85

---

The night air bites at my exposed skin as I make my way to the old basketball court in Mayfair, the one where Kate and I used to shoot hoops and talk trash. It’s way too early for any sane person to be out here, but when your best friend texts you at 3 AM with a vague “we need to talk, it’s an emergency,” you don’t exactly have a choice.

I spot Kate standing in the middle of the court, her arms crossed and her jaw set. She’s wearing her Miss Mayfly getup, minus the mask, and I can tell from the way she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet that she’s itching for a game. What, a game of horse? No, don’t be stupid, Sam. She’s wearing her partially-destroyed costume. Clearly, this is something a little stupider than that.

“Kate, what the hell?” I call out, my voice echoing in the empty park. “You drag me out here in the middle of the night, and for what? A friendly game of one-on-one?”

She doesn’t smile. “I want to prove to you that I can handle myself out there, Sammy. That I’m just as capable of being a vigilante as you are, powers or no powers.”

I groan, rubbing my temples. “We’ve been over this, Kate. It’s not about your skill, it’s about what the law will let you get away with. And newsflash: you can’t exactly walk off a bullet to the chest like I can.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Kate snaps, her voice rising. “You think I haven’t spent every waking moment since you got your powers trying to figure out how I can keep up? How I can still be there to watch your back?”

I take a step closer, my hands held up in a placating gesture. “I appreciate that, Kate, I really do. But this isn’t the way. You’re going to get yourself killed out there, and for what? To prove a point?”

Kate’s eyes flash with anger, and she assumes a fighting stance. “If that’s what it takes to get through your thick skull, then yeah, I’ll prove my point. Right here, right now.”

I sigh, realizing that words aren’t going to be enough to settle this. Kate’s always been stubborn as a mule, and when she gets an idea in her head, there’s no shaking it loose.

“Fine,” I say, shrugging off my jacket and tossing it aside. “You want to dance? Let’s dance. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when I turn you into ground beef.”

The cold air prickles at my skin as I raise my fists, mirroring Kate’s stance. We circle each other slowly, our eyes locked, waiting for the other to make the first move. I feel like a gunslinger at first light, ready to shoot. I don’t like it. I don’t like the way my chest is feeling.

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, the adrenaline starting to flow. As much as I don’t want to fight Kate, there’s a part of me that’s been itching for a good scrap. It feels like my body is betraying myself – this isn’t some random goon or supervillain I’m facing off against. This is Kate, my best friend, the girl who’s been by my side through thick and thin. The girl who’s seen me at my worst and still stuck around. The girl who was my first friend in kindergarten and will be my last friend when I die.

“Last chance to back out,” I say, my voice low and steady. “I don’t want to hurt you, Kate.”

She scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Hurt me? You’ve been doing that ever since you got your powers, Sam. Leaving me behind, treating me like I’m made of glass. Well, guess what? I’m not as fragile as you think.”

And with that, she lunges forward, her fist aimed straight for my face. I raise my arms up and block it effortlessly, pushing it away, a quick and easy deflection. “I’d contest that,”

“Shut up, you poindexter. ‘I’d contest that’, who talks like that?” Kate growls, taking two steps back. “Come on, kick in already,”

Kick in? I’m distracted enough that her comment barely hurts, even if it really does dig to one of my bigger insecurities. And I’m sure she knows that, but what does she mean, kick in?

---

The interrogation room is cramped and stuffy, the air thick with tension. I stand behind the one-way mirror, watching as Multiplex and Fury Forge face off against Sparkplug, who’s wrapped up in a rubber jumpsuit that looks like it was designed by a colorblind toddler. But the air is devoid of the typical crackling that foreshadows anything Sparkplug does, so I guess, in a sense, it’s working.

Spindle’s beside me, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

“I still can’t believe you two went off on your own like that,” Crossroads says, his voice tight with disapproval. “You’re supposed to be on bed rest, Bloodhound. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

I shrug, wincing as the motion pulls at my still-healing wounds. “Yeah, well, we got results, didn’t we? Sparkplug’s off the streets, and we’re one step closer to figuring out who’s behind this whole power drug mess.”

Puppeteer and Rampart exchange a glance, but say nothing. I can tell they’re not thrilled about our little unsanctioned mission, but they can’t argue with the outcome. I wave him off, focusing on the interrogation. Sparkplug’s lawyer, a weaselly-looking man in a cheap suit, is trying to get his client to keep his mouth shut, but it’s like trying to plug a leaky dam with chewing gum.

“–telling you, the Rogue Wave is coming,” Sparkplug insists, his eyes wide and manic. “It’s gonna change everything, man. Level the playing field.”

Clara – the lawyer that’s on our side – leans forward, her eyes narrowing. “And what exactly is this ‘Rogue Wave,’ Mr. Praznik? Some kind of doomsday weapon? I didn’t know they still made those.”

Sparkplug’s lawyer, apparently named Lester Dunlow, clears his throat. “You don’t need to answer that, Christian.”

Sparkplug shoots a look towards his lawyer that’s equal parts annoyance and contempt. “You’d wish it was a doomsday weapon. That’d be something nice and tidy for you fascists to clean up after.”

Fury Forge leans forward, her brow furrowed. “And how exactly is flooding the streets with dangerous drugs going to help your apparent antifascist agenda, Mr. Praznik?”

Sparkplug grins, his teeth glinting in the harsh fluorescent light. “You’ll see.”

His lawyer clears his throat, shooting Sparkplug a warning look. “There’s no need for further speculation. We’ve already agreed that we’ll be accepting a plea deal. There’s no need for you all to try to extract anything extra from him.”

Multiplex chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, I think there’s plenty of need, Mr. Dunlow. Your client seems to know an awful lot about this Rogue Wave.”

Sparkplug’s grin widens, and he leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know enough. Enough to know you aren’t prepared.”

The door behind us opens, and Bulwark steps into the room, his massive frame filling the doorway. He nods to us briefly before turning his attention to the interrogation.

“Sounds like your client has quite the imagination, Mr. Dunlow,” Multiplex snarks, his thin voice filling the small room.

Dunlow sighs, rubbing his temples. “My client is simply trying to express his… unique worldview. It has no bearing on the case at hand.”

Sparkplug’s eyes narrow, and he leans back in his chair, his grin turning sharp. “Mock me all you want. Throw me in the slammer. It won’t take Jump and Fly off the streets. Shave one fingernail and the rest of the hand continues to grow. You all understand how fingernails work, right?”

“Wish this guy would shut up,” Puppeteer grumbles under her breath.

“I wonder if men like Mr. Dunlow ever get tired of getting in the way,” Bulwark rumbles, his deep voice resonating through my chest like a massage gun. “It would make our jobs much easier without those types.”

For some reason, the thought doesn’t bring me much comfort.

---

Kate’s words hang in the air, heavy with implication. “Kick in already,” she repeats, a strange glint in her eye.

And then it hits me. Jump. She’s taken Jump, the power-granting drug that’s been flooding the streets. My mind races, trying to piece together when she could have possibly gotten her hands on it.

“Kate, what did you do?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

She grins, a mirthless thing that doesn’t reach her eyes, like a chimpanzee’s smile. “Rummaged through some guy’s pockets. He was a scumbag. Nobody would notice me taking a pill or two.”

I open my mouth to protest, but the words die in my throat as I watch Kate’s skin begin to change. It starts as a sheen, like she’s been dipped in wax, but then it hardens, cracking and splintering as it solidifies. Crystals bloom across her flesh, catching the moonlight and throwing it back in sharp, fractured angles. Like one of those videos on the internet of someone pulling out a chunk of bismuth from a boiling vat.

I can only stare in horror as Kate’s body transforms, her skin turning to dull, lifeless metal. It looks like it should be painful, like her flesh is being torn apart and stitched back together with cold iron, but Kate doesn’t even flinch. Not a single drop of blood escapes her. Even her eyes are quickly coated outside of two small black pinpricks where the pupil sits. The crystals fall off of her, leaving behind only the sort of shineless patina that a decades-old iron pipe could have, minus the rust.

“Kate…” I breathe, my heart hammering in my chest. “Why?”

She flexes her fingers, the metal joints clicking and whirring. “Looks like the playing field just got a little more even, Samantha.”

And then she’s moving, charging at me with a speed that belies her new, heavy form. I brace myself, raising my arms to block, but it’s like trying to stop a freight train. Kate’s kick, well-poised, with perfect form, slams into my chest, sending me skidding backward, my forearms rattling from the impact.

I barely have time to catch my breath before Kate’s fist crashes into my ribs, knocking me off my feet. I hit the ground hard, rolling with the momentum, gasping for air. The pain is blinding, all-consuming. I can feel my ribs creaking, threatening to give way under the onslaught.

Kate looms over me, her metallic face split in a triumphant grin. “How’s that for a wake-up call, Shark Week?”

I spit blood onto the concrete, my lips split from the impact, scraping against the rough rubbery material of the basketball court. I can feel my entire vascular system bloom to life in my blood sense, a throbbing web of heat and pressure. But as I look at Kate, I realize with a sinking feeling that I can’t sense her at all. Her metal skin is impenetrable, unreadable. It’s like trying to read a blank page, a wall of solid nothing. No amount of chipping at her can make her bleed, unless the metal is only millimeters or centimeters thick – but given the force behind the impact I just took, I’m doubtful.

I suck in spit.

With a defiant yell, I lunge at her, spraying blood from my mouth. She raises her arm to cover herself from the blinding onslaught, but too little, too late. In instants, her face is covered in a sheen of red.

In another instant, it immediately begins sliding off. Her eyelids and eyeballs, the parts I was aiming for, don’t even react with a blink or a twitch. The arm-blocking was purely combat training. When did she start doing that?

Kate laughs, a harsh, grating sound that sets my teeth on edge. “Someone’s been watching too much pro wrestling.”

I spit out another mouthful of blood, wiping my chin with the back of my hand. “Alright, Tin Can. You want a fight? You’ve got one.”

---

The meeting room at the DVD headquarters is packed to the gills with superheroes, all of us crowded around the large conference table. The Young Defenders are here in full force, along with the Delaware Valley Defenders and Bubble, who’s been sent as a representative from the Tacony Titans. I give her a little wave as she sits down in the corner of the table – in recognition, she gives me a polite little wave back. I’m not sure what the motivation was for sending her of all the members, but I’ve generally grown to trust Sundial’s judgement calls.

It’s a strange mix of people, all with different powers and personalities, but we’re all united by a common goal: figuring out what the hell Rogue Wave is and how we can stop them.

Multiplex is at the head of the table, his face grim as he surveys the room. “Alright, let’s get started. We’ve all had a chance to review the information obtained from Sparkplug’s interrogation. What have we got?”

Fury Forge leans forward, her elbows resting on the table. “Not much, unfortunately. Sparkplug was clearly a true believer in this Rogue Wave thing, but he didn’t seem to know much about the organization itself. Just a lot of vague promises and grandiose rhetoric.”

Crossroads nods in agreement. “It’s clear that Rogue Wave is operating on a need-to-know basis. Compartmentalizing information, keeping their operatives in the dark about the bigger picture.”

I can’t help but feel a twinge of frustration. We finally have a name for the enemy, but we’re no closer to understanding their motives or their endgame.

Bubble, who’s been quiet up until now, clears her throat. “The Titans have been doing some cur… some, uh… some cursory investigation, trying to track down the production line in more detail. From what we can tell, it’s not being manufactured anywhere in the city. Sundial has been able to use her postcog… um… her past-sight to tell that it’s not coming in through sea or airport. It’s all land-based.”

Playback frowns, his brow furrowed. “So it’s all coming in trucks or in people’s assholes. Great.”

“Language,” Puppeteer chides.

“Bite me,” Playback barks back. “So are we just going to sit here and wait for them to pop up again or what?”

Bulwark shakes his head. “No, we need to be proactive. We need to find a way to infiltrate Rogue Wave, gather intelligence from the inside. It will be impossible to extract any useful information from individual agents operating in decentralized cells.”

I can’t help but snort at that. “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll fit right in. Like there’s not an all-points bulletin with our names and faces already spreading throughout the org.”

Crossroads shoots me a look, but I can tell he agrees with me. At least, I’m assuming he does.

“Look,” Gale says, leaning forward, her foot finding mine underneath the meeting table. “We need to focus on what we do know. Rogue Wave is flooding the streets with these power drugs. They’re creating an army of superhumans, but for what purpose? What’s their endgame? Do they care that the only people who want to use this stuff is… are criminals? Is this the ideal end state for them? Are they trying to make money, or is the project ideological?”

“Good phrasing,” I mumble, reaching under to squeeze her hand. She squeezes mine back, but it’s soft enough that it raises my anxiety levels rather than lowering them.

Silence falls over the room as we all ponder the question. Bulwark is the first to speak, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “I think we need to consider the possibility that Rogue Wave’s goal is not just to create an army, but to create chaos. To destabilize the city, the country, maybe even the world. It would not be the first time an anarchist sect seeks to create chaos for its own sake.”

Playback scoffs at that, but nobody really has any response more in-depth than scoffing.

“It makes a certain kind of sense. After all, what better way to seize power than to create a crisis that only you can solve?” I pitch in, feeling very good about my ability to understand the conversation.

Playback shakes his head. “No, man, it’s definitely not a false flag. There’s way easier ways to fake a terrorist incident. Or make one.”

“Are they terrorists?” Rampart asks, giving everyone another moment of pause. “Or just ideologues?”

“I think you would find the line is much thinner than we would like, young one,” Bulwark replies.

Fury Forge looks at him, clearly troubled by something, but doesn’t open her mouth to respond.

Multiplex nods, his expression grim. “It’s a possibility we can’t ignore. But regardless of their endgame, our priority right now needs to be containment. We need to find a way to get these drugs off the streets, to stop the spread of this epidemic before it’s too late.”

---

Kate’s metal fist crashes into my jaw, snapping my head back and sending a spray of blood into the air. I stumble backwards, my vision swimming, but I don’t have time to recover before she’s on me again, her iron grip closing around my throat.

“You just don’t get it, do you, Sam?” Kate snarls, her face inches from mine. “You think this is about the law? About what’s right and wrong? This is about being left behind. About being abandoned by the one person I thought would always have my back.”

I choke out a laugh, my fingers scrabbling at her unyielding grip. “Is that what this is about? You’re jealous because I got into a better school than you?”

Kate’s eyes flash with anger, and she slams me back against the ground, knocking the wind out of me. “You think that’s all this is? Jealousy? God, you’re even more clueless than I thought.”

She steps back, her chest heaving, and I push myself up onto my elbows, gasping for air. “Then enlighten me, Kate. What is this really about?”

“It’s about you leaving us behind!” Kate shouts, her voice cracking with emotion. “It’s about you abandoning our entire friend group to go to some fancy charter school, while the rest of us are stuck in third-string, D-list public schools. It’s about you forgetting about us, about me, the moment something better came along.”

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog from my brain. “That’s not fair, Kate. Everyone split up for high school. It’s not like I had a choice in the matter. My parents-“

“Your parents,” Kate scoffs, cutting me off. “Of course. It’s always about your parents, isn’t it? Poor little Sammy, always doing what Mommy and Daddy tell her to do.”

I feel a flash of anger at that, and I push myself to my feet, my fists clenched at my sides. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Kate. You have no idea what I’ve been through, what I’ve had to deal with.”

Kate laughs, a bitter, mirthless sound. “Oh, I know exactly what you’ve been through, Sam. You got superpowers, and suddenly everything else stopped mattering. Your friends, your family, your life before all of this. It’s like we never even existed.”

Before I can say anything, Kate is on me again, her metal fist slamming into my gut and doubling me over. I gasp for air, my eyes watering from the pain, but I don’t have time to catch my breath before she’s grabbing me by the waist, her iron fingers digging into my flesh. I try to twist out of her grip, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. Kate’s metal body is too heavy, too strong, and I can feel my strength failing against the slick surface of her new skin, even as I try to grab hold of the cloth of her costume.

With a grunt of effort, Kate lifts me off the ground, both hands on my waist, and throws, slamming me down onto the hard rubber of the basketball court. I hit the ground with a sickening thud, the air rushing out of my lungs in a whoosh.

For a moment, I just lie there, stunned, trying to catch my breath. But then I feel a flicker of pride, despite the pain. That was a textbook spinebuster, the kind of move that would make any wrestler proud.

I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. I can’t afford to be distracted, not now. Not when Kate is still coming at me, her metal fists raised and ready to strike.

I roll to the side, barely avoiding another blow, and push myself up to my knees. My whole body aches, but I force myself to focus, to tap into the power thrumming just beneath my skin.

I clench my fists, feeling the teeth pushing through the skin of my knuckles, forming my usual knuckledusters. If I can dent Chernobyl’s much more well-armored suit, I can dent Kate. And maybe make her stop this insanity.

With a cry of rage, I lunge at Kate, my fists flying in a flurry of blows. Muscle memory corrects my sloppy, overemotional stance, whipping limp wristed slugs into tense, tight jabs and hooks. The teeth connect with her face with a sickening crunch, and for a moment, I think I’ve done it, I’ve found a chink in her armor.

But then I see the cracks spreading across the surface of the teeth, the way they splinter and break against her unyielding skin. They don’t shatter completely, but they’re badly damaged, and I can feel the pain lancing up my arms with every impact. Small little divots form in Kate’s cheeks, and she clenches her steel teeth together.

Kate staggers back, more surprised than hurt, and I press my advantage, ejecting the spent teeth like bullet casings and pushing more to the surface. My arms scream with pain, a thin trickle of blood leaking out into my gloves, and for a moment all I’m concerned about is how annoying laundering them will be afterwards.

“You want to be a hero so bad?” I find myself screaming. “Just remember when I put you in the hospital – you chose this. I didn’t.”

“Get over yourself, Peter Parker,” Kate snarls back, cracking her knuckles with the sounds of angry chimes going off.

“I have responsibilities to society now! I’m sorry you’re too juvenile to understand that sort of thing!” is what comes out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

She stops for a second, clenches her entire body up, and then her face contorts. “YOU HAD RESPONSIBILITIES TO YOUR FRIENDS, TOO!“

---

The sun is setting over the Philadelphia skyline, painting the city in shades of orange and pink. It’s a beautiful sight, but I can’t seem to focus on it, my mind too caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts and worries that have been plaguing me for days.

Beside me, Jamila takes a sip of her tea, her dark eyes studying me over the rim of her cup. “You’re thinking about Rogue Wave again, aren’t you?” she asks, her voice gentle.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, or what’s left of it, anyway. “Is it that obvious?”

Jamila smiles, reaching out to take my hand. “I know you, Sam. I can tell when something’s bothering you.”

We’re sitting outside a small café in Germantown, a rare moment of peace in the chaos that has become our lives. It’s been too long since we’ve had a chance to do this, to just be together without the weight of the world on our shoulders. Or maybe it’s just the weight that’s on my shoulders.

“I just can’t shake the feeling that we’re missing something,” I say, my brow furrowed. “Rogue Wave, the power drugs, all of it. It’s like we’re just scratching the surface of something much bigger, much more dangerous.”

Jamila nods, her expression thoughtful. “I know what you mean. But we have to remember that we’re not in this alone. The Young Defenders, the DVD, the Tacony Titans… even Jordan and their crew. We’re all working together to figure this out.”

I take a sip of my own soda, letting the coolness spread through my chest like a balm. “Remember what Rampart said at the meeting? Do you think they’re ideologues or terrorists?” I ask, my voice low. “Rogue Wave, I mean.”

Jamila hesitates, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I think… to certain kinds of people, the distinction doesn’t matter. I think anything that’s a danger to the status quo is… automatically terroristic. To some, I mean.”

I nod, my mind racing with the possibilities. “But what is their message? What do they want?”

Jamila squeezes my hand, her touch grounding me in the moment. Then, her cheeks pull up. “Sam, are you quizzing the one Muslim girl you know about terrorism on purpose, or…?”

I feel a rush of embarrassment run through me like bullets, and jerk away to cover my face. But Jamila is there, patting my hands and gently urging them away from my cheeks. “Chill, chill, I’m just effing with you.”

I can’t help but smile in between soda-thick coughs that make tears well up in the corners of my eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jamila. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much lately. It’s just been so crazy, with everything that’s been going on.”

Jamila shakes her head, her expression a leisurely painting of understanding. “You don’t have to apologize, Sam. I know what it’s like, remember? The responsibilities, the sacrifices, it’s all part of being a superhero.”

“I just wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish I could be there for my friends, for my family, the way I used to be. You know? I feel like… I’m failing them a little bit. And you,” I start off strong, but as the sentences emerge, they sort of dissolve into oblivious mumbles.

Jamila leans forward, her eyes intense. “But that’s what makes you a hero, Sam. Your willingness to fight for what you believe in, even when it’s hard. Even when it means giving up the things you love.”

I feel a lump form in my throat, and I blink back the tears that threaten to fall. “Thank you, Jamila. For everything. I’m sorry I’m not a great girlfriend.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the people pass by on the street. Any single one of them might be near death tomorrow. And maybe they’ll be the next great superhero or supervillain. Or maybe they’ll find the right or wrong drugs and become part of this underworld – the closest thing to a sort of hell I can fathom.

“So, any plans for the holidays?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Jamila smiles, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Actually, yes. One of my brothers and I are planning on doing the Hajj this year, now that he’s done touring with Demon Core.”

I tilt my head, confused. “The Hajj? What’s that?”

Jamila laughs, shaking her head. “I forget how much of a heathen you are sometimes, Sam. The Hajj is a pilgrimage to Mecca, in Saudi Arabia. It’s one of the five pillars of Islam, something every Muslim is supposed to do at least once in their life, if they’re able. And, well, I’m more than able.”

I nod, fascinated. “That sounds amazing, Jamila. I’m sure it will be an incredible experience. Can you keep telling me about it so I don’t have to think about all the other things I’m neglecting right now, like my schoolwork?”

Jamila grins, her excitement palpable. “Yeah, sure. I’ll give you the whole infodump, it’s gonna be great.”

---

Kate charges at me like a runaway train, her metal body slamming into me with the force of a wrecking ball. I feel my ribs creak under the impact, the air rushing out of my lungs as she grabs me like a windshield scooping up an insect. I have no recourse but to simply move with the motion and prepare myself for the incoming impact.

“You have no idea what it’s like, do you, Sam?” Kate snarls, her voice thick with emotion. “To always be in your shadow, to always be second best.”

I try to push her off, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. She must weigh 500, maybe 550 pounds now with her new skin. “Kate, please, let’s just talk about this-“

But she’s not listening. She squeezes me hard like she’s preparing to hug me to death. “You think you’re so special, don’t you? Perfect little Samantha Small, with her perfect family and her perfect powers.”

I yelp as she picks up speed and then WHAM, my body slams into the basketball pole with a sickening thud. I feel something crack in my shoulder, a white-hot bolt of pain lancing through me as the metal dents under the force of the impact. She lets go and I feel my body preparing to collapse under the strain.

“You don’t know what it’s like to have a father who works himself to the bone just to keep the lights on,” Kate continues, her voice breaking. “To watch him come home every night, broken and beaten down, while your parents sit in their cozy offices and collect their fat paychecks. Do you think I can even consider the idea of college? What a pipe dream.”

My vision swims as she lets me slump to the ground, taking two steps back before bending down to meet me. I blink, trying to clear the fog from my brain, as her iron feet rise into view from my lowering head.

“I give up,” I rasp, holding up my hands in surrender. “Kate, please, I’m sorry-“

But she’s not done. With a snarl of rage, she grabs me by the hair and hoists me up, forcing me to look her in the eye. “Say it to my face, Sam. Say you’re sorry for abandoning me, for leaving me behind while you went off to your fancy charter school and your fancy new life with your fancy superhero friends.”

I can feel the tears streaming down my face, mixing with the blood and sweat. “I never meant to hurt you, Kate. I never wanted to leave you behind. And I surrender.”

“Good,” she says, letting go of my hair.

I jerk forward, cracking my skull against Kate’s with all the force I can muster. I feel something sharp pierce my forehead, a single tooth protruding like a horn, before it shatters against her metal skin.

We stagger apart, our heads ringing from the impact. Kate’s forehead is dented, a small crater where my tooth struck, while I can feel the hole in my own head slowly stitching itself back together.

“You were my best friend, Sam,” Kate says, her voice barely above a whisper as she stumbles, clearly reeling from the blow. “My only friend, sometimes. But then you got your powers, and suddenly I wasn’t good enough anymore.”

We circle each other warily, gunslingers at twilight now, barely able to see each other even with the gnat-attracting streetlights overhead casting everything in sharp contrast.

“Remember when we were in first grade, and you won that stupid spelling bee? You wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks, rubbing it in my face every chance you got.” Kate hisses, preparing to unload every small grievance she’s ever had, every moment where she felt overshadowed or overlooked.

I wince at the memory, shame and regret washing over me. “Kate, I was six. I didn’t know any better.”

“But that’s the thing, Sam. You never did. You always had to be the best, the brightest, the most special. And I was just your dumb friend, your poor friend, your friend with no mom. Well, I’ve HAD IT!”

We exchange a flurry of blows, our fists meeting in a rapid-fire succession of jabs and hooks. I can feel the impact of each punch, the way it rattles my bones and sets my teeth on edge. My teeth catch on her clothes, ripping the sleeves loose, and our forearms each put in the work blocking each other’s hammer strikes.

But even in the heat of battle, I can’t help but notice the way Kate moves, the precision and grace behind each strike. Her form is perfect, honed by months, maybe even years of training and discipline, while mine is sloppy and unrefined from months in the hospital. I almost want to ask where she’s been spending time training, but clearly this isn’t the time.

I try to block, to parry, but she’s too fast, too strong. Her metal fists slam into me again and again, each blow driving me further back, closer to the edge of the court, back into the dented basketball pole.

In a last, desperate attempt to escape, I begin to scoot backwards, hoping to put some distance between us. But Kate is too smart for that. Like a charging bull, she lowers her head and barrels towards me, ready to shoulder ram me into oblivion.

As she closes in, I act on well-honed sparring instinct, working through months of disuse. I shoot forward, my arms wrapping around her neck in a front headlock. It’s a move Rampart taught me, a way to subdue an opponent quickly and efficiently.

Kate grunts in surprise, trying to shake me off, but I tighten my grip, pouring all of my strength into the hold. We stumble around the court, a tangle of limbs and fury, as I dig my fingers into her lips and plug her nose with my thumb.

“I’m sorry, Kate,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with emotion. “I’m sorry for everything. For not being there, for not seeing how much you were hurting.”

She thrashes in my grip, her metal skin scraping against my arms, but I don’t let go. I can’t. Not until she understands, not until she sees how much she means to me.

“I never wanted to leave you behind, Kate. I never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t good enough. Because you are. You’re stronger than I ever could be, in so many ways.”

I can feel her struggles growing weaker, her energy draining with each passing second. But still, she doesn’t stop. It’s the primary lesson of fighting invulnerable people – most people with superpowers still need to breathe. She squeals and moans and cries out, and I keep my vicegrip on her neck and mouth, trying to suffocate her so I can wake her up in five minutes and we can talk about this like rational people.

But she knows better. Her arms find purchase on the inside of my elbows, and she breaks out of the headlock by slamming the top of her head into my gut like a spear. Even still, she pours out her anguish, her pain, in a torrent of words and tears.

“You were my hero, Sam. My idol. I wanted to be just like you, in every way. But then you got your powers, and suddenly I was just a normal girl. A nobody. A civilian. What do I get to make of my life? I’ll inherit all of my dad’s ten dollars and maybe join the military so I don’t starve. And you get to become a cop,” she wheezes, gasping for air. Her tears form lime-green streaks across her face, down her neck. “I wish I could live in your skin for just one day. To follow you wherever you go. But you won’t even let me have that.”

I wipe blood and spit off from my mouth. I spit out a jagged, sharp tooth. “There’s help for people who live like you, Kate. I’d help you, if you gave me the fucking opportunity.”

“I don’t want your pity!” she spits. “Or your welfare. I don’t need your help. I don’t need your handouts. I just need you to not leave me behind!”

Her breaths sound like they’re being ran through a cheese grater. The dents in her face show no sign of un-denting anytime soon, and I can only hope that they’ll fix themselves when the Jump wears off. And that she’ll fix herself when the Jump wears off.

But I know when there’s no more that words can do. I crack my knuckles. “I’m here. Come take me.”

We both meet the ground running, my ankles creaking uncomfortably with all the bad rolls I’ve taken, hers sounding like gongs, heavy stompers leaving small indents on the hard rubber ground. She’s a freight train? I’m a tyrannosaur. I’ll bite her in half Jurassic Park style. We roar, and our voices mix like oil and water.

We swing with mirrored arms – my right, her left. Our knuckles collide in perfect synchronicity with each other’s cheeks, fists scraping forearms. I feel my jaw cracking under the strain, while I barely manage to leave a mark in her perfect skin.

Our fists just sit there, for a second, and then another.

Pain reverberates through me like noise through a bell. My used-up hand slides off her cheek, and my body gives out, no longer capable of withstanding any further abuse.

Kate’s moment of triumph is short lived – too short for her to gloat about it. Hissing and wheezing with exhaustion, she sits down in front of me, grabs my hair, and pulls my head up for one final venomous sentence.

We make eye contact. Her huge, round pupils swallowed up in a sea of quicksilver.

I spit out teeth and blood, and instead of saying anything, she just lets go of my hair, and lets me drop to the ground.

“You win. I’ll hang up my costume,” she mumbles, standing back up to her feet. She makes it one step, then two steps, then three, before pitching forward and collapsing in a heap on the ground. “Fuck,”

---

It’s late August, and the air is thick and sticky outside. But inside it’s cool and it feels nice.

I sit on my assigned mat, fidgeting with the hem of my sundress. It’s naptime, but I’m not tired. I’m too excited, too curious about all the new faces around me.

Across the room, a girl with really bright light blonde hair and bright green eyes sits on her own mat, hugging her knees to her chest. She hasn’t talked to anyone all day, not even during snack time or recess.

I tilt my head, studying her. She looks nice, I think. Maybe a little shy, but nice.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I stand up and make my way over to her, plopping down on the mat beside her.

“Hi,” I say, giving her my biggest, friendliest smile. “I’m Samantha, but you can call me Sam. What’s your name?”

The girl looks up at me, her green eyes wide and surprised. “I’m Kate,” she says, her voice soft and hesitant.

“Kate,” I repeat, testing the name out on my tongue. “I like that name. It’s pretty.”

She smiles at that, a small, shy thing that lights up her whole face. “Thanks. I like your name too.”

We sit there for a moment, just smiling at each other, and then I blurt out the same question I’ve asked all the other kids my age. And the teachers.

“Do you like sports?”

Kate’s eyes widen, and then she nods, a grin spreading across her face. “Yeah, I love sports. My dad and I watch basketball all the time.”

“Really?” I ask, bouncing in my seat. “Who’s your favorite player?”

“Allen Iverson,” she says, without hesitation. “My dad says he’s the only Sixers player worth a darn. But he hasn’t played in a while. So that’s bad.”

I wrinkle my nose, thinking. “I don’t know much about basketball. I like soccer better. My favorite player is Ronaldo Jimenez.”

Kate shakes her head, her curls bouncing. “I don’t like soccer. It’s boring.”

For a moment, I feel a pang of disappointment. But then I shrug, smiling at her again. “That’s okay. We don’t have to like the same things.”

She looks at me, surprise flickering in her green eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “We can still be friends, even if we like different sports.”

Kate’s smile is brighter this time, more realer. “Are we friends now?”

I hold out my hand to her, my heart swelling with happiness. This must be what the Grinch felt like. “Do you wanna be?”

She takes my hand, her skin warm and soft against mine. “Friends forever!”

The teacher looks at us, and I see her raising her hand. I think she’s getting ready to shush us. But I lock eyes with her, and she smiles, and she brings her hand up slower to put her finger over her lips.

So she’s shushing us but not very hard. That’s okay, I can be quiet.

“Friends forever,” I whisper.

End of Arc 5: Mayfly

END OF YEAR ONE

---

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I don’t feel the way I’ve ever felt
I know
Gonna smile and not get worried
I try but it shows

Anyone can make what I have built and better now
Anyone can find the same white pills
It takes my pain away

It’s a lie, a kiss with open eyes
And she’s not breathing back
Anything but bother me
(It takes my pain away)
Never mind, these are horrid times
Oh, oh, oh
I can’t let it bother me

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