186 Between Errands
186 Between Errands
The bell above the convenience store door jingled softly as I leaned against the counter, helmet set beside me, steam still rising from the hotdog in my hand. Across from me, a blue-haired girl slurped noisily on an icy drink, eyes half-lidded in exaggerated annoyance. I glanced at her and smirked. “You know,” I said, squeezing mustard and something questionably spicy onto the bun, “your name really suits you, Mira.”
She lowered the cup and scowled. “You’re one to talk. You vanish for months, blow up half of Markend, and you don’t even come visit me right away.” Her tone sharpened with each word, and by the end she was glaring like I’d personally offended her ancestors.
I ignored the accusation and took a bite, chewing slowly. “How’s Hover doing?” I asked casually. “Last I checked, he was still sulking about his gear.”
That only made her more grumpy. “He’s fine,” she muttered. “Annoyingly fine. He won’t shut up about that weird bow Amelia gave him. Keeps saying it ‘feels right’ or whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
After seeing Amelia in action, it had been obvious weapons would only get in her way. Her abilities were too fluid, too personal, and anything she carried would just slow her down. She’d suggested giving the bow to someone who actually understood ranged combat, someone who lived in the sky and knew how to control space from a distance. Hover fit that description perfectly, even if he’d pretend otherwise.
Mira sighed and stirred the melting ice with her straw. “He’s even talking about rebranding,” she said. “Using archery themes and all that. Honestly, I wish Uncle Hover would just admit he likes being a hero more than being an SRC thug.” There was something wistful in her voice, like she already knew the answer and just wanted him to say it out loud.
I swallowed and wiped my hands on a napkin. “And your side?” I asked. “How’d things go?”
She perked up slightly. “I’m meeting Jacob and Diane later this afternoon,” she said. “Need to update them on their assignment. It’s gonna be our first meeting, so any suggestions on gifts?”
“Fruit basket, they never go wrong.”
It had been a last-minute decision, and I knew it would catch them off guard. I hadn’t liked the idea of Jacob getting anywhere near the New Vanguard. If his identity slipped, the consequences would be brutal. In the end, Mira had worn me down, promising she’d keep an eye on both of them. I trusted her more than most, even when my instincts told me to hesitate.
She smirked suddenly, eyes narrowing. “So,” she said, dragging the word out, “I heard you picked up a new girlfriend.”
I nearly choked on my food. I finished chewing before answering, more out of habit than politeness. “When do we start the plan?” I deflected.
Mira faked a cough, clearly enjoying herself. “Once Amelia’s back with New Vanguard and racks up a few solid achievements,” she said. “If they reject her, she can always join my team. Four of us would be scary.”
I shook my head. “If they reject her, she’s better off solo,” I replied. “By then, we won’t need to pretend. New Vanguard will just be a foil.”
She tilted her head. “What’s so special about them anyway? Why not just back a new hero team from the shadows?”
“Connections,” I answered, tapping the counter lightly. “And freedom under the camera. As a state-sponsored group, they don’t answer to the SRC. That matters.”
Mira studied me for a moment. “Do you really think Amelia has what it takes to be a hero?”
“She already passed the hardest test,” I said without hesitation. “She’s a good person.”
She snorted. “Then why hasn’t she arrested you yet, villain?”
“Because I’m irresistible,” I said, unmoved. “And devastatingly handsome.”
She gagged loudly and shoved her drink away. “You’re disgusting.”
I laughed softly. Mira felt like the little sister I never had, someone who could see through me and still stick around anyway.
She hopped off her stool and adjusted her jacket. “I’m heading out,” she said. “Try not to start a war before dinner.”
“No promises,” I replied as she walked toward the door.
I lingered inside the convenience store after Mira left, leaning against the glass-fronted cooler while the hum of refrigeration filled the quiet. The place smelled faintly of sugar, oil, and disinfectant, the kind of scent that clung to your clothes longer than it should.
My phone vibrated in my hand, and when I looked down, Amelia’s name lit up the screen. She said she was meeting with Leverage now, in her civilian identity. I typed back slowly, telling her to be careful. I stared at the message for a second longer than necessary, then added a small heart at the end before sending it. It felt stupid and indulgent, but I didn’t take it back.
I grabbed a can of carbonated drink from the cooler, paid at the counter, and took a seat by the window. Outside, traffic rolled by like nothing in the world was wrong.
My phone rang again, this time with a call instead of a text. I answered without ceremony. “What do you want?” I asked.
Guesswork’s voice came through the line, dry and amused as ever. “Just thought you’d like to know,” he said, “the Monarchy put a bounty on you. There’s an assassin organization after your head now.”
I blinked once. That was new. “An assassin organization,” I repeated. “Which one?”
“They’re elusive,” he replied. “Pretty new, too. Hard to track. No public owner, no obvious pattern.”
I frowned and took a sip of my drink. “If the Monarchy knows I’m here, why not send their own people?” I asked. “They should know by now how dangerous Eclipse is.”
“They do,” Guesswork said. “That’s the problem. The Monarchy’s dealing with an internal crisis, and the SRC is poking its nose into it. Their hands are tied.”
“Figures,” I muttered.
“I’ll call again if I hear more about the Entity,” he added. “You want me to keep an eye on the Monarchy too?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
There was a pause on the line, the kind where I knew he was waiting for an explanation. I didn’t give him one. I hated the Monarchy. It was that simple. They were a nest of psychics and manipulators, and if an opportunity to snuff them out landed in my hands, I would take it without blinking. It wasn’t part of my larger goal of understanding my affliction or killing the Entity, but some hatreds didn’t need to be useful. Some were personal.
Guesswork sighed. “Don’t do anything reckless,” he warned.
I ignored that and cut straight to the point. “Put bounties on psychic-class capes,” I said. “Telepaths. Empaths. Prioritize them.”
His tone sharpened. “Why?”
“You don’t need to know,” I replied calmly. “You’re free to guess.”
After my meeting with Dr. Time, I understood more than I wanted to. Powers could be monopolized. Certain classes were limited in number, which explained how quickly my own ratings had climbed as intangibility-class capes were quite rare. If psychics and even kinetic types were removed from the equation, the balance would tilt in my favor. It wasn’t mercy or justice driving the thought, just cold arithmetic.
Guesswork clicked his tongue. “You’re cold-hearted,” he said. “Putting bounties on people you don’t even know, without a reason.”
“You don’t need a reason to hate something,” I answered. “And I hate psychics.”
There was another pause. “Anything else?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I want SRC power-measuring devices. As many as you can smuggle. I want to get myself checked.”
“That’s a lot,” he complained. “Those aren’t easy to come by.”
“I don’t need scientists or researchers,” I told him. “George will handle the apparatus. Just make it happen.”
He let out a long breath, like he was already regretting agreeing. “You really don’t ask for small favors.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
A moment later, he chuckled softly. “Fine. Leave it to me.”
The call ended, and I slipped the phone back into my pocket.
The bell above the convenience store door rang sharply as a man in a suit hurried inside, scanning the aisles before locking onto me. He jogged over, slightly hunched and breathing harder than he should have been. It was Abner. His tie was loosened, his hair damp with sweat, and he looked like he had run several blocks just to get here. He stopped in front of me and bent slightly at the waist, catching his breath before straightening up.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m late.”
I waved it off and tilted my head. “What happened?”
Abner grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “My direct superiors in the SRC are giving me hell,” he said. “They keep pointing out how fast I’m moving up. Too fast, apparently. They’re watching me closer now.”
I leaned back against the cooler and studied him. “Then lie low for a while,” I suggested. “Don’t give them a reason.”
He shook his head immediately. “I can handle it,” he said, voice firm. “I just need results. Incredible ones. If I keep delivering, my rise becomes justifiable instead of suspicious.”
With that, he handed me a thick folder. The cover was plain, but I recognized it immediately as something I had asked for not long ago. I opened it and began flipping through the contents, my expression darkening with every page. It was a compiled list of unique capes incarcerated in the Box. There had always been rumors that the Box was more than a prison, that it doubled as a secret experimental site. Seeing this in writing confirmed that the rumors were true.
The documents detailed procedures that made my stomach twist. Prisoners were subjected to invasive monitoring, forced isolation, and long-term suppression that went far beyond legal containment. There were notes on chemical sedation schedules, psychological stress testing, and repeated violations of consent. In some places, it bordered uncomfortably close to the cruelty of the White Room. The only difference was that the Box pretended to be humane by keeping its victims sedated.
As I continued reading, I noticed a rising trend in surgical interventions. The photographs attached were hard to look at, bodies cut open with clinical precision, powers dissected like broken machines.
I closed the folder and looked up at Abner. “Good work,” I said honestly. “How did you manage to get all this?”
He allowed himself a small, proud smile. “I charmed the cute lady in the archives,” he replied. “Slipped into her personal account, keyed into the storage room during lunch, and took pictures with the eyeglass cameras George gave me.”
The reason we could talk so candidly like this was because the convenience store had been owned by Bunnywork. “You’re awfully calm talking about decieving a maiden’s heart.”
“It’s fair game,” remarked Abner. “What is it they say? All is fair in love and war… This? It’s war, right?”
“That figures,” I muttered. “So how are you finding this world so far?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Exciting,” he answered. “Terrifying, too, but mostly exciting.”
He reached into his briefcase again and produced a second folder, thinner but no less important. “This one’s the persuasion methods you asked me to look into,” he said. “Profiles, leverage points, and psychological weaknesses. The kind of things that make people cooperate.”
I skimmed the contents and felt a flicker of approval. “You did well,” I told him, closing the folder. “Thank you.”
It would still be some time before I made my move on the Box, but preparation mattered. I still had to meet Ironflesh and Keegan later, but lunch hour wasn’t over yet. There was no harm in studying the material while I had the chance.
I looked back up at Abner. “Have you eaten?”
He shook his head with a rueful smile. “Company lunch and company dinner,” he said. “I won’t be able to join you at the safehouse.”
“Then you’re free to go,” I replied. “Unless there’s more.”
He straightened immediately and gave me that strange, knightly salute of his, thumping his fist against his chest with quiet seriousness. Without another word, he turned and left the store, the bell chiming softly behind him.
I exhaled and turned back toward the counter just as the front door burst open again. Three men rushed inside, guns raised, faces tense and eyes wild. One of them shouted for everyone to get on the floor.
“This is a robbery!”
I stared at them for a long moment and sighed.
“Of course,” I muttered, irritation seeping into my voice.