Chapter Text
Sunfall was the city’s greatest hero. The golden posterboy. The strongest person on the Unstable Essempi.
According to the billboards, the signs, and the twelve-story painting someone did on an apartment.
The red flaming icon. Burning, flashy, loved by the public.
Last night I buried another of his victims, and personally, I think they should affect the rating more.
—The media left. The police have not arrived yet. Sunfall turns back at the detained criminal and plunges his sword completely inside—
The worst part about Sunfall wasn't even the murders.
It was that he was genuinely good at being a hero. Can’t find fault in that.
I leapt. Tucking in my feet, exhilarated in the phantom pains of flying–falling, really–. As the ground came closer and closer towards me, I brought my hands in and rolled, grunting at the way the pebbles dug into my back.
There was a scream. Piercing the night sky, slicing through the oppressive silence, it was immediately cut off. I did not need another thing on my to-do list, having four hours of sleep each day does that to you. Willing energy into my legs, I swung up a rusted fire escape and onto a taller roof.
Looking around frantically, I tried to locate the presence of the sound; was it from the back?
A red cloak suddenly flashed in my peripheral vision, making me stop, reeling back from the sight. Sunfall. The number one hero was on the block.
He jumped onto the assaulter, a woman with knives for hands. I crouched quietly on the rooftop, analyzing the fight in front of me.
The woman’s hands could be sharpened and crystallized into jagged knives at any moment, but seeing her stumble when she lost her balance and almost fell, it takes time for her to turn them back. They were already chipped in some parts, showing how easy they are to damage. She liked to dodge to the left side and was not that athletic by the looks of it. Her clothes were ragged and dirty, and her face was full of desperation.
Great. Another power perfect for criminal charges. Why couldn’t they have nonviolent powers? Like, tax fraud. Which, I may have sixteen years of.
She cannot elongate them, and Sunfall’s best course of action is to set up walls of flame to protect the lamb hybrid cowering in the corner, so the civilian would not be traumatized by the brutality, which would uphold his reputation as a hero. But no, he does not do that.
My eyes darted back and forth, watching Sunfall’s sword engage in a rough battle with the woman. If he’s not careful, he could end up hurting the civilian. I thought. His slashes kept getting awfully close.
The weird thing was that the little girl was not afraid. She was shaking near the wall but not running. Eyes full of appreciation and hope, ears straight up. She looked like she was watching fireworks. Face reflecting the sparks and light flying. Shining in hope.
Like he was going to save her.
Like it was all going to be alright.
As if he would care about civilians without the media, or the light of day.
Sunfall’s black blindfold whipped around behind, scorched and burnt. His bloodthirsty smile grew wider with each step he took forward and every step the woman took backwards.
The woman was running out of options, and she could tell, too. By the way her eyes darted back and forth from the exit of the alleyway to Sunfall’s imposing figure. I watched as her eyes landed on the little girl, and I knew what she was planning.
The lamb was still watching, unaware of what was happening. Eyes trained on Sunfall.
Sunfall was too rash, too quick to make decisions to aid civilians; that role always belonged to us. Vigilants.
Heroes didn’t calculate. Was only in it for fame and recognition.
With a quick leap, I quietly landed right in front of her, bringing out the previously scraped metal from the holster on my back. The sunlight glittered on her, bringing out the dark purple hue of the diamond and gold I had wielded on novicely. Nightrider.
“Whiteout. Why are you here? This is my fight.” I parried a stab from Sunfall, shielding the girl.
“Well, it’s clear that every time you say that, someone ends up dead–” My feet were forced back a foot from the flames dancing in my sightlines “–and I would really rather not have to clean up after you again.”
The little girl hurried down the alley, only to narrowly dodge an attack from the woman. My hair swirled around me as I turned around to attack the woman instead. The blade scraped my mask, drawing a thin line of blood. Was it the lamb’s?
A line of fire suddenly separated us. Scorching her hands, the owner was unfazed as she screamed out in pain, even as I winced.
“Have no idea how the public still adores you. Wonder if it’s because they haven't seen any live fights.” I snarled, the whites of my mask staring at him almost accusingly.
“Shut up.” Sparks flew, scrap on netherite, swords against each other, willing the other to back down. His eyes flickered, and I jumped back, avoiding the new attack. My face, protected by the mask, still felt the wave of belligerent heat. Oppressing but familiar.
The woman cried out in pain. Eerily similar to the first scream as her blood dripped out of her stomach, The Flame, Sunfall’s sword stabbing in and out multiple times, each time cauterizing the wound, only to reopen it again and again. Bits of gore and scabs flew out, staining the pavement.
I turned away from the gruesome scene.
“You know, if I just left the body here, they could easily recognize the way the wound was cauterized, only to be reopened and trace it back to you. It’ll be your fall from grace. Like Icaurus, who flew too close--” A leg sweep forced me to dodge, jerking me out of my musings.
“But you wouldn’t, you wouldn't because you still care about civilians, and even though I use worse methods than other heroes, I still get the job done.” He was right. If he were revealed, the entire city would lose its hope in heroes, and villains would run wild. There won’t be enough manpower to overcome them.
My skills aren't enough even to help the main villains. Perhaps I could be enough to save petty civilians and defeat alleyway gangs, but not a full-on villain. Much less a commission-trained hero.
More shuffling, the little girl got away. The woman was a mess of viscerated organs and mutilated limbs.
“You know, I think I heard some of your buddies back there, think it’s time for you to run Sol.” I reminded. Just because he was hellbent on killing me doesn't mean I had time for petty revenge.
“This isn’t over, Blizzard Boy.” He scoffs like he always does and whisks away. Falling over the ledge as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the mountains. Skillfully maneuvering past the alleyways where the police were parked and sneaking out, leaving myself to my musings.
We used to be good friends, you know, meeting up for occasional spars or a quick talk.
We used to smile and eat under the same roof, get our hair ruffled by the same hand.
We used to sit on the roof of houses and throw little pebbles at pigeons below; he would always miss.
“You suck at this.”
“I’m missing deliberately.”
“You missed 5 times already.”
“I didn’t miss, I’m simply aiming around them. So I actually threw them right where I wanted them.”
“Ahuh.”
“I’m telling the truth!”
He tried to shove me off, and I elbowed him in return.
The next ten minutes were us falling off the building and climbing back up.
I wonder if it was all a lie.
We used to laugh and shove food into our faces together, throwing the mashed potatoes all over the room.
We used to sit in detention together, giggling softly under our breath.
We used to wrap around each other when I was forced into another particularly grueling Power Testing session.
We used to comfort each other after every kill.
What changed?
There was a time when Sunfall only subdued villains, knocked them unconscious, and put them into jail. But there was not a time when he was all pacifist and suddenly became blood thirsty. It was a process, a slow journey that was fueled by his thirst for power and control. A journey that started tearing away at him, until he was nothing but a monochromatic killer who does it for fun.
The public doesn't know. He was still the perfect poster boy, the number one hero in the city. When most of his captures aren't even by him. I would know. His kills just leave a mess of flesh and bones. Most of the villains “captured” by him were by Shadow and Eclipse.
His time was almost up, and he knew it. Why else did every hero who failed over two missions mysteriously disappear and become branded a traitor? Why else did the good ones get blamed for the ones with “potential”?
Dragging the body, I sliced up the identifying wounds in her stomach and shoved her into a garbage bag. Grimacing when I saw her pain-stricken eyes. Dull and lifeless.
There was a choke and clang behind me, and I bounded over again, dusting off myself and leaping over an alleyway, crouching beside the roof. My black costume let me blend in perfectly with the night sky.
“Hey. Where’s the money you owe me? Didn’t we say this was the last time?” Five people were crowding a tall, purple-eyed man. The victim seems to have a teleportation power, as they seem to be teleporting around in the crowded circle. But not far, or else they would have escaped by now.
He was not panicking, he was almost enjoying the attention. If only I paid more attention and did not have my thoughts set solely on “saving” him.
I fell on one of the attackers, using my blade to slice at their legs. The first one went down easily, the second too. One of them ran, and the other two started to seemingly reach for their powers. One’s fingers elongated and the other’s limbs started to detach. A short range and a long range, then. A weak telekinesis and healing power.
It will be easy for me to immobilize the long-fingered guy, but I would have to be on guard for their friend.
A hand went over my head as I raised my blade to start to advance on the finger guy, slicing at them.
There was only fear in his eyes. Only instinct as he started to randomly wave his hands, trying to get past my defense. Soon enough, he was knocked out. Kids, don’t bring your fingers to a knife fight.
Knocked out.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for the entire fight. “Hey, purple guy. You alright?”
He blinked at me slowly before grinning from ear to ear. White hair bouncing softly, he all but pranced up to me, crazed eyes staring into mine.
“Yes. I’m alright. You’re Whiteout, right? Thanks for saving me back there, Clowny wasn’t close enough. Anyways, my name is Branzy, Branzy Craft. No, I’m not related to the Minecraft family, I think they died out anyways. You were so cool, you took them all down, and you only had makeshift weapons. Makes me wonder how good you could be with enchanted armor…”
Clowny? Was he referring to Clown? The psychopathic serial killer? Right. Just my luck. End up saving a psychopath’s boyfriend. Yeah. That’s on me.
“Enchanted armor? You have the resources for that?”
“Yep. Plenty. Pretty rich.”
“So, how did you get into this… Situation then?”
“Poor life choices. Also a lack of my boyfriend.”
“Okay….”
“Anyways! Thanks, I guess we owe you one. If you ever need something, just call. Bye!”
I ended up staring at the spot he was just in. I thought he had a weak teleportation power, but to leave without any of the usual flickering or particles? It was unheard of.
Okay, yeah, that’s a night in the life of your infamous vigilante Whiteout. Saving people left and right with no pay.
I jumped over the rails and let out a wince from the bruise I got when I fell too hard. That would definitely carry on to tomorrow. No free healthcare here either.
A massive billboard stretched on in my vision.
Gold.
Crimson.
Perfect teeth.
Perfect smile
Sunfall looked down upon the city like he was the greatest protector that ever came. Not a single scratch on it. Recently polished.
What was it, five? Ten? Surely he killed more people than that this month. The people he killed never got the same experience.
Another one of Sunfall’s performances. Another burial, another cover-up. I wonder what the Hero Commission would respond to this one. Self-defense? Self-inflicted? Hah.
The public will never know. They’re blind to the light and the dark.
Rooftop to rooftop–ow, a knee shouldn’t make that sound–building to building before I spotted mine in the distance. It was unflattering, really. An abandoned apartment that would fall any moment now. But it was mine.
Dropping in from the window, because. Who needs doors anyway? So old-fashioned, look at him. Trendsetter. Despite the rough outside, it was surprisingly cozy. I had kept it orderly and clean, sharp and ready.
The walls were hung with tools and maps. Papers were shuffled neatly onto piles on the make-shift desk, and the corner for sleeping was neat and clean.
One by one, I dropped my gear. First, Nightrider. She had a few scratches from the woman’s fingers, but otherwise it was fine. A bit of cleaning the blood off and she was as good as new. Next, Dawnbreaker. The blade’s edges were dulled even more, making her look more like a butter knife than menacing. Less like the murder weapon that caused injury to several people today.
The rhythmic cleansing lured my mind away from the task at hand. It has become such a normal occurrence, such a tradition-like method that I’ve kept for years. Even down in the pits.
What did it mean to be alive? Right. When I find that out, I will probably write it down somewhere. In a spreadsheet. When I was younger, I thought it meant the rush of gravity, reclaiming you when you fall down to earth on the swing. I thought it was the thrill of surprise and happiness.
When they took me, I thought it was the sleepless nights, the rare moments when you get food, or when they threw you into the pits. I thought it was when the pearls of blood rolled down my arm, thin movements of the knife flashing in the artificial light. I thought it was when my eyes were blinded in the light, when I finally felt warmth on my face.
Now, I don’t know anymore. I still had the scars.
I thought it was the rare moments Lion would take care of us, spoil us. Until he abandoned us.
Was it the rush of exhilaration when I jumped roof to roof? Knowing I would plunge into an alleyway where nobody would ever find me. Staining the pavement with my blood, spiderwebbing around my limp body. I thought it was the scraped knees and broken promises. I thought it was the moment when I looked up at the billboard and my life started again.
Now, I don’t know anymore. The blood just won’t come off. It was stuck to the blades and to my hands.
What did it mean to live? What is your purpose in life? For if you do not have a purpose to live, then you would be better off not. If you did not have a reason, you were like an empty husk roaming the realm we call Earth. That was me, for a while. Wandering with no purpose, for what was a puppet without its puppeteer? What was a champion without the master?
–Furiously scrubbing out the blood off my shirt. It was the third one this week. I wonder if any shop sells blood-repelling shirts?--
In a world of superpowers and killers, a Dull was not supposed to exist. With my short horn buds and canine teeth, I could easily pass as a dragon hybrid if not for the distinct lack of wings and talons.
Most people had goals in life, dreams. Mine consisted of a mix of don’t let the public know, and don’t die.
Blood swelled in my mouth again, and I hurriedly spat it out. A wad of crimson on the floor.
The blades could pass a microscopic inspection at this point. Not even the police, or what remains could find the blood.
Okay, Sunfall. Where were you and what were you doing? Sitting down at the desk, I started researching his patrol lines further. I thought I knew it to heart, until he arrived at the scene today, he must have changed something. Ordered somewhere else.
He only had one sword out today. The Flame. It was also less shiny than usual for someone who cleans when they’re nervous. Meaning either he was dying, I was dying, or the world was dying. They were all possible. His whole base must have been cleaner than a hospital.
The lights flickered once, then stabilised. I really hoped I didn’t have to make a visit to the electrician.
Sunfall’s stance favored his right much more today, slightly limping, tilted to the right. His cloak was burnt in one corner. He had enough control not to burn it. The details were small enough that the media wouldn't notice. The vultures won’t broadcast how a villain or the hero was injured and destroy the reputation. The hitch in the steps.
Either he was especially mad or especially depressed. I don’t know if he had the mindset for the second.
A leaf flew in from the window. What? What tree grew this tall? Wait. When did I leave it open?
“Heyyy, buddy. How’re you doing?” The tree was not a tree. It was Power.
“Spokes… I thought I told you not to come in when it’s not one of my hours.”
“And I told you to call me Power. I guess none of us can get what we want, Snowflake.”
I visibly cringed at the nickname. Snowflake? Really? That’s a new one.
Power vaulted in from the window, not caring at my wince as he brought in stray twigs and leaves.
“So, what do you need? We both know you wouldn’t just visit out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Whattt, you think so lowly of me.”
“Is that a word?”
“I don’t know. It sounds like it.”
I let out a sigh.
“Come on. I promise it’ll be worth your time. Look. I was testing my powers again, and I found a new exploit. I know how to make gear upgrades. Not the trashy ones from HHQ, but the kind that can get your gear to…” He leaned in for a mock stage whisper. “Netherite.”
Baring his fangs, he stood back, as if awaiting applause and only getting my deadpan stare.
“Okay, look. I can get you netherite armor, swords, daggers, blades, maces, but every piece will be a favor. Think of the opportunities…”
It’s always favors with Power. The whole city uses them, underground and above the law.
Favors are the method of transaction, almost the currency in this state. I had three. People like Power had hundreds, hundreds of infinite possibilities.
In a favor, you could ask for anything. Anything, and they would have to deliver, with the only rule being not being able to ask for more favors with the favor. You could ask for money, tools, and friendship. Anything. Making favors and deals are dangerous. Especially with Power.
“Princess. I could get you a mace. Imagine, being able to fly, soar–”
“No. I told you this already. I’m not taking a deal with you. Goodbye”
I moved to throw him out the window, knowing fully well he would land on his feet. Even though I pushed with my full body weight, he didn’t move an inch. I should really go work out.
He choked out a laugh and gave a big show of flailing and regaining his balance.
“Oh my god. How did I not even notice? You’re so weak. Like–”
“Bro, get out.”
“OKAY. Wait, you’re still sleeping on the floor?”
“Says the free-lancer. Like you can talk.”
“At least I don’t sleep on the floor. WAIT, IS THAT A WHOLE WALL DEDICATED TO SUNFALL???”
Power rushed towards my desk, ruining the clean order the papers were in. Patrol routes falling to the ground, pictures scattering, the entire alphabetically ordered system collapsed. Rainbow bandana trailing behind him. Air glitching a little at his happiness.
“Power, I’m gonna kill you.”
“Hah. Get in line.”
I drew Nightstrider.
“Okay, okay, look. I can give you your full heritage! You're a halfling. I found an exploit to give you your full heritage.”
Everyone knew I was a failed halfling. You could see it in the way my horns curled, the way my back had two bumps, as if my wings were trapped beneath the skin. The dull fangs that grew wrong.
It was a tempting offer.
“I won’t even do it a favor. A direct compensation. You do something for me, I do something for you. A gift from you and a gift from me.”
“What is it?”
“Incapitate. Send a message to Squid. Fourteen hero. Give me a call when you complete it.”
He knew he had me hooked. He knew my heart burned at the thought, at the thought that maybe…
He knew he had succeeded in what he came here for.
“Not gonna give me any info on where she was last seen?”
“You’re a smart kid. You’ll figure it out.”
He pondered for a bit more, as if getting the courage for something. His skin crackled.
“Hey. After, maybe next month, wanna go infiltrate HHQ? I found the entrance to the archives.”
At that, he jumped out.
There was only silence following his absence. Of course, only Power would talk about infiltrating the HHQ like discussing the weather.
This could be a great opportunity, though. I could find some more information about Light. And Sunfall.
Notice the priorities.
Squid, where are you? I furiously dug into the pile of hero patrol routes I have not updated in a long time. Hopefully, she had not changed it much. There.
You got me, Spoke. I’ll go play a villain tomorrow night.
Orange sweater with large goggles and light brown hair. Subduing and finding Squid won’t be a problem. Her orange wings–which she can summon at will–will be easy to out-maneuver as long as I pick a good location. I would have to pay attention to the butterfly swarms she can summon. But what if I don’t have to fight?
I need to be careful not to encounter her boyfriend, Glitch. Seriously. What is with all the weak people having strong partners? Actually, what is with everyone having attachments?
They’re all just ways to manipulate you. Restrain you from your true potential.
Oh wow, I hope I don’t regret that. Anyways, where was I? Right. I’m tired. The few hours of being a hero without pay really got to me.
I have a shift early tomorrow morning, so I’d better get some sleep. The floor was rough and hard, and there were a million better places to sleep, but beggars can’t be choosers.
The snow fell another inch. The sun inched higher into the sky. Illuminating the city. Waking a certain someone up.
I hated the sun. I hated the room. I hated everything. Everything sucks.
Yeah, you could say I’m not a morning person. Yep. To my job I go.
It was a small cafe, graciously entitled CornerStone. A neutral ground for everybody who goes on it. The only rules being that there must be no fighting, no damaging of property, no hero or villain business, and to pay your debts. It was small and cozy. Green moss hanging from the rooftops, padded by hand.
Snow drifted lazily down.
Everyone knew about it. Few knew the truth about it. You order a black coffee for information gathering. You order a matcha cake for a hitman. There were probably more, but that’s all I can remember. Yes. Horrible server. I know.
There was a crash. A scream, an explosion. I had plans today. What plans, you may ask, would a 16-year-old legally unemployed teen have? A shift at a basically illegal cafe? Well, not witnessing a murder was high on the don’t do list.
I checked the time and climbed onto the highest vantage point I could find. Not much I could do in the light of day and without Nightrider, even with Dawn. I only brought along Dawn during the day. Funny. Dawn. Day. Get it? Nightrider during the night?
Nevermind.
Sunfall. Posing with one foot on the villain’s chest. Cameras click and flash, reporters surge to find a good angle. Charming smile back onto his face, like he’s never committed any felonies. Beside him, much more composed was Riptide. Water churning and swirling around his torso, a stupid multigadget mask firmly placed on his face, seasprayed raven hair flowing around his stupid face, trident held firmly in his hand in an aura of nonchalance.
Sunfall’s blindfold met mine, a grin turning into a sneer.
“Today, justice has prevailed once again. This criminal threatened the safety of our city and the lives of innocent people. But as always, when danger rises, we rise higher. Let this be a message to anyone who seeks to spread fear: there is nowhere you can hide from law.”
“Everyone can sleep peacefully tonight, every night,” he continues. “Your Heroes are watching. The Hero Commission will protect you from every villain and vigilante." He brought The Flame up, letting the light bounce off, letting everyone know he was the one who incapacitated this “villain,” while Riptide slightly bowed his head. Riptide, the number two hero, was not in it for fame, with his mask covering most of his face, leaving much to be imagined. Not that I do.
Much better at his job than Sunfall though, he just simply does not have enough publicity to rise further in the ranks.
Don’t tell anyone, I’m rooting for him.
What a crude speech. “Your heroes”. I’m sure the civilian’s family is sleeping soundly at night.
Sol’s cape rippled in the wind, head tilted high, as the cameras flashed around him. Sword alit with flames, journeying on the blade. The civilians looked at him in awe, much like the lamb last night, while Riptide stood there awkwardly.
I turned away, unable to stare at their figures anymore. Retreating through dark alleyways to get away from the mobs swarming to meet him.
“Mommy, let’s go see Sunfall! Come on!”
“Okay, don’t run!”
Children want to meet their idol.
“Mom, when I grow up, I want to be a hero just like him!”
“You can do it. I’m sure of it.”
We don’t need another hero just like him. Maybe another like Riptide. The pirate-themed hats lay on the shelves, unbought, while the flaming blindfolds were sold out everywhere.
Slowly, the not-so-legal cafe came into view. Small lettering across the top, spelling out “CORNERSTONE CAFE”. I let out a sigh. I hope I was not late.
“North, are you aware you are fifteen minutes late?” I was met by stern eyes. Nope. I guess fate hates me today.
Zam stood before me, infamous cloak wrapped around her shoulders. “Uh… Hey Zammy… Um, Sunfall and Riptide held me up. I tried to get here on time. Sorry.”
“Ahuh. And you were probably staring at Sunfall for the whole time. You know what, just–just go.” She made me a tired of your bull face. “Those guys over there ordered a matcha cake and a black coffee. You know what to do.”
He pointed over to two totally inconspicuous people, clad in black at the back of the cafe. Wait, what was matcha cake again? Um. Yeah, I should probably memorise the orders better. Wait, cake was information. So was it information delivery or retrieval?
“NORTH. GET TO IT.”
Okay. I bring out a matcha cake from the back and carefully set it down. One of them slid over a photograph.
Beaming smile,
Orange sweater.
White glasses.
Brown hair.
Squid.
Right… This could be a problem.
I blinked at the photo. Yeah, I remember now. They need the person’s location tracked, preferably with a tracker of their own.
Bringing them a small black coffee, wait, same grin, same void dark eyes, same lack of personal hygiene, that looked like Spoke. I knew him well enough to know that was Spoke.
It was the same uncleaned hoodie, and his signature bandana was wrapped around his other wrist. Of course, he wouldn’t trust me enough and go to an underground, basically black market, to illegally trace her. What beef does he even have with Squid? Does he want leverage over Glitch?
I kept smiling, not letting him suspect anything. Besides, he wouldn’t recognize me anyway. All the years I’ve interacted with him, I was wearing the same blank porcelain mask.
He quickly chugged down the coffee. Okay, first of all, it was like eighty degrees, fresh out of the machine. How the heck did he just chug that down with a straight face?
Wrapping something in tissue, he left it with the compensation for the mission and the cost of the items, whisking away quickly.
His buddy took the cake and left with him, but not without taking a pivot and throwing the entire thing into the trash.
Untouched.
Oh, I wanted that cake…
“And?” Zam glared at me. “It’s not the first day you’ve worked here. Get going. Now.”
“Okay, okay, chill. I’m going.”
I slipped the small rainbow tracker into my pocket and put on another smile as I went back to the counter. On top, there was a little jar, graciously named “Damage funds”. It was empty. As usual.
“Hi, what can I do for you today?”
Oh my god, it was Branzy and Clown. What is my luck right now? Both of them, too.
They waltzed in like they owned the place. Clown with the calm imitating aura and Branzy, acting a little trigger-happy. Yeah, they were perfect with each other.
“Branzy would like a hot chocolate, a muffin, and a brownie.”
“Clowny, I can order for myself. Hey, are you not the knife guy?”
Am I that easy to recognize?
“No.”
“The guy that saved me yesterday?”
“Don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Whiteout?”
“The vigilante? Nahhhh.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Hot chocolate for what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Aren’t you ordering the service?”
“What?”
“The… expedited service and stuff?”
“Uh, no. The drink.”
Clown quietly snickers behind him, hand brought up to the mouth of the mask as if to cover the noise.
Branzy stared.
I stared back.
Clown leaned against the counter.
"North."
"What?"
"He wants hot chocolate."
"Oh."
"The drink."
"Right."
"The beverage."
“Okay, I’ll get that to you in a moment!" I quickly glanced back at Zam, who seemed to also have trouble holding in her laughter. Branzy’s face was still scrunched up in confusion.
Of course. Of course, they order actual food in an illegal, basically black market. While there’s a hitman offer being discussed in the table to the right, and a hero staring soulfully into a villain’s eyes on the other side. Of course.
I got out the muffin and the brownie immediately and served them before going around to start to make the drink. I tried to look at what they were doing over there while throwing a glass of milk into the microwave, getting out a bag of cocoa powder and a can of whipped cream.
At the table, Branzy was talking so fast, with his mouth full of muffin, so incoherent that I couldn’t understand half of the words he was saying. And still, Clown was nodding along, interjecting every so often.
Pouring a healthy amount of cocoa powder into the hot milk, adding a piece of dark chocolate and a teaspoon of salt, I saw Branzy steal a piece of Clown’s brownie.
Clown just laughed and slid the plate closer to him. Huh. That’s the guy who monopolizes the underground market for potions and materials and the best guy at engineering in the city.
Love does drive people to lengths, I guess.
I can not even imagine having attachments to something, much less a living human person, who can betray you at any moment.
The bounty hunter at table three kept glancing over at Clown meaningfully. I wonder what that’s about. Surely nothing illegal.
Just don’t break into a fight in the cafe. Or else I might have to ban them. And I like Branzy. Even though he knows I’m Whiteout. Wait. He knows I’m Whiteout.
Oh, I’m so cooked.
Wait, what do I do, what do I tell him? How should I assure him we just, I don’t know, behave alike?
Unaware of my inner turmoil, the couple left, with Branzy latched onto Clown’s arm.
The ceiling of the cafe was littered with bullet holes I painted over myself. The wall in the back was covered in photos of villains and heroes with signatures.
Once in a while there would be no customers. The cafe would be quiet, only interrupted with the quiet rumble of the oven and the hissing of the coffee machine.
The low coffee shop music we put on, the calm atmosphere a complete 180 from the exhausting, roller coaster of a life I live in usually.
Somewhere, where I didn’t see, where I didn’t know.
“A75.”
Sunfall sat before a table, head bowed.
“We can’t keep covering all of this up. You’re either going to increase your popularity, get a bigger percentage of crime resolved or we’ll Imprint you. This is your final warning.”
He didn’t reply. His flames wavering around him.
“We both know we don't want that, so do us a favor, and get in line.”