Chapter 7 Desperate Heights

  January 22, 2025. Wednesday. 9:44 a.m.

  It was only yesterday that Alfred roughed up my place, leaving behind a mess and a deadline that loomed over my head like an executioner’s axe. Two million marks. That was the debt I inherited, and Alfred had made it painfully clear that I’d need at least 20,000 marks to keep him at bay for now.

  I wasn’t sure what bothered me more: the absurdity of the number or the fact that I’d decided to handle it the only way I knew how, by breaking the law.

  I adjusted the hood of my hoodie, tugged the bonnet mask snug over my nose, and stared down at my scuffed rubber shoes. Same damn pair I’d been wearing since… Sunstrider. A chill ran through me. How had I not thought to swap them out?

  I sighed. After this, new shoes. Assuming I made it through "this."

  “Am I really doing this?” I muttered under my breath. My voice was barely audible over the steady hum of traffic below.

  I was crouched on the foremost roof of StopQuick, a convenience store perched at the edge of town. Getting up here had been simple enough; scaling buildings was second nature thanks to my powers and months of obsessive training.

  From my mental vantage point, I had a clear view of the shop's layout. I’d spent the last two hours observing. I knew where the lone security guard liked to stand—near the snack aisle by the rear exit—and where the counter was located. The cashier, a young woman with dyed blue hair, looked half-asleep.

  This was supposed to be easy: drop in, intimidate, grab the cash, and run. But my stomach churned as I replayed the steps in my head. My powers gave me an edge, sure, but they didn’t make me invincible. I wasn’t bulletproof. If something went wrong…

  I forced the thought away.

  The duffel bag slung across my shoulder felt heavier than it should. Not because of its weight, since it was empty, but because of what it represented. Another descent down the rabbit hole of crime. Another step away from any hope of a normal life.

  But what choice did I have? I needed the money, and fast.

  I peeked over the edge of the roof again. The store’s entrance doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, letting in a man in a business suit. No one else in sight. Perfect.

  I inhaled deeply, steeling myself.

  “Alright,” I whispered. “Let’s do this.”

  I phased through the roof, the faint tingling sensation of intangibility fading as I dropped silently into the aisle. The guard didn’t even have time to react. In one swift motion, I snatched the shotgun slung across his shoulder, activated my power to make it intangible, and yanked it clean out of his grip.

  “This is a robbery!” I barked, cocking the shotgun for emphasis. The sharp clack echoed in the otherwise quiet store. I leveled the weapon at the guard first, then swung it toward the convenience store clerk as I made distance away from the guard. "Mr. Guard, don't run or the girl gets it!"

  The guard froze, his hands raised halfway, his expression a mix of shock and anger. The blue-haired clerk stood behind the counter, her wide eyes fixed on the barrel of the gun. She slowly lifted her hands, fingers trembling.

  “Alright, fellas,” I said, my voice hard and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. “Turn the open sign to closed and pull the shutters down. Now.” I jerked my head toward the storefront gates above the automatic doors.

  The guard hesitated, his jaw tightening. He glanced at the clerk, as if waiting for a signal.

  “Don’t try anything funny,” I snapped, shifting the gun back toward him. “Same goes for you, Blue.” I flicked my gaze toward the clerk. She flinched at the attention, taking a small step back.

  The guard finally nodded, his hands still raised. “Alright, alright. Just… don’t hurt anyone.”

  “That’s up to you,” I replied coldly.

  He moved slowly toward the front, his boots scuffing against the tiles. The clerk stayed frozen, her hands still raised. I kept the gun trained on them both, at least alternately, while my back was pressed against a shelf of potato chips.

  The sound of the open sign flipping to “Closed” and the whirring of the shutters descending gave me a moment of relief. The guard stepped back, his hands up again.

  “Good,” I said. “Now, both of you, on the floor, and hands behind your heads!”

  The guard complied, kneeling slowly before lying flat, his hands laced behind his neck. The clerk hesitated, her lips trembling, but eventually followed suit. My heart hammered against my ribs as I moved closer to the counter. The cash register was within reach, the drawer slightly ajar.

  “Stay down,” I warned, glancing between the two of them. “And don’t make a sound.”

  I slung the shotgun over my shoulder and reached for the register. My fingers trembled as I began stuffing bills into my duffel bag. The rush of adrenaline was overwhelming, and every sound—from the whir of the overhead fans to the faint hum of the refrigerator units—felt deafening.

  I could feel their eyes on me, watching, judging. The guard’s jaw clenched as if he were resisting the urge to move.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I growled, keeping my focus on the task at hand.

  One mistake was all it would take to ruin this.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  I barely gave myself time to think. I stuffed the bills into the duffle bag, which was now heavier than I’d anticipated. The weight wasn’t just physical—it felt like a countdown timer strapped to my back. My heart raced as I turned toward the door.

  No escape plan. No clean getaway route. Just pure desperation driving me forward. If I’d had more time, maybe I’d have set up a proper way out. But time was a luxury I didn’t have.

  I took a deep breath, gripping the bag tightly. With this much weight, phasing through solid matter was like trying to run underwater—it burned through my stamina like fire on dry wood. Yes, I could break my fall by going intangible even with the extra weight, but I was yet to reach a level where I could surpass my initial weight limitation.

  Still, I had no other choice.

  I focused, feeling the familiar tingling sensation as my body shifted. Phasing through the door was no longer smooth. It felt more like dragging myself through sand. When I came out on the other side, my lungs screamed for air, and I staggered forward, almost dropping the bag.

  I forced myself into a slow jog, steadying my breathing. The bag slapped against my side with every step. I veered into the nearest alley, seeking cover, my mind already planning the next move.

  That’s when I saw him.

  A guy about my age stood at the other end of the alley, blocking my path. He wore green spandex with white overlays, his chest marked with a swirling insignia that resembled a gust of wind. His mask covered most of his face, save for his mouth, which was twisted into a cruel smirk. Yellow-tinted lenses glinted under the sunlight.

  Windbreaker.

  My stomach sank. A member of The Watch, Vanguard’s kiddie program. Not quite a full-fledged cape, but good enough to ruin my day.

  “Look at what we have here,” he drawled, his voice mocking as he crossed his arms. “A little mouse carrying a fat bag of cheese. What’s in there? Candy? Or should I say, evidence?”

  I tightened my grip on the duffle bag, instinctively stepping back. My mind raced, calculating my odds. Windbreaker was no pushover. As much as the spandex and pretense of superiority made him look like a rookie, I knew better.

  Low-tier wind manipulation. Aerokinetic-2 maybe? It was enough to make him dangerous in tight spaces. His main move? Creating bursts of wind strong enough to knock people off their feet or disarm them. He didn’t need much range for that, and this alley was far too narrow for me to have any real advantage.

  Moreover, he was a speedster…

  “Not in the mood to chat, huh?” Windbreaker taunted, taking a step closer. A breeze stirred around him, kicking up dust and making his scarf flutter dramatically. “You know, the Vanguard’s been looking for someone matching your description. Lucky me! I get to bag you and play hero today.”

  He raised his hand, and the wind around him grew stronger. Trash and debris swirled at his feet.

  I clenched my jaw. No way I was going down without a fight.

  But could I take him?

  It didn’t matter. I had no choice.

  Windbreaker should be around Speedster-4 and Aerokinetic-2. Not as strong as Sunstrider, thank God, but the memory of that fight flashed through my mind, a grim reminder of how "lucky" I'd gotten back then. No way I'd bank on luck this time. If I wanted to escape, I needed to deal with him quickly. Speedsters were a nightmare to outrun, and I wasn’t about to test that theory with someone like him.

  I let the duffel bag drop to the ground with a thud. The sound echoed in the narrow alleyway. Windbreaker tilted his head, his smirk faltering slightly as he tracked my movements.

  I started walking toward him with slow, deliberate steps, keeping my eyes locked on him. My heart pounded in my chest, but I tried to mask it with a calm exterior.

  Windbreaker’s frown deepened. I could almost see the gears turning behind his mask. My getup wasn’t exactly threatening: a hoodie, jeans, and some ratty old shoes. Hardly screamed "danger."

  He didn’t know that I was a cape... yet!

  Stopping a few feet away, I let my hands slide into my hoodie pockets, taking my time. Windbreaker's immaturity or lack of experience allowed me a little breathing room. The tension in the air thickened as I pulled out the shotgun from my back and raised it in one fluid motion, aiming straight at his face.

  Windbreaker didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk returned, sharper than before.

  “Shoot,” he said, his voice low and taunting.

  I hesitated. My finger hovered over the trigger, but something about the way he stood there, completely unfazed, sent a chill down my spine. This guy was insane.

  “You think that scares me?” Windbreaker continued, gesturing lazily toward the shotgun. “Speedster, remember? You won’t even pull the trigger before I take that thing and shove it somewhere you won’t like.”

  No way I could escalate to more... murder. I wouldn’t want every superhero team out there to hunt me or any Kill Order to be put on my head. Windbreaker was baiting me, and I knew it. I exhaled slowly, tightening my grip.

  “You’re a talker,” I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt. “But let’s see how fast you really are.”

  His smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second. I aimed at his one leg and pulled the trigger.

  The shotgun roared, a deafening blast that echoed through the alley. But Windbreaker wasn’t standing still. He blurred to the side, the gust of air from his movement throwing my aim off just enough to miss.

  “Too slow!” he shouted, his voice coming from everywhere at once as he circled me, his speed kicking up debris and trash from the alley floor.

  Crap. This was going to be harder than I thought.

  I swung the shotgun wildly, trying to track his movements, but he was too fast. Suddenly, he was behind me, shoving me forward with enough force to make me stumble.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” Windbreaker taunted. “Man, you’re making this way too easy.”

  I scrambled to regain my footing. I needed to outthink him and use his arrogance against him. If I couldn’t match his speed, I’d have to find a way to predict where he’d be next.

  “Dodge this,” Windbreaker taunted before vanishing in a gust of air.

  The next thing I knew, his foot was slamming into my ribs. Or at least, it should have been. His momentum carried him through me as I activated my phasing ability just in time. His shocked expression flashed in front of me for a brief second.

  Before he could recover, I swung the shotgun’s handle upward, coincidentally smashing it into his jaw with a sickening crack. He staggered back, clutching his face, and that was my chance.

  "Lady luck smiles upon me."

  I flipped the shotgun back around and fired point-blank at his knee without changing posture.

  The blast roared, and Windbreaker screamed a guttural, enraged sound that echoed through the alley. Blood splattered the grimy concrete as he crumpled to one side, clutching his shattered leg.

  “FUCK!” he yelled, fury and pain twisting his features. “FUCK! YOU—!”

  I didn’t wait to hear the rest of his sentence. I grabbed the duffel bag, slinging it over my shoulder. My stomach twisted as I glanced down at him, writhing on the ground. I shouldn’t have escalated to this point, but what choice did I have? Crippling him was bad—terrible, even—but at least it wasn’t murder.

  Not that it made me feel any better.

  Windbreaker’s voice cut through my thoughts. “I KNOW YOU!” he screamed, his face twisted in rage. “IT WAS YOU WHO KILLED SUNSTRIDER, WASN’T IT?”

  My blood ran cold.

  He glared up at me, teeth bared, his mask slightly askew from the earlier blow. “You’re that bastard!” he spat, pointing a trembling finger at me. "You are dead! YOU ARE DEAD! Do you hear me? GET THAT IN YOUR FUCKING SKULL, YOU ARE DEAD!"

  I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Not my fault you mistook me for your average robber,” I replied, my tone flat.

  Before he could say anything else, I turned and bolted. My leg muscles screamed in protest, and the weight of the duffel bag felt heavier with every step, but I couldn’t stop now. I needed to disappear before he had the chance to call for backup—or worse, someone stronger than him.

  As I sprinted toward the end of the alley, I cursed under my breath. This wasn’t just about robbing a convenience store anymore.

  Now, I had another witness. Another complication. And I wasn’t sure how much longer my luck would hold out.