BRRT! BRRT! BRRT! B-

SMASH!

Max groggily realized his arm was outstretched. And a heavier arm than normal told him he’d powered up sometime between a midnight bathroom run and now. He groaned, lifting his hand to see shards of plastic and metal fall on his chest.

“Fantastic.” he muttered, curling up under the covers and powering down. Then got up, as sleep wasn’t coming again.

A few minutes later he was in the living room, his phone playing rock as opposed to his now flattened radio. Which he needed another of. He swore under his breath and stretched, preparing for his morning ritual.

“Go!” Punch! Kick! Chop! Duck! Rising elbow! Knee! His limbs whipped through the air, striking imaginary opponents with pinpoint precision. His arms folded in and out of complicated patterns, replicating locks and holds, finishing with a swift strike of a knee, a fist, a choke-anything, really. Max paused, breathing heavily, gathering his focus.

He crouched and flipped backwards, straining his legs to their current maximum to jump and land softly, so as not to wake up the neighbors below his apartment. He crouched down and began to do push-ups, arms burning. He’d promised to keep up with practice, and he would hold himself to that.

The sun resumed melting when he was done, dripping a cold sweat. He frowned, he’d have to speak to the super again about the heat. At least the water heater worked, and he warmed up in the shower.

Once freshly scrubbed, he scrolled through news updates while eating half a box of cereal. The Champion had put out a wildfire in Guatemala, there was a car crash on the way into Silver City, and...he sighed, putting the phone down. They just couldn’t give it a rest. Seemed they were still after the mysterious giant vigilante.

“It was a one-time thing! I’ll be good, I’ll be good!” he said to the empty kitchen. Why was it always so complicated? He looked up police records, searching for reports of runaways and missing children. “Gak!” He dropped his spoon to pound his chest, coughing. 389! That’s how many children went missing last year!

Max scanned the page. The total number of missing people the previous year was 714, over twice the state average. He glanced out the window. It was a sunny early spring morning, with people going about their business. Sure the buildings and streets were old, slightly grimy and dilapidated, and even his apartment had peeling paint, but his neighbors seemed nice enough. It was hard to believe that on such a bright day so many people coil straight-up vanish in the shining Silver City.

“Hmph. More like tarnished.” he muttered, getting up and looking out the window. He had been lucky and got a nice view of the river, and across that the more modern and in repair Silver City proper. The district across the river was officially called Grott’s Park, but even local news called it Grott’s Ghetto. A flash caught his eye. It seemed that up the street two body bags were being loaded onto an ambulance, a woman crying as police stood stoically next to her. Max shook his head. It may have been dingy, but it was home for now. Four walls, electricity, running water. People had killed for less. He was here now, and he was determined to live a life of peace. The ambulance drove away, and Max shook his head even harder. Not like before. Right? Right. Right!

“It’s all on me. Ain’t that right, kibvaghn? He murmured, lost in thought. He started out the window so long the shadows began to recede, headed towards noon. Shaking himself from his reverie, Max headed out. Only a couple hours until his shift, after all.

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Despite it being a relatively warm and sunny afternoon, with most of the students out enjoying the fresh air (at least those not stuck in class), there was one student at Silver University cooped up inside by choice. She was pouring over a textbook, memorizing chemical compositions.

“H3CO, Si, OCH3, H3C, CH3, O…” she muttered under her breath. There was a butterknife on the table next to her. She stared at it, concentrating with all her might.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the knife began to shake and rattle. She focused even harder, sweat running down her nose. The knife’s blade began to twist and melt, unfurling in a wave pattern. She picked it up, waving its’ flappy blade like a flag. With a snap of her wrist, it resumed its’ original form. She turned it and concentrated again, and the knife responded to her will. The blade lengthened and thinned, the molecules adjusting themselves on the fly. The edge flattened, the point coming to a wicked spike as it sharpened itself beyond the boundaries of its design. The blade was less than a molecule wide now. She grinned and dropped a sheet of paper on it. There was absolutely no resistance as the paper was shorn in two.

Breathlessly, she barely brushed her thumb, and laughed as blood started leaking out. She pressed the wound closed, and in a moment the cut was healed. The blade had cut so cleanly the molecules of her thumb could simply be pressed back together. She reached out with her mind again, picking the knife up and levitating it above the table. She twisted and bent the blade, contorting it into unnatural shapes.

It was getting easier. The more she practiced, the more she understood about chemical composition, the easier things were to manipulate. With a grunt of satisfaction she released the knife, clattering to the table. She grinned. It wouldn’t be long now.

The world would soon be hers.

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Across town, another young woman was working equally as hard, though at a much less pleasant task. She desperately wrung the sponge over the bucket, scrubbing for all she was worth.

“No no no no no no no no no…” she muttered, vigorously rubbing the carpet. Why had she chosen a white rug!? The mess was clearing, at least. Thank heaven for small favors. But there was still a large dark brown stain on the carpet, one she suspected would never come out.

She could probably play it off as a juice stain, instead of blood.

“Lisa?” came from outside her door. She froze. Dad? But it was only a little past noon, why was he up!? “Are you here? What about school?” Her doorknob rattled.

“Don’t come in!” she practically screamed. Dial it back, dial it back! “I’m feeling under the weather, came home early. I’m changing right now, so don’t come in.” Lisa heard a begrudging sigh form the other side.

“Alright, whatever. Get some rest then.” Her father’s footsteps retreated, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Then went back to furiously scrubbing the carpet. Why did this have to happen?

It was karma for stealing that amulet, she was sure.