In retrospect, I probably should have known today was going to be a weird one.

  It’s that feeling in the air, the sort of weight, almost like a storm coming in. Come to think of it, that may just be a me thing. Do I have a sixth sense for weirdness? It’s not entirely impossible - Superhuman as a rule is a strange ability, once I discovered it made me capable of staring directly at the sun for up to twelve minutes, I stopped being surprised by the things it does.

  Anyways, I’m getting off on a bit of a tangent. The point is, today was a doozy. It started out rather normal, besides that heavy feeling in the air, and nothing seemed wrong at first. I woke up on time and was suited up and out the door for patrol by eight. The streets of downtown Newest York were busy as always. I had to take a detour around some construction - sewer villain, don’t ask - but I’m fast, so getting to my patrol area on time was really more of a matter of jogging at fifty miles per hour instead of forty.

  Things started going south at about noon. I was looking for a place to get myself some lunch when I noticed someone in costume across the street. This isn't unusual in and of itself, I’m hardly the only hero in a city as big as this, but I didn’t recognize them. That was even stranger because their outfit was overwhelming: bright pink all over, from the spandex to the mask to the boots. She even had dyed pink hair, flowing down her black in waves. There was no way I’d ever forget a hero like that, so I decided to investigate.

  So that’s where I am now, crossing the street to investigate - by leaping, of course, I wasn't going to wait for the cars. Most people immediately recognize a possible hero confrontation - another beneficial side effect of my manner of movement - and quickly back away. Smart people. I’m about to call out to the woman when she turns to me.

  “I’m Hot Pink,” She announces herself before I can even ask.

  “You certainly are,” I respond. Technically, upon closer inspection, most of her suit is more of a pale pink, but I’m not about to begrudge her what is clearly a codename.

  “To be clear, you are a hero, right?” I ask. It’s always good to confirm.

  “Is…is that really your system?” She cocks her head, confused. “You guys don’t have, like, ID numbers or something? ‘Cause if that’s all I could just literally say yes and walk away and do whatever I wanted without you knowing.”

  “Not a hero, then,” I say, groaning inwardly. “Please tell me you’re a cosplayer or something at least.”

  “Nope,” She replies. Then she proceeds to burst into bright pink flames.

  “Alright,” I say, backing up and putting up my hands in a ‘whoa there’ sort of stance, “I feel like I should at least try to remind you that you haven’t hurt anybody yet and that there are civilians here so I think both of us would prefer a bit of deescalation.”

  Then she hits me.

  I go sailing back into a car parked on the other side of the road, which is good because I didn’t hit a moving vehicle and cause an accident. It’s also bad, because OW.

  “Clear the area!” I shout at the top of my lungs, and all at once civilians who hadn’t already left start running in all directions. Of course, many of them stop at a short distance and pull out their phones, recording the whole exchange. Then again, I never knew a battle in broad daylight where that didn’t happen.

  I roll to the side as a flaming pink fist slams into the front door of the car, shattering glass on impact but mercifully getting stuck in the metal. Training kicking in, I grab the villain around her waist and pull, forcefully removing her from the car and slamming her into the pavement in an attempted takedown. I say attempted because immediately after I grabbed her, her flames began to intensify, causing me to let her go during the attempt. I’m usually pretty fireproof, but damn is that woman hot. And I’m not just saying that because grabbing her a second ago made me uncomfortably aware of how muscular yet curvy she was.

  I back away from the flames, blinking pink light from my eyes, but only a second later I see the pavement rushing towards me. She’s tripped me, but I land on my hands and push off, executing an acrobatic move that makes me seem way more in control than I am but is really mostly instinct. I manage to land on my feet but immediately have to put my guard up as I begin to be pummeled by a rain of flaming pink fists.

  Then I catch my opportunity, a break in the blows which I use to send a roundhouse kick into her side. The force of it knocks her away from me enough that I can catch my breath, and the two of us begin circling each other in the empty street.

  “You…” I say between labored breaths, “are weirdly strong for someone whose power is fire.” And that she is. Part of my thing is super strength, a fire-based ability wouldn’t give her the muscle power to overwhelm me like this.

  “Ever heard of rockets?” Hot Pink tilts her head and grins, “Same concept.” She then moves once more, launching a flying kick at me which I narrowly dodge. As she passes by I finally notice the way the fire seems to push out behind her limbs as she moves, and when her foot slams into the asphalt it cracks beneath the pressure, sending roiling waves of heat all around. She staggers, of balance, and I take the opportunity to go for my own blow, a punch which she narrowly dodges, flames following in her wake.

  “You’re not so weak yourself. You take hits quite well, at least,” She teases as we exchange a pair of missed blows, “Say, want to be nemeses?”

  For the briefest instant, the question stuns me into silence. I just stand there, blinking off my confusion. My reaction doesn’t go unnoticed, and Hot Pink takes advantage, ramming her fist into my gut in what is easily her first solid blow of this fight. I stagger, surprised and in pain, and I see out of the corner of my eye her disappearing behind me. I expect the blow but am too late to move, as she rises into the air and rams a falling kick into my spine at full force.

  I come crashing to the floor hard enough that the asphalt below me breaks, but she isn’t done. She keeps pushing, her foot pressing me into the ground like she’s trying to stomp me out of existence. I’m in a haze of pain and confusion until something finally snaps me out of it what feels like an eternity later.

  “Frontrunner! Hero! You can do it! Beat her!” Calls of support begin to come from the gathering crowd, people encouraging me to fight back. It feels cinematic, almost staged, but it works. Fighting for every ounce of strength I have, I shift my hands into a position where I can push off of the road and begin to rise. The heat of the villain's flames begin to sear my back, and the pressure rises to where it feels like a mountain is sitting on me. I resist with all my might, trying to force her off of me, but for a moment it feels like my strength may not be enough.

  Then Superhuman roars in the back of my head, and all at once my load gets lighter. The heat begins to feel less painful and more uncomfortable, and I feel like every limit I ever had has dissipated. Then and there, I find a way to break free, and in a move only a SAU could pull off, I pull in my legs and kick out, finding Hot Pink by sheer luck, kicking her leg out from under her. She falls, and the feeling of strength fades instantly, but only to the point where I’m as strong as before. Without hesitating, I begin to wrestle her swiftly to the ground, pinning her arm behind her back and pressing a knee down on her to keep her still. I let out a sigh, and settle into my position as my back begins to ache. Scattered cheers ring out from the crowd. I’ve won.

  —

  As always, the police are late to the party. By the time they’ve arrived, the pain in my back has already begun to fade and though one of the officers urges me to go see a doctor as they take away Hot Pink, I shrug them off. Superhuman can more than handle these wounds, and I’m more tired than hurt anyways.

  “Miss,” A balding male officer with a potbelly comes up to me, “Thanks for handling this one. She’s not in the villain registry, mind telling us what you know?” He graciously hands me a bottle of water, and I accept it, nodding.

  “She goes by the codename ‘Hot Pink’. It’s a pun, her powers are fire related. Melee type, and a real handful. Several people got videos of the fight, you can learn more from them,” I explain, as he takes notes on a small, handheld notebook. He nods in response when I’m finished and clicks his pen, putting it away.

  “Just another day in the city, right? Some idiot always pulls out their phone instead of running away, it’s a fact of life,” He commiserates with a grin; I weakly smile back in return.

  “Oh, also,” He begins, flipping through his notebook, “We got a call a few minutes ago of a hero asking for backup. As far as I can tell, nobody’s responded yet and it’s pretty close. I know you’re probably not fit for another fight, but, well, you know…” I do, actually. Heroes don’t call for backup often, and when we do it’s rarely anything good.

  “I’ll handle it,” I say, “but just in case leave it open. They might need more than just me.”

  “Good. The call came from the parking garage on 95th. Some of our officers are already there. Defy the Prophet, miss,” He waves me off.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “And you as well,” I respond without missing a beat, wincing inwardly at the old, grim saying. A bit insensitive in my particular case, but he doesn't know that. He probably just meant it as it is - meaning to wish me good luck, or more accurately a lack of misfortune. He’s also likely from the countryside, they really do start taking every opportunity to bash the Prophet when you get far enough from the cities.

  The officer strolls off like his job is done, and, in a way, it kind of is. Their job really isn’t like it was before the Upheaval. Most people agree they take a back seat to heroes just about any time things get remotely dangerous.

  I take the opportunity to chug down the water he gave me before setting out once more. I’m still a little wiped, so I can’t run quite as fast as normal. It takes me about five minutes to jog down to the location the officer gave me, but immediately something seems off. There’s no fighting. A pair of police cars are strewn about outside, and the building looks heavily damaged, with cracks spider webbing across it, but there are no visible or even audible signs of active combat.

  I jog up to one of the cars and the policemen that are just hanging out around them. One of them spots me and waves me over.

  “Hey! You here as backup?” The grey-haired officer calls to me.

  “Yes,” I say back, catching up, “What’s going on? Seems to me that everything has already calmed down.”

  “Not quite,” The officer responds, “Some villain has hostages inside and we’ve been told the building’s unstable, so only heroes who can take a hit should enter. We already had to send off two. Speaking of, you sure you’ll be fine? You look…”

  “Like you got your ass kicked,” Another, much younger officer provides. His older companion shoots him a dirty look. I look down at myself, and notice for the first time with mild horror that my clothes had started to burn off. I’m not naked, or anywhere close, but the thick grey jumpsuit that makes up the bulk of my costume definitely has some visibly burnt patches.

  “Oh come on!” I shout helplessly at my clothes, “The costume department told me this was fireproof!” I look up back at the officers, noticing the younger one trying to hide a laugh.

  “I’m fine, mostly just a wardrobe malfunction. I’m tougher than I look,” I tell them.

  “Good,” The older officer replies, “Maybe he’ll let you help then.”

  “Who?” I ask, confused.

  “See for yourself,” The officer waves me towards the entrance to the garage, which I step towards hesitantly. The building does look unstable, upon a closer inspection, but after waiting for a second I decide to enter.

  The first thing I notice is the very obviously out of place brass-like shards that seem to be embedded in the walls. There’s at least three of them, some seemingly as big as myself, which are located at clear weak points along the building. Possibly what destabilized it in the first place.

  Next, I notice the man. Easily six feet tall, pale skinned, with dirty blonde hair, and wearing a rather business-like grey suit that seems very much out of place, he stands just in front of the ramp that leads to the next level of the garage. His arms are sitting calmly behind his back, and he stares up the ramp in a manner akin to a cat staring at a random wall: attentively, as though he sees something you cannot. Creepy.

  He turns as I approach, silently judging me with a look. After a moment, I clear my throat and call out to him.

  “Excuse me sir, are you, uh, are you the hero that made the distress call?” I ask. Either that or he’s the villain I was told about. He’s just too out of place to be a normal civilian.

  “Yes,” He replies, finally acknowledging my presence., his appraising stare moving to my eyes, “You can call me Jonathan, or Mr. Alston if you prefer. And you would be?”

  I stop in my tracks immediately, completely dumbfounded. There’s no way this guy just claimed he was… but then the pieces fall together. The odd metal shards I saw on my way in. The rather odd man that dresses like a civilian and doesn’t go by a codename, but claims to be a hero. There is literally nobody else this could be.

  “You’re Jonathan Alston,” I say, completely starstruck, “Like ‘the Wings of Freedom’ Jonathan Alston.”

  “I must admit,” The most famous hero in the world replies, “I never liked that particular nickname. It reduces me to my ability, like I’m nothing more than what I can do. Speaking of names, you still haven't answered my question.”

  “Your… Oh, right! Sorry. I’m Charlie, or, uh, Frontrunner, I guess. The hero,” I stammer out, mentally cursing myself for accidentally using my real name first.

  “Good to meet you, Frontrunner,” Jonathan responds, “You wouldn’t happen to be particularly durable, would you? I specifically told those policemen not to let anyone else in unless they could survive the possibility of a building collapse.”

  “Yes sir, uh, Mr. Alston… sir,” I reply, “But, well, I’m not sure how I could possibly help in a situation where you of all people are stuck.”

  “Oh, it’s not that bad,” He responds, graciously ignoring my failure of speech, “I’ve simply found myself in a situation where the prioritization of civilian lives conflicts with my ability to apprehend the villain.”

  “How so?” I ask, the reminder that I still have a job to do snapping me out of my daze.

  “The villain in question, along with a group of lesser criminals, had intended to collapse this parking garage using explosives. I used my feathers to stabilize it, trying to reduce damages, but then the suspects took hostages, and set themselves up on the third floor,” He gestures up the ramp as if to demonstrate, “In order to apprehend them by myself, I would need to remove my feathers, destabilizing the garage and putting the hostages’ lives at risk. That’s where you come in. I want you to come with me to deal with the villains without me needing to use my feathers.”

  Finally, I understand. It’s not that there's a villain even Jonathan can’t deal with, thankfully, but rather he just needs backup to handle a delicate situation. I can handle that.

  “So the weird metal shards I passed on the way in, those were your feathers?” I ask, “How did you manage that? Wouldn’t that take detailed knowledge of the structure?”

  “I was a military engineer once,” He replies, as though it explained everything, “Now come along, we have much work to do.” Then, without stopping to check if I’ll follow, he starts his way up the ramp and towards the upper floors.

  I follow immediately, not wanting to embarrass myself more than I already have, and catch up to him quickly. I’m about to ask more about his plans but, as if sensing so, he tells me before I can speak.

  “There’s one villain and two accomplices,” Jonathan explains, “The villain’s power is some kind of pressure wave attack he releases from his hands, while the other two are armed with guns. They’ve got three hostages, one for each of them. We’ll try talking first, but if things go south, and they likely will, I think I can reshuffle my feathers and free two without destabilizing the building. That will allow me to handle the two accomplices, which will leave you to take on the villain before he can hurt a hostage. Do you understand?” He looks at me, and I nod to show my assent as we near the ramp to the third floor.

  “Good, because we’re here,” He walks up the ramp without stopping and I follow. Immediately, I see what he’s talking about. Three burly men in tank-tops with bandanas worn like masks stand in a loose semicircle around a frightened-looking family of three, who are all kneeling but not tied up. The two men on either side of the family are armed, their guns pointing down at their hostages, with the third in the back has his hands raised, palms flat towards us in a strange twist on a fighting stance.

  “Halt!” The villain calls, obviously the leader, “Take one more step forward and we’ll kill the hostages.” I pause and so does Jonathan, while one of the hostages lets out a small noise of fear. I grimace as I look into their pleading eyes. I’m not particularly used to situations where I can't just tell the civilians to run away.

  “I presume you have demands, one often does when one takes hostages, but let’s skip all that,” Jonathan measuredly says back, far too calm for the situation, “There’s only two ways this ends. Either you give us the hostages and we take you in, or you kill the hostages, and I lose my only reason to keep the building standing.” The threat is delivered without an inch of danger in his voice, but as if on cue, the whole garage shakes ominously for a moment before settling. It’s enough to have one of the hostages scream and the two lackeys to share a look of worry.

  I almost tell Jonathan he’s crossed a line until I remember exactly who it is I’m, teaming with here. Instead I send him a look of concern I hope will get the message across. He notices, but chooses merely to blink at me once and turn away. Not exactly comforting, or even remotely helpful. I rapidly get more worried until I notice something strange. Behind his back, he holds up five fingers. Then four. Then three.

  “If you think I’m bluffing, think again!” The villain screams, “I never bluff! I’m-”

  Zero fingers and I’m already moving. The villain looks startled and screams an order at his men but it’s too late for them. The screech of metal on metal rings out as their guns are torn from their hands in twin flashes of gold. The villain pulls his hand back, preparing to strike but I move too fast for him to match. Five leaping strides and I’ve crossed the hundred or so feet between us. I slam my front foot into the ground, throwing my energy into the floor below to slow myself before my remaining momentum is translated into the roundhouse kick I slam into his jaw. He topples to the floor before he knows what hit him.

  I turn to the lackeys but find my efforts entirely unnecessary. A pair of golden blades, each a foot long and shaped like elongated rhombi, hover at the throats of the men, both of whom have their hands raised in surrender. The father of the hostage family has dragged the other two far away from the danger, and is already huddled behind a red truck. Jonathan is calmly walking towards me, hands still behind his back as though no effort was exerted for him to seize victory.

  “Nicely done!” He praises me, “You moved quite swiftly to handle that before things got out of hand. And that braking before you kicked him was inspired. Many young heroes are far too quick to hit villains with full force, resulting in many accidental deaths. Just an excellent job.” His words would have normally made my day, but they fall flat now. I’m near boiling with anger at how he handled this. I wasn’t going to say anything before, but it’s over now.

  “That was entirely reckless!” I shout before I have time to consider the consequences, “You didn’t even try to negotiate! I shouldn’t have had to have gone so fast because you should have talked them down peacefully.”

  A dark look comes over the face of what I suddenly realize is a very dangerous man. I take a step back, the anger draining out of me and replacing itself with sheer horror. I just yelled at one of the most powerful SAUs alive. In any other country, I would be killed on the spot. Instead, I watch him take a deep breath and settle himself before, calmly, measuredly, responding.

  “I don’t negotiate,” He simply replies, “Ever. They do not deserve it.” He doesn't have to explain what he means by ‘they’. In my first rational thought since I met this man, I decide to take my own deep breath and master my expression. Then I turn, stalk over to the unconscious villain, and sling him casually over my back.

  “We should get them to police custody,” I say. Then start walking before he can respond.

  Running away isn’t very heroic of me, but it sure as hell is safer than what I wanted to do.

  Human Gods is a story about superheroes, the nature of good and evil, and what people do with ultimate power. I have plans for it to go pretty far, but we'll see how well it does first.