing about Supers…they're always too arrogant to put in an effort at stealth. This one walked right into her turf, oozing confidence in his undeniable right to go anywhere he bloody well wanted.
He's asking questions, but people around here are smart enough not to talk about her or her family. It’s a small territory, but they maintain it well.
She thinks he will eventually get the hint and go away, but he doesn't seem to understand that no one is going to tell him what he wants to know.
Namely, who zapped him.
Surge almost thinks it's funny. She's certainly in a better mood now that Siren and Mace have been sprung. But she's not in a good enough mood to let him skulk about like he owns the place.
"Oi," she shouts from her perch on the fire escape. "Might want to be careful. I hear this neighborhood is crawling with supervillains. "
As he spins towards the sound of her voice, she shoots out a warning zap of electricity, only to narrowly miss being scorched by a burst of flames from his fingers.
"Nice," she says, leaning casually against the railings. "I thought your superpower was falling down." She grins, cat-like. "Flaming fire-fingers are much more entertaining. " She leans forward, enjoying his blush as she looks down on him with a naughty laugh. "Got any other flame-throwing appendages a girl might find interesting? "
He finds his voice finally. "You could've killed me the other day," he says plainly. She shrugs, and he continues. "Why didn't you?"
She swings her legs gracefully over the railings, jumping down to the concrete below. Never taking her eyes off him, she closes the distance between them. "Are you making a request? Because the option is still open." She punctuates her meaning with a crackle of electricity from her hands.
She's surprised when he grins. "Any other electrifying appendages a boy might find interesting?" He's still in a fighting stance, but his tone suggests he's not here for violence.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He lowers his hands, palms up, in an unmistakable gesture of truce. “Seriously, though. You had me at a disadvantage. Why’d you let me go?”
She shrugs off a feeling of annoyance at his sincerity. “What? Because I’m a villain? Because you couldn’t fight back, and well, we all know villains will take any cheap shot they can get?”
“I didn’t mean…”
“It was your crew that attacked my mates for no reason. If I had gotten there just a few minutes earlier, I might’ve gotten thrown in the slammer, too..” She sniffs imperiously. “Of course, if I had been there, your whole crew might’ve regretted their decision to attack without reason.”
To her surprise, he looks more ashamed than angry at her outburst. “I know,” is all he says.
She observes him a bit. He’s tall enough, not bad-looking. Dark hair is way too neat for her liking, but other than that, he’s not a pretty boy like most of the Superheroes she’s seen. Fire-fingers are a nice touch. “You really shouldn’t be in this neighborhood after dark. There are a lot of people who wouldn’t like a Super running about the place.”
He catches her eyes. “You one of them?”
A small smile. “Maybe….” She shrugs. “Maybe not.”
It’s too much, and she realizes that they are just standing there, talking, where anyone–including her parents–could see them. “If we’re gonna have this conversation, we probably want to do it someplace more discrete.”
“You got any place in mind?”
“Sure do,” she says, then blasts him unconscious without warning.
V.
He wakes up in a chair, his wrists and ankles bound. She’s nowhere to be seen. He tugs at his bonds–they’re tight.
Assess your situation - the first rule of capture.
He’s in what looks to be an abandoned building. High ceilings, blacked-out windows, and dust everywhere. Scattered around, he sees a rickety cot, a metal folding table and chairs, and assorted junk. Which gives no clue as to what sort of place this was before it fell to ruin.
His view is limited, given that he’s tied hands and feet to a rickety chair, but he hears her behind him. He hopes it’s her.
“Hey,” he calls.
The click of her heels on the cement floor alerts him. That and whatever perfume she’s wearing. Subtle. Floral, with a hint of a recent electrical storm mixed in. In a moment, she’s in front of him.
The light is actually better in here than out on the streets, and he’s able to get a good look at her. Petite. Big blue eyes behind that mask. Her costume is fitted to perfection, and perfection is pretty much what she’s rocking.
He tries not to think about it. After all, she’s attacked him without provocation…twice, now. She’s tied him up.
He should not be thinking about her English accent, or how her mouth quirks slightly to the side when she laughs.
“Fun’s over,” he says. “You can untie me.”
She laughs softly, leaning forward until their faces are only inches apart, a lock of her emerald green hair brushing against his chest.. “Now why would I do that?” she asks.
“Because you didn’t kill me when you had the chance.”
A flash of anger in those blue eyes. “I told you–I’m not a killer.”
He struggles slightly, not only trying to loosen his hands but to break the spell of her scent in his nostrils. “You talk a good game, but you are the one who attacked me first–twice.” He sighs as she pulls away, just enough for him to think rationally again. “I thought we had a truce.”
She shrugs, a half-smile on her lips. “Wouldn’t call it a truce, per se. More like a detente.” She walks over to the table and grabs a chair, dragging it over. With a flexibility that almost makes him gasp, she swings her leg over the back of the chair to straddle it, facing him. “I still don’t trust you not to try to burn down the whole neighborhood with those flamy fire-fingers of yours.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” he insists.
Her soft, “I don’t know that” unsettles him. Besides a few zaps, she’s done nothing that would qualify as threatening.
Not every villain is our problem, Dad. The argument is almost as old as he is. For some reason, he can’t muster up that zeal his brother and parents have to bring supervillains “to justice.” There are shades of grey.
She’s watching him watch her, the silence palpable between them.
We can’t afford grey, Jack. His dad had seen too much back in the days when the battles were fiercer and the costs were higher. Before the public had changed the superhero game from survival to celebrity.
There has to be a middle ground.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says. “Or turn you in.”
“I’d like to see you try,” she glares.
He switches tactics. “I’m Silver Flame,” he says. “What’s your name?”
In a single syllable, she sets his skin on fire. “Surge.”
VI.
This quiet talk is maddening. She wants him to rage, to threaten, to boast of his power and righteousness.
Instead, he just sits there, chatting away like they were having afternoon tea.
“Silver Flame, huh?” She taunts him, letting the sarcasm drip from her lips for effect. “What? Was Flamy McFire-Fingers, Savior of Centropolis, already taken?”
A smile. Not a damn bit of animosity. What is wrong with him? “I don’t know, Surge. Was Sparky already taken?”
Oh, he is definitely too stupid to know what’s good for him. “Call me Sparky one more time, Flame Boy,” she warned.
“Pretty tough talk from a woman whose opponent is tied up.”
She laughs, reaching out to check the ropes on his wrist. “Can’t be too careful with you Supers,” she says. “You’re untrustworthy.”
“Oh, I’m not that bad. At least we’re talking, right? This is an improvement from my family just hauling your pals in for standing on the corner looking like trouble.”
“Your family? She leans back her head, laughing full in the throat. “Are you really related to Mr. Obviously Overcompensating with that Hammer?”
To her surprise, he’s laughing too. “My brother, Blue Granite. I’ve tried to warn him about the optics on that.”
“And Psycho Spiderweb Woman?”
“My mother.”
She shudders. “And I thought my mum was scary…”
“Yeah, she’s a bit much,” he admits. “They all are.” He’s serious now. “I tried to talk them out of going after your friends,” he says, and she knows he’s telling the truth. “We don’t have to be in a perpetual state of war. I mean, of course, if someone commits a crime, I’m going to do what I can to stop it.” He shrugs. “But there’s a fine line between fighting evil and….”
“Fascism?” she offers.
He shrugs again but doesn’t say a word.
“Look,” she says. “I admit I find your progressive views on superhero-ing refreshing and all, but I still don’t know what you want from me.” She gives him a shrug of her own. “I don’t trust what I can’t understand.”
“You could have killed me, but you didn’t,” he says again, as if repeating the same words would magically impart clarity.
“I told you, I’m–”
“Not a killer, yes.”
She can’t help looking in his eyes, behind the mask, behind the bullshit of supervillains and superheroes and this endless war they fought for public entertainment.
They are kind.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” she whispers, hoping she can find meaning in the repetition.
“I think…” He breathes in deeply. “I think I just…want to talk.”
He holds up the ropes he’s managed to untie while they were talking and drops them to the floor.
Surge smiles. He’s going to be trouble.
“Let’s talk,” she says.
The End