Most people assume catching the bad guy is a photo-worthy moment.
They don't consider that there are entire teams dedicated to making those moments.
Fiona and I don't have that. We've got Fiona's dubiously loyal roadies and the mall cams.
Naturally, the former two make Fiona look good while I'm in the background sitting on Artyom. The mall cops take their time with the paperwork, leaving us in the spotlight as Mall PR shows up with an ancient-looking camera.
Artyom is still stuffing his face while I sit on him with a lackadaisical expression. I can see the cameraman focusing on Fiona, who is standing between us and it, and waving like a tourist.
What kind of hard drive is in that thing? Solid-state? So outdated. Give me quantum crypt any day.
The usual interview things start, and Fiona is all butterflies and honesty while I'm just there.
"And what do you think should be done with the criminal?" Mall PR Lady whose nametag reads Susan asks after getting the basics. Name, school, hero license number (she doesn't have one.)
"Oh, well, it's just bread. I can pay for it."
Strike one.
"Oh. Well. How generous, but there's more than food at stake. There's destruction of Aunt A's property, disturbing the peace, and private trespassing..."
"I'm sure he was just hungry. I mean, look at him." The camera turns to him, and therefore to me.
Strike two.
"Right... So I take it you wish to list your hero's prerogative for recommended punishment as social justice oriented?
Ah yes, Heroic Prerogative. The little thing that lets heroes weigh in on the punishment of their victims. The tiny thumb pressed to the scales of justice in advance of some performative trial. And this interview is really about assigning damages, which is why no one's talking to the rentacops.
Guess I'll make strike three for you...
"Social justice?! Don't make me laugh. Do you even know what that is?" I stand and laugh anyway before I continue, "It's making everyone into a vigilante. It's some bullshit excuse to foist the work of what should be properly functioning social services onto kids like us!"
"Aislin!" Fiona says sternly.
Oh no! My full first name!
I am absolutely about to start on a roll when a poofy, slightly sparkly sound makes me look left.
"Oops."
The thief got away, leaving only a cloud of mist in his wake as the exit door closed.
Strike four...
*
"Ugh, day ruined," Victoria scowls at me like I'm the problem as soon as we leave the mall.
"At least I got some good video!~" Stephany cheers herself on. "I can't wait to show off my editing skills." She was tapping away at her phone, which was a waterfall of social media noises.
When we get back to school, just before curfew, things are peaceful.
Things are calm. Nice, even.
I immediately charge up the stairs and into my room before anyone sees me. Or I would have, if Fiona didn't grab my arm as a swarm of girls came up to her.
The next hour passes in a haze of poses, staring boys and girls, and pictures. Everyone wants to get Fiona's good side, and she revels in it with that sheltered humility I like about her.
At some point, I slink back to my room, peel off the gold paint, and scrape off the makeup. Then I pass out, thinking that disabling the alarm on the fire escape should be my next priority... for tomorrow.
I'm about to toss the dress when I think better of it. After all, at some point there will be a prom. And other mandatory fun events. And maybe courtroom summonses.
My expectation is that we'll hear all about our little escapade at the mall on Monday.
*
Deep in the heart of downtown Knight City, a triangular building seems to live only on the two sides facing the street, both of which proudly declare the building to be The Gray Bar. White cape heroes and the lightest of gray capes acknowledge it as neutral territory. A place to hash out disputes, meet people, and establish territory.
But behind that facade is another side.
The Grey Bar.
A place for black capes and the darker shades of grey, right beneath the thumping triangle dripping in light, a place of near silence underneath the lightest tones of music.
The reason for this is obvious: villains can't agree on music, so it's more peaceful for nobody to get what they want. Except the barkeep that is.
The woman behind the bar is an old hat. So old, nobody remembers what her villain name was or what her Talents are.
Nowadays, she's known as Mrs. Cake.
A dark figure materializes in front of Mrs. Cake, flowing up into existence from the shadowed floor and drawing a few stares from the patrons before most hurriedly look away.
"You have information for me?" the figure says, voice scrambled beyond identification.
"Oh, take a seat. Tea?"
"I do not drink... tea." The dark form takes a seat, and the seat dissolves, torn apart at the molecular level. The darkness grows just a shade larger.
Mrs. Cake chuckles. "So rude. I had a boy like that. Broke things and ran off. Married a nice girl though. Marvelous black hair."
"You have information for me?" the figure repeated, their voice a little darker.
"Yes dearie, exactly what you asked for. Crusader's weaknesses."
Mrs. Cake grasps the air above her phone, pulling the information and making it ready for transfer. "Two weaknesses, I take it you are willing to pay for both?"
The figure waves a hand, and a pair of green squares lights up on Mrs. Cake's phone. "Two payments," they say.
Mrs. Cake finishes the toss, and the figure produces a cell phone from within its shroud to catch it.
They start to play the first video. Watching as a pair of girls jump down from a balcony in a mall. The footage is not the best, but it's enough to identify that they are identical.
"I do not understand," they say.
"Play the next-"
"Oy!" a man challenges the figure from behind. He's dressed in a shirt spattered in dried blood, and his short brown, wavy hair is his only defining feature. "You're in my spot."
"I'd rethink that if I were you, sonny," Mrs. Cake warns.
"Bugger off grandma. I'm talking to this one."
"On your head be it then," Mrs. Cake turns away. "New meat."
The figure hasn't turned. They're watching a video.
"Hey, I'm talking to you!" the man grabs the figure by the shoulder. His pained cries don't even cause a flinch in the figure's body, while the rest of the bar looks away or towards the melting man, as fit their disposition for violence.
One of them, a man with long, ragged hair and a rat-like face, giggled loudly with delight.
But the stranger has eyes only for their phone.
The brightly smiling man they intended to destroy.
"My daughter, everyone! Such a kidder!"