“Be careful with that! If so much as one node is dislodged, we’ll be ended along with our shiny cohort!” Ilya Isakov snapped.

Pavel Isakov bent down to untangle a mess of wires at the base of the control podium. His hands worked diligently as his brother hurled criticisms from above.

“I say we put the tube in first,” Pavel complained.

“You don’t get a say! The containment pod must be loaded into the transport last! First the power source-”

“It won’t fit in the truck in that order!”

“You will make it fit!”

Truck? That meant that whatever they were planning, it would be happening elsewhere. Blackout struggled to come up with a course of action. Chaotic ideas raced through his mind, chased around by reasons why none of them would work. Calling for help was not an option, due to the cellphone jammer. Fighting obviously was not an option. There would be no fight, only a defeat that would lead to painful death. Now that he knew the Isakovs were on the move, leaving and calling the guild was off the table. There were rapid response teams for this very purpose, but in the time it would take for Blackout to sneak away to make the call in the first place, the Isakovs could very well have left the scene. There was no telling where they were headed.

The most tempting option was to slink away. Self preservation. This was bigger than Blackout. He had no business here. It would be so easy to slip out the same way he came and absolve his conscience with a call to the response team. Unfortunately, this was never a real choice for Blackout. Flash Bang was sitting there in that tube, awaiting something macabre and final that he certainly did not deserve.

There were many reasons those with powers became heroes instead of villains. If asked, most would say it was because they wanted to help people, but that wasn’t exactly honest. At the very least, for most, it wasn’t the entire truth. It was a multivariate equation, a complex quilt woven of many, sometimes competing, motivations. There were other incentives that were less than altruistic. Most obvious was the fame and fortune that came with success. A highly competitive atmosphere also drew in those who simply wanted to carve out a legacy of glory. Many saw the infrastructure of the Heroes Guild as a stable career path. They were simply putting their time in out in the field as a prerequisite for cushy desk jobs with the org.

For Blackout, the mix was fairly simple. Sure, he craved the glory of being a major leaguer, and not having to worry about money would be nice. He couldn’t deny his own fantasies of triumph and adulation. However, throughout his life, his thoughts of the super world were deeply intertwined with his feelings of helplessness. In the homes, it was the law of the jungle. If you were big, you could take whatever you wanted from anyone smaller. If you were small, you only got to keep what you could hide away. Every time Kevin had been wailed on by some bigger kid in a home, he’d send a signal out. With every molecule of will, he’d beg the universe to send a hero to save him. That’s what they were for, wasn’t it? None ever bothered to show up. Once he came into his powers, Blackout was no longer helpless, but others still were. Though there were many times he wished he could ignore them, it was a knot tied deep in the pit of his being. The responsibility was overwhelming.

Flash Bang was helpless. If someone didn’t intervene, he would surely die. The list of heroes who actually could help was short. The list of people who even knew he was there was even shorter. It was just Blackout and the Isakovs. In this case, Blackout’s pathological need to satisfy his responsibility felt very much like a death sentence, fastened around his neck, strangling him. It was unlikely that there was anything he could do. It was far more likely he would fall into the cruel hands of the Isakovs.

The risk that a hero could die was one that was often played up for dramatic effect. It was the secret spice to a great war story. However, in reality, a hero would rarely fight an opponent genuinely attempting to kill them. Even when death happened, it was most often a byproduct of a more destructive event. Even Blackout’s most dangerous opponent, Scorch, had never come close to killing a hero. The Isakovs had plenty of high profile bodies to their name.

The Isakovs on their own, would each be a formidable villain. Together, they were some of the most feared forces in the villainous landscape. Ilya was a brilliant super scientist. Most mad scientists invented technologies of general devastation. Ilya preferred to choose a specific hero, study their abilities and resistances, capture his target, and use their powers as a weapon of mass destruction, killing them in the process.

Pavel was a simple bruiser. Despite his basic power set, he made for a terrifying foe. There weren’t many heroes who could rival Pavel’s pure might. When he activated his abilities, he’d grow monstrous in size. While in his enhanced form, he could not string cogent thoughts together. Unfortunately for any hero up against him, Pavel had Ilya to direct him.

What truly set the Isakovs apart, however, was their singular focus of killing heroes. There had never been any recorded incidents of them pursuing any material incentives. They would show up, capture a hero, connect them to some device, kill them, and then disappear. No other villain associated with them. Conflicting myths about their origin abounded, but none seemed based in fact.

Displaying massive strength, even in his human form, Pavel hoisted the control console with a grunt. Blackout stifled a gasp when he realized the Isakovs were headed in his direction. The air solidified in his lungs as Pavel lugged his heavy yolk off to the staircase Blackout had arrived from. He was sure he’d be noticed. Pavel stepped within a few feet of Blackout. They paid no mind to the shadow among the boxes.

Once the footsteps became distant enough, Blackout made his move. Still under his shroud, he rushed to Flash Bang. The first thing he tried was knocking on the glass. It was quiet enough to avoid raising alarm, but hopefully loud enough to rouse Flash Bang. No use. Flash Bang was out. Dried blood and bruises painted his face unnatural colors. Next, Blackout searched for some release latch to open the tube, which quickly proved futile. A halfhearted punch confirmed that whatever glass they had used to construct the tube, it was far stronger than Blackout.

The only play left was the most fraught. He’d have to somehow get onto the Isakov’s truck, stowaway, and call for help when they arrived at their mysterious destination. Most horrifyingly, that course of action necessitated Blackout seeking out the Isakovs, following them to the truck, all the while staying hidden.

As he traversed the bottom floor, Blackout kept his full shroud up. In doing so, he could completely muffle his footsteps. As long as the Isakovs were elsewhere, he didn’t need to worry about the odd sight of a blanket of shadow conspicuously moving across the room. When he got closer, he’d begin to modulate to blend into the natural shadows. All along, he kept close to cover, ears perked for the sudden approach of footsteps.

At the staircase, Blackout’s stomach plunged to a new nadir. He’d have to maneuver up quickly. The close quarters and abundant light made it impossible to hide. The angle was such that Blackout wouldn’t know if the Isakovs were close by until he was physically at the door above. His anxiety kept his feet glued to the floor, even though he knew that the longer he waited, the more likely it would be that he’d run into the villains. It took all the courage he could muster, but Blackout finally took his first step into the stairwell.

With every stair he climbed, Blackout expected to see the Isakovs appear in the doorway. Nevertheless, he raced up as fast as he could. He resisted the urge to use the railing, seeing the layer of dust that had built up. His sweat drenched hands could leave evidence of his presence. At the top of the stairs, Blackout heard distant voices.

“Turn it! Push, you idiot!” Ilya’s faint shouts rang out through the ground floor.

“It doesn’t fit!” Pavel roared back.

A chill spread through Blackout’s body, using his veins as highways. Following the Isakovs was a horrifying proposition when it was an abstract idea. Hearing the Isakovs’ voices brought home the reality that following the Isakovs meant getting close to the Isakovs. Blackout called his reluctant feet to action. Pushing his body toward the source of the voices was like trudging through quicksand.

By the sound of it, the Isakovs were preoccupied at the truck. That allowed for Blackout to keep his silencing shroud up as long as he was out of the direct sightline of the truck. Out of an abundance of caution, he hugged the walls as he moved through room after dilapidated room. Every particle of dust he displaced brought with it the fear that he was leaving some sort of trail that could be detected. A strange quote echoed out of the back of his mind.

“People don’t spend their time thinking about other people. They think about themselves,” Grace’s disembodied voice replayed.

It was immediately comforting, not least because it reminded him of Grace. She was right. Even though she was referring to a completely different situation, the principal held true. The Isakovs were absorbed in their own grand plan. They’d surely worked in this abandoned factory for months without disruption. As long as Blackout kept to himself, they had no reason to suspect anything was amiss.

Blackout’s steps became more confident. His breath stopped catching on the back of his throat. Pouncing on the soothing sensation, he manually called up more memories of Grace to bring his nerves to heel. They proved an effective tool. The rest of the journey was much quicker.

At the final door, Blackout peaked around the threshold. Just one glimpse confirmed that the Isakovs were still struggling to shove the control console into their truck. It was so casual. They could have been two friends moving a couch. Now that Blackout knew where the truck was located, he scoured the room for an acceptable cranny in which to hide. If there were none to be found, he could return to the previous room. However, he couldn’t stray too far. There would be one shot to get into that truck, and there would be no way to know how packed it was until he was actually looking at it. He couldn’t spare any time on foot travel. Luckily, a group of large filing cabinets were huddled together in the corner of the room, not quite touching the wall. Blackout shoved himself behind them, maintained his full shroud, and waited.

Anticipation built until it became unmanageable. The Isakovs bickered viciously as they filled the factory with loud banging noises and the wince inducing scraping of metal on metal. The memories of Grace were providing diminishing returns in the face of mounting tension. Eventually, the truck fell silent.

“We’ll be lucky if half of our equipment still works after your bumbling!”

The voices were getting louder.

“I told you it wouldn’t fit!”

The Isakovs were at the doorway. Then, they were in the room. What had previously seemed like a substantial room to Blackout, now felt tiny. The Isakovs felt so close, Blackout worried they’d feel his breath. It was fortunate that his shroud muffled sound, as he suspected his heartbeat could wake a neighborhood. Adrenaline was the only thing holding him back from a full blown panic attack. The brain in his head could not construct a coherent thought. Then, Pavel stopped in the center of the room.

“Keep walking, imbecile!”

“Shut up!”

Pavel looked around the room wildly. He knew someone was there. He knew Blackout was there. Impossible. The shroud blocked out all noise. Unless it didn’t. What if Pavel could somehow hear Blackout’s frantic breathing. Blackout did everything he could to quiet the machinery in his body, but it all fought back against him. The more he tried to calm himself, the more furiously his lungs pumped. He reached into his mind to grab any single image of Grace, but it all melted away. Pavel took a few steps in the direction of the cabinets.

“I can smell him.”

Shit. Did the shroud not contain smells the way it did sound? Blackout never had a reason to ask the question before. Pavel came right up to the cabinets and stared into the alley between them. It was the same crack that Blackout was peering through. His eye was locked on Pavel’s. Pavel’s vision clearly couldn’t penetrate the shroud, or he’d have Blackout by the throat already. His nostrils flared, taking the loudest sniff Blackout had ever heard. Blackout was sure that was it. His mind leapt over every stage of grief and dropped him right at acceptance. It wasn’t a great life, but there were some happy memories. Then, a squeak sounded somewhere off in the distance. Pavel’s attention snapped in the direction of the squeak, like a dog to a squirrel.

“What’d I tell you?! I’m gonna catch that rat once and for all!”

Pavel hurried out of the room.

“No! Leave the damned rat! We must load the hero into the transport!”

Ilya’s screams of protests faded as they got farther away. This was Blackout’s shot. His body would not obey. Some primal part of him had faced his mortality and went on strike. His heart’s pounding had not yet slowed. It took everything inside of him to dislodge himself from jarred inaction. Adrenaline pumped into his legs and bestowed upon them the courage to continue.

The next room was a large loading dock. An eighteen wheeler idled with its container open. Blackout stumbled over. There didn’t seem to be any organization involved. Machinery stretched to the back of the container, all haphazardly wired together. It would not be a comfortable trip, but there were plenty of crevices in which Blackout could tuck himself away.

Careful not to jostle anything loose, Blackout ambled into the container. It was not easy to avoid the wires growing out of the ground like weeds. Whatever the purpose of this wiring and machinery, the Isakovs would know if anything wasn’t oriented correctly. Blackout found a little cabinet to hide behind, hunkering down until the Isakovs returned. It took a while, but eventually they did.

Pavel was carrying the pod that contained Flash Bang. He had a wide, victorious grin, smattered with blood.

“Did ya see the look on his face!”

“A rat’s face means nothing to anyone but another rat.”

“He sure bit me up good! ’Til I bit him back!”

“Quit your blathering and load the pod! We have a delivery to make, and we will not be late!”

Pavel deposited the pod into the container, shifting some debris around to make room. It did not take nearly as long as the control console. Blackout’s survival response was still active from his earlier run in with the twins. Flash Bang’s limp body lurched to the rhythm of inertia as Pavel thrust his pod into place. Then, the door shut, leaving Blackout and Flash Bang in complete darkness.