As dawn sets and the sun rises. A new day has come…

  My eyes flutter open as I am awoken by a loud, high-pitched, sing-songy voice, “Chameleon! Wake up, my little Chameleon!” Suddenly, the huge blanket that encased me was torn off with a harsh pull.

  A yelp escapes my lips as I tumble off my comfy and soft mattress onto the cold wooden floor below me.

  Frazzled, I looked up. Seeing my mentor, Miss Claire Davis. She laughs as she says, “Look at your face!” She towered over me at 5’11, compared to me standing at 3’10, ruffling my hair with her right hand.

  She smirked with her typical toothy grin, “C’mon, Ray. I made breakfast.” She turns around, and I see the Chameleon tattoo on her neck. I remember when she first came home with it on. A few weeks after she took me in.

  I stand up groggily and wipe my eyes. I exit my bedroom, walk out into the bleak hallway, and down the long, winding stairs.

  Before me lies an extravagant lair of pure pristine quartz, completely befitting a top tier villain. It is lined with complicated gadgets that neither she nor I touch. Miss Claire has never been one for gadgets. So it has always confused me why she even owned them.

  Walking down the hard tile floor, I make my way to the dining room that’s to the left of me. Miss Claire is in there setting out plates for her and me.

  I take my seat on the wooden chair and pick up my fork. It seems I am having an omelet for breakfast. Miss Claire puts an omelet on my plate and then proceeds to put one on her own. She then sits down and grabs her fork.

  Miss Claire immediately pipes up, “I made your favorite omelet for breakfast, Ray.” She proceeds to stuff her face with her omelet.

  I cannot help but scoff at the sight. She claims that every meal she makes is “my favorite”.

  While I would never admit it to her. The omelets she makes are for sure my favorite breakfast.

  I slowly start eating my own, savoring each bite. Miss Claire, on the other hand, has already finished hers. She sighs, “That was good… You enjoying yours, kiddo?” I nod and take a bite, chewing and swallowing it before responding, “It’s really good, Miss Claire.”

  She giggles before speaking, “You are the most polite eight-year-old in the world, y’know that?”

  I look away and can’t help but feel a creeping blush appearing on my face. “I don’t see how my age has anything to do with this.”

  I continue eating until I completely clean my plate. Miss Claire proceeds to take my plate and haphazardly drops my plate as well as her own into the sink.

  Miss Claire’s face slowly darkens as her smirk grows slightly sinister, “Ready for work, my little Chameleon?”

  Without responding, I stand up and turn around, walking over to a coat rack near an elevator to the right after you exit the kitchen. I picked up a black cloak and put it on.

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  I turn around and yell back in the direction of the kitchen, “Miss Claire? Where’s my mask?” Miss Claire pokes her head out and shouts back, “It isn’t my responsibility to keep track of it, you goober!”

  I make my way to the main lobby of the lair. Miss Claire and I use it as the living room of a normal home. We have this tacky brown leather couch with pointless buttons on it and a big flat-screen TV with a bunch of assorted movie cases under it in the old grey wooden TV stand below.

  I find my mask, a plain white mask that covers my whole face and has a big black spotted chameleon insignia on the arm of the couch. It looks identical to Miss Claire’s tattoo.

  I pick it up before returning to the elevator, where Miss Claire is waiting for me. She is wearing her cloak and mask. Her mask is shaped like an Oni mask, and it is a deep purple, looking like an endless dark void. She is jokingly tapping her foot and looking at her non-existent watch on her covered wrist.

  She looks down at me and says, “Ready for our first outing as Wraith the villain and her little sidekick Chameleon?” I look at her quizzically as my head tilts to the side. Questioning her, I ask: “You’re finally taking me on a mission with you?”

  Miss Claire nods and grabs my arm. She chuckles, “Yup! But first, we’re sparring. Gotta make sure my little Chameleon is warmed up and ready.” Without allowing me to respond, Miss Claire drags me inside the elevator.

  The ride is long and silent, as this some dumb pop music plays. Like some generic garbage you’d hear in a bad commercial. I look up at Miss Claire and grumble: “Seriously? You added elevator music?”

  Miss Claire jokingly pouts in response: “I think it’s fun. I take back my words about you being the most polite eight-year-old. You’re a grumpy pants.”

  I shoot a playful glare back up at Miss Claire as I retort: “And you’re the most immature twenty-nine-year-old I've ever met.”

  In response, she puts a hand to her chest, “Oh, kiddo, you wound me!” She whines.

  The elevator comes to a stop. The doors open to reveal a large, abandoned, run-down warehouse. The warehouse is dark and grey, with pillars holding the metal up. The pillars cast shadows on the roof. Which is only about six feet above us, something that isn’t typical for a warehouse of this size. This is what is above the lair, it’s our cover. Being here has always made my skin crawl. But it hides us well, so I don’t mind.

  We step out of the elevator, and the elevator lowers behind us. It makes it look like it was never there.

  Miss Claire steps out in front of me as four pitch-black tendrils appear from her shadow. “Come at me, kiddo.” She remarks, goading me into making the first move.

  As if I were a mirror only halfway reflecting an image, two pitch-black tendrils appear from my shadow. “Anytime, Miss Claire.” I retort as one of the tendrils behind me drills towards Miss Claire.

  She simply sidesteps. Although I can’t see it I can almost guarantee she has a cocky smirk plaguing her face. The exact same look she always gets during combat. I suppose it’s the right of the strong.

  Miss Claire counter-attacks using two tendrils to bind my legs in place against a nearby pillar before kneeing me in the stomach, causing me to cough and get knocked back a little.

  “Fight like you mean it, Chameleon!” Miss Claire growls. “Those bastards out there will kill you! Show me you’re finally ready.” She punctuates her statement by whacking me with another tendril.

  Her guard is down while she’s talking down to me. I take advantage of the opportunity and use one tendril to bind her legs. She looks to the side. Anticipating me to drill a tendril toward her from that direction. “Above you,” I say breathily. A tendril shoots out at her from the shadows cast above on the roof, cutting through the hood of her cloak and slightly cracking her mask.

  Miss Claire takes off her mask. A look of pride etched onto her face. She helps me up and pulls me into a hug. “That was smart, kiddo. You let me put my guard down when I thought I was teaching you something, and then you took advantage.” She explained as if I weren’t aware of my own planning. “You’re definitely ready.” She laughs.

  Miss Claire is beaming. It makes me smile, too, under my mask. I suppose it’s nice to receive praise from Miss Claire. I can’t help but share her sentiment. Her laugh is so infectious that a laugh of my own escapes my lips.

  “Alright, kiddo. One last thing before we head out…” Miss Claire says as her face scrunches up a bit. Taking a long pause.

  What could she possibly want now?