Operative Gale Force steps forward and raps his knuckles against the heavy steel door a few times with a clanking sound. The two of us are deep in the Bowl, standing before an interrogation room designed for SAUs. After I’d rushed to get my supersuit on, this is where he led me. I’d asked why we’re going here for a reaper mission, but the self-assured bastard just said I’d figure it out eventually.

  I see the massive door handle turn as it slowly creaks open, the near inch-thick steel grinding against the floor. Instantly, I almost gag on the scent of blood, that iron smell that usually isn’t half as strong as it is now, even after a fight. To my surprise, I see that Jonathan was the one to open the door. He takes a quick look at the two of us, then beckons us inside with a wave of his hand. Cautiously, I follow Gale Force as he enters the room.

  Inside the smell is even worse, the cramped, sealed off room likely keeping it in. To my horror, however, the source of the smell is much, much more chilling, as two slumped over corpses sit on a pair of steel chairs, strapped down by the wrists. Both are mutilated beyond recognition, with only their unusual clothing differentiating them. One seems dressed like a cowboy, with a ten-gallon hat and boots with spurs—which almost makes me think they might’ve been villains until I see the other one.

  He’s dressed in red-and-white-striped spandex that makes him almost look like a candy cane, a garish outfit I instantly recognize because of its sheer unforgettableness. I’d seen that man around the Bowl before. I’ve even spoken to him once or twice.

  Because he’s a hero.

  “Reporting for duty, Operative Guardian sir,” Gale Force says clearly, shaking me from my thoughts. I turn toward the stoic face of Jonathan, far too serene for the scene before us.

  “Your target is this man,” Jonathan says, getting immediately to business. He slaps a bunch of clipped-together papers in front of us. On top of them is a picture.

  “He goes by ‘Thunderfist,’” Jonathan continues, “Ability is registered as ‘Electric Aura.’ Known for being able to electrify his body and project that electricity into anything he touches. He’s also a good deal faster than average. Take caution when approaching him and work together. Operative Gale Force, you’ll have a hard time getting close, so Ms. Gardner, you’ll need to pin him down first. After that, it should be a simple matter of the final blow. Any questions?”

  Gale Force shakes his head, while I look down at the picture Jonathan has shown us. It shows a man with spiky blue hair. Then I look back up at Jonathan. His immaculate suit bears only a single spot of red. His feathers tell a different story. I return my gaze to the picture.

  “I recognize him,” I say with a shaky voice. I turn to the second body, “and him. They’re heroes, both of them.”

  “That is not a question,” Jonathan replies calmly.

  “The question is implied,” I growl, turning to glare at his collected expression.

  “You may have forgotten due to my leniency in your particular case, but I remind you that the usual response to heroes stepping out of line is the involvement of the reapers,” Jonathan says threateningly.

  “And how, exactly, did they ‘step out of line?’” I press.

  “That, Ms. Gardner, is not something you need to know,” Jonathan replies, his voice lowering to a dangerous level, almost daring me to object.

  Which, to be fair, might explain some things.

  “Did you do this on purpose?” I ask.

  “What are you implying, Gardner?” Jonathan responds, not really answering me.

  “This mission,” I accuse, “I asked the Captain for one, but this seems almost handpicked to make me object. Almost like you’re trying to find an excuse to give me the boot.”

  Jonathan pauses, not responding for a moment. If I didn’t know any better, I might almost think he was at a loss for words.

  “You have an overactive imagination, Ms. Gardner,” Jonathan lies, “and if you are truly so certain that this is not a mission you can accept, then you can always quit. I’m sure I can find someone else to handle it; the Captain, for example, might enjoy the sport.”

  My brow furrows, but I can sense I’m getting nowhere.

  “By your leave,” I say, turning on my heel and exiting the room. Gale Force hurries after me as I set a course for the outside, still fuming. I don’t get a few feet, however, before he grabs my shoulder, stopping me. I whirl around, anger in my eyes, but Gale Force meets my gaze.

  “The fuck was that?” he vehemently accuses. I shrug off his grip.

  “He’s being a petty dick,” I shoot back, “Everything about that interaction was just him trying to make me quit being a reaper. Even the fucking room. He could’ve just moved, but no, he had to make me see the corpses of my fellow heroes!”

  “They were the target’s accomplices, hero,” Gale Force hisses back, “He just got done interrogating them for information so we could do our mission.”

  “And how do you know that?” I counter.

  “Because I read the file he gave us,” he shoots back, forcefully shoving the stack of papers from before at me. I didn’t even see him take it. I look down at it in shock, some—but not all—of my anger draining.

  “I-” I start feebly.

  “My best guess is we somehow accidentally spooked the target when rounding up the other two,” Gale Force continues, “He’ll be hiding out somewhere he thinks he won’t be found. The file gives us some places to check first.”

  I look down at the file and the picture of the blue-haired man attached to it. He’s grinning, with one thumb up. It’s probably an old publicity photo, something he would’ve had on a social media page or sent to a magazine. He looks…harmless.

  “Did it say anything…about what he did?” I ask.

  Gale Force frowns, “It only lists the charges: extortion, assault, and custodicide.” The new term makes me give him a questioning look. Gale Force notices.

  “It’s a legal charge added in the Superhuman Accords,” he explains, “From the latin ‘custos,’ meaning a guard or protector, and ‘cide,’ which you should recognize.”

  “He killed a police officer?” I ask, confused.

  “Superhuman Accords, hero,” Gale Force sighs, “It applies to SAUs.”

  A beat, then realization dawns:

  Our target was responsible for the death of a hero.

  —

  “You don’t like me, do you?” I ask.

  Gale Force and I are checking out a seemingly abandoned building on the outskirts of the city. The shattered windows and multicolored graffiti slurs mark it as long past its expiration date, but the almighty file said our target knew of the place and might’ve decided to hole up here, so we have to check it out. Nevermind that this is the fifth such location already.

  “Obviously not,” Gale Force replies, scanning the inside of the building through what used to be a window as we walk around the outside.

  “You know, most people wouldn’t put that so bluntly,” I point out, passing the same window myself.

  “You asked,” Gale Force counters, not a bit less bluntly, “And anyways, are you really surprised? I have no reason to like you. Ever since I first met you you’ve caused me nothing but trouble. Even now, it seems you have no intention of stopping.”

  “Hey!” I squeak indignantly, “You were at least partially responsible for some of the stuff that happened. Remember how you were the one to seek me out for help?”

  “Only because you sought me out first,” Gale Force stands and turns to confront me, “Be honest, hero, does it even really matter? Why do you care if I ‘like’ you or not? There’s no reason for us to be friendly—we aren’t exactly in a social profession.”

  I glare at him, “If we’ll be working together in the future, I’d prefer it if you didn’t treat me with outright hostility. Even just a little less sass would be fine.”

  “Well there you have it then, we won’t be working together from now on,” he says, turning around with a shrug.

  I blink twice at him in confusion, “What?”

  “Obviously this is temporary,” Gale Force explains, “Reapers work alone. Have you ever seen Julian with a partner? Or Jonathan? After this mission, maybe one or two more, they’ll trust us enough to start giving us solo jobs. Sure, occasionally there need to be team-ups for difficult fights, but it’ll be years before either of us is on the top of the list for those. Until then, I doubt we’ll even see each other, much less have to exchange pleasantries.”

  I stare at his back as he continues the search, honestly confused. While he raised some good points, and I’m surprised I hadn’t considered it sooner, for some reason I feel like he’s wrong. Some gut instinct tells me I’ve far from seen the last of him yet, and, with Superhuman, I’ve learned to trust my gut.

  Which is exactly why, half a second later, I trust it when it screams a feeling of danger into my ear.

  Hair raised, I shoot forward, tackling Gale Force just in time as something massive and heavy falls from above. I barely manage to push him out of the way, but I’m not nearly so lucky myself. I get struck by the object and slammed down to the ground.

  Dust is thrown up, obscuring my vision for a moment. When it settles, I see a figure leap down from the roof above, and Gale Force standing up from where I’d knocked him over, drawing his shorter blade. I catch a glimpse of blue as the figure bolts, Gale Force hot on his heels. He catches up swiftly, but I still sense something wrong.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  “Wait!” I shout, but it’s too late. Gale Force is on our attacker in a flash and swings his sword in a clean arc towards the man’s neck.

  The attack never makes it. With a resounding crack and bright flash, Gale Force is thrown back, convulsing wildly. The man, who I can now see is blue-haired, stops just long enough to stare at his handiwork, eyes wide with fear.

  With a grunt, I finally manage to push the massive object off of me. Seeing this, the man bolts once more. I rush to Gale Force, who’s just stopped convulsing. Slowly trying to stand, he glares daggers at me. I get the message.

  Leaving him to recover on his own, I start off running, surprising myself with my own speed as I run down the blue-haired man in seconds. He whirls to face me instinctively, as I leap into the air, push off the side of the building, and come back down again with a full-force flying roundhouse kick aimed straight at his head.

  He raises an arm just in time to block, my shin landing on his forearm. I feel his bone cave beneath the force of mine, but in nearly the same instant he retaliates in turn. A surge of electricity as powerful as lightning courses through me as I make contact, causing me to lose control of my body mid-attack. The force of my blow still sends him careening into a dumpster which he bounces off of on impact, falling to the floor in a heap. I hit the ground too, falling gracelessly onto the concrete as I struggle to regain motor control.

  We stand almost in unison, both running high on adrenaline. I take not half a step forward before he places a hand against the ground, and suddenly another shock runs through me, this time weaker yet sustained. I fall back into a convulsing heap in agonizing pain, nearly blacking out. As the shock fades, I’m eventually able to stand again, but by then it’s too late. I can no longer see the man anywhere.

  We’ve lost him.

  “Fuck,” I curse, leaning against the side of the building, all of my muscles still aching. The electric attacks our assailant kept throwing off seemed tailored for pain and suppression over actual damage. That’s my theory, at least, as Gale Force limps up beside me, finally mobile again.

  “That was him, wasn’t it?” I ask, knowing full well the answer.

  “No shit,” Gale Force replies, looking as bad as I feel.

  “We need to go after him,” I opine.

  “In a minute,” he begs, “I need more time to recover.”

  “We don’t have that time,” I press, “He knows we’re looking now. Can you track him?”

  “Yeah, but-”

  Not even giving him time to argue, I pick him up and sling him over my shoulder. He struggles, but I’m more than strong enough to ignore that. I take a deep breath, then look to where I think our target went.

  “Tell me where to go,” I say.

  “Hey, wait, put me-”

  And I take off running.

  —

  I ran for at least an hour.

  Apparently our target had a motorcycle stashed nearby, modified to be used in tandem with his ability to reach definitely illegal speeds. I could barely keep up, and we followed him all the way into the soon familiar forests of New Jersey. There, after we find the ditched motorcycle, Gale Force finally asks me to put him down. We’re close.

  “For someone with such a good tracking ability,” I comment, “You sure were easy to surprise. I don’t think you even noticed he was there until I knocked you out of the way.”

  “That part of my ability takes active focus,” Gale Force responds, his face conveniently hidden in the shadows of the trees, “I was distracted.”

  Sensing he means by me, I put the subject to rest as the two of us continue deeper into the woods. We move stealthily, trying not to be the ones snuck up on twice in a row.

  “We need a plan this time,” I whisper as we move.

  “Any suggestions?” Gale Force asks in a rare display of humility.

  I think for a moment, “Probably just what Jonathan advised: I pin him down, you strike. I have much better resistance against his attacks than you do, but I can only hit him every so often, even if I’m more than strong enough to hurt him. If I tackle him, he should stay down long enough for you to get a hit in unimpeded.”

  Gale Force considers my suggestion, “That works. Without some kind of ranged option, it’s our best bet.”

  “Funny how he seems to counter us so well,” I comment, “Multishot would’ve been a much better option.”

  Gale Force makes a noise of assent, “Don’t forget: we’re being tested.”

  I nod. I had forgotten, but oh well. We continue on in silence.

  That is, until I spot something moving up ahead. I turn to Gale Force and he nods back at me: that’s our target. We split up, moving to flank him by unspoken agreement—neither of us is truly an amateur. Then I spot him for real: the blue-haired man on foot, still frantically looking around for something he will never see.

  I explode out from the undergrowth, on him just as he turns. I tackle him with as much speed as I can muster, wrapping my arms around his entire body as I feel the electricity begin to surge out from him. I hear him scream as I squeeze his broken arm.

  Then his back hits a tree. I continue to hold on, gritting my teeth through the pain and harnessing the spasms to hold on even tighter. I’m lucky, though. It doesn’t even take another second before Gale Force springs into action.

  I hear a blade drawn from its sheath. I hear the whistling of wind. I hear the thunk of metal on wood; I feel the impact shake the tree. Then I feel blood splatter against me, and the pain stops. Something the size of a watermelon falls on me and rolls off my back to the earth.

  I take a step back, then another.

  I get just enough vantage to see the headless body slump lifelessly to the ground, Gale Force’s sword still embedded a few inches into the tree. He pulls it back out.

  Then I see the fading eyes staring back at me from the floor, and I can no longer keep it in. I vomit, more than once, at the sight of the decapitated hero lying on the forest floor.

  —

  “I can’t believe you still haven’t gotten used to the sight of gore,” Operative Gale Force of the Reapers comments as he walks up next to me, wiping the last remnants of dirt and blood from his hands with an old rag. I stay silent, staring at the motorcycle left abandoned on the side of the highway. Cars pass every so often, oblivious to what has occurred in the forest just off to their left. Though the thought brings shame, I can’t help but envy them now.

  “It wasn’t the blood,” I murmur too softly to hear beneath the roar of a car going past.

  “What?” Gale Force inquires, sounding disinterested.

  “I can handle the blood,” I say, louder now, “I’ve been learning to, lately. Even the interrogation room today was arguably worse than…that, but I kept my cool—at least, I wasn't as bad as I could've been.”

  “Then tell me, hero,” Gale Force asks, “what about this time was special?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I say.

  “Not even close,” he counters.

  I hesitate for a moment, “…I killed him.”

  Gale Force scoffs, “Don’t flatter yourself, hero. I got the final blow, you merely helped, and that’s exactly what I expect you to tell Jonathan when we return.”

  I whip around to face him, “Do you think you’re helping?” I snarl, “That I’m just ashamed of taking credit? Or are you really so fucking dense as to not see why I might have an issue reconciling my role in murdering a hero?!”

  He looks taken aback, almost like he’s surprised by my outburst. At the sight of his face, I release a guttural scream, turning and slamming my fist into one of the trees behind us hard enough to tear away several inches of wood. Then, grasping the trunk with my now-blodied hand, I slump to my knees, feeling my eyes start to burn with the threat of tears.

  “It was just…so easy,” I moan, “How could it have been so easy?”

  “What do you mean? We barely managed to catch him,” Gale Force expresses.

  “Not that,” I sniff, “I didn’t even hesitate. Not once, not until it was too late, did I see his fear, or remember that picture of him smiling, or even stop to think for a second if he truly deserved this, or if I should learn more before just opting to kill him.”

  A moment of silence passes, my eyes starting to water. Gale Force sighs like a parent dealing with a whiny child. My face flushes.

  “You make a terrible reaper, hero,” he says, falling into a squat beside me. I turn and look into his eyes, and surprise myself when I see guilt behind them.

  “I thought you wanted this mission,” he says, “Why even bother to come?”

  I look away, “…I thought I did too.”

  Another sigh, “You really are an enigma, Charlie Gardner.”

  I look back at him with surprise, “You didn’t call me ‘hero,’” I express in disbelief, “Or even ‘Frontrunner.’”

  “No,” the boy before me says, “and you shouldn’t keep calling me ‘Gale Force’ either. It’s a mouthful. My name is Jayce. Jayce Seiryo.”

  I continue to stare at him in disbelief. He flushes red.

  “Don’t get me wrong, we’re still not friends,” Jayce says, “We just…shouldn’t be enemies either.” He stands suddenly, putting distance between us. Even so, as I start to stand as well, he offers a hand to pull me up. I take it.

  Then he turns around again, seemingly not willing to face me. I’m about to comment, but he beats me to it.

  “Do you know why I became a reaper?” he asks.

  I don’t reply; it was rhetorical anyway.

  “The Upheaval made a lot of orphans,” Jayce continues, “but I wasn’t one of them. No, I got a few years of peace before everything went to shit.”

  He turns back to me again, “My parents were killed when I was eleven years old, not by a villain, but by a so-called ‘hero.’ I barely even remember that day—I was too young—but I do remember running. Running from their killer until my legs couldn’t carry me anymore. She tried to find me, but my ability had developed earlier that week—my parents were so proud: first in my family and an early awakening. I was able to read the winds to know where to hide, and I was faster than I should’ve been. That’s the only reason I escaped.

  “After that, my Aunt Carol took me in. She nurtured my ability, taught me to wield a sword, and gave me a gift I could never repay, all to make me stronger. And two years ago, I finally tracked down the subject of my nightmares and taught her not to leave loose ends.

  “Anyway, Jonathan almost executed me after that for killing a hero, but luckily Aunt Carol talked him down. He was impressed, when he knew the full story, and was more than happy to offer me a place among the reapers. That’s actually how we get most of our recruits: people take matters into their own hands and do the reapers’ job for us, so we offer to let them keep doing that full-time.”

  He stops, as if realizing he’s been rambling, then sighs and continues, “The point is, you shouldn’t mourn the death of that hero. Not any more than any other damned we face, at least. There’s no way they ended up on the damned list for nothing. That’s not how the system works. Whatever he did, it was bad. As bad as the stuff Hecatoncheires did, or even worse.”

  And, with that, he’s finished. I see him fidget slightly in an uncomfortable manner. I smile sadly, and he sees and smiles back.

  “You know, with a story like that, I almost expect you to hate me more,” I reply honestly, “After all, I got so worked up over the death of one of these ‘bad heroes.’”

  “Oh, I still think you’re a sentimental idiot,” he replies, “but, if I’m being honest, I didn’t like you because you were a hero. Heroes are usually little more than attention-seeking wannabes at best. But you…” he pauses, “You really do care, don’t you? In your own way.”

  “You didn’t have to add that qualifier,” I say with a fake groan.

  “You forget: most of my prior experience with affection has involved murder,” Jayce replies, starting to smile for real, “or at least some form of hardcore training.”

  “You’ve had a dark childhood, Jayce Seiryo,” I shoot back, “Someday, I’m going to have to introduce you to the concept of ‘fun.’”

  “Not before I give you some combat tips. Your tackling form was frankly sloppy,” his smile falters, “We should be getting back now, though—to report on the mission.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, also suddenly feeling a lot less jovial, “Just give me a second.”

  Jayce nods, and I step off to the side for a second to stretch and clear my head. I almost miss what he whispers to himself next, but my hearing’s clearly better than he thinks. I catch his words at the edge of my auditory range as I step further away.

  “Don’t worry, Charlie,” he says, “If it’ll keep your conscience clear, I can keep taking the kills from now on.” he pauses, “It’s hardly anything new, after all.”

  hard. If it wasn't for online name generators, I'd be screwed. And don't even get me started on codenames. Why do you think I simplified the Reapers by giving them a naming convention? It certainly wasn't for plot continuity, I'll tell you that. 'Frontrunner,' 'Hot Pink,' 'Thunderfist,' 'Wings of Freedom,' the list of terrible codenames goes on an on. It's days like these I wish I'd made my first novel a high fantasy setting.