It was nice to have fans.

  Pedestrians walked up during his patrol asking for autographs, since he was doing his afternoon route. Jericho signed them with a smile that nobody could see, but was evident in his tone as a result of extensive PR training.

  Hero culture was prevalent in cities like Miami since it had the budget and infrastructure to support a set of proper teams, under eighteen—which he was a member of—and the adults. The reason for that? Mostly the war, to be honest. Not to say there weren’t heroes in smaller towns, but they tended to transfer significantly more due to military recruitment for indefinite periods of time in the south. There was the north as well, where the nation harvested most of its primebeast material for domestic trade and advancement, but Jericho didn’t care too much about the specifics of who did what and where.

  Point was, it tended to be a revolving door unless you were in a big city, with people coming and going pretty often. And that was just the ones affiliated with the government. Some indies just went wherever they pleased and occasionally pitched in if the mood struck them. Biggest example of that was Darkshiv.

  For Jericho, it had only been two years from the time he moved out of his hometown till now. It sucked to go long distance with his few friends back home, and he missed his old man sometimes, but being out here just made it all worth it. The fame, the adoration, he loved every second. Each picture he took with a fan made him feel like he was part of this elite group. One of the greats.

  It helped that so many of them were tourists, coming straight off the railways to go sightseeing in the city because it served as a hub for some of the world's best tech. Especially now at this time of year.

  Some foreigners seemed interested in him. That was huge! If they posted online it would start building up his international rep, and he could start getting recognition on social media. In terms of popularity, he was probably tied for last place in his team together with Ironeer.

  He was so glad for his power armor, making him look more kickass than he could ever hope to be. Here in the States, it wasn’t uncommon to receive supporting gadgets if your power was even remotely suited for it. While they all had the standard stuff, a few got extras. There were rules and regulations in place, and your options were limited if you didn't have a license for mech piloting, but even still. His power granted him the ability to temporarily upgrade surveillance tech close to his body.

  Basically, if he had a camera or sensor or the like on his person, he could induce an advancement on it for a set period of time that he had an intuitive sense of how to operate. The ability wasn't replicable to the rest of humanity, neither did engineers and scientists possess the tools or resources to copy down and recreate his upgraded tech even if it was. He wouldn't be made obsolete that easily.

  And there was some flexibility. If a multifaceted piece of equipment held parts that fell under his field of specialization, he could apply his power to all of it, albeit with less effectiveness on the bits that didn't relate to observation. That was how he had gotten his hands on his armor; by demonstrating that he was worth the investment. Plus, it helped that the footwear boosted his height a good four inches.

  In practice, the armor didn’t see much serious action. Small-time villain fights were few and far between. Biggest part of it was basic arrests. Robbers, drug pushers, that kind of stuff. He apprehended the most out of the team, and it turned out the public didn’t care. How was that fair in the slightest? He was working his ass off to put up those numbers and they just shrugged their shoulders like it was no big deal when he was so high on the weekly evaluation charts. They would see soon enough.

  Overall though, he would say he was doing well for himself. He was on the uprise. What more could he ask for? A few things, though they weren't super important. Except a date with Naomi; he was going to work up the courage to ask her out one of these days. Shame he wouldn’t be able to hide in a suit for that, or he would’ve bit the bullet a long time ago.

  His sensors caught something, lighting up a notification on his HUD.

  In their current, upgraded state, his equipment was capable of detecting anomalies in more mundane ways like heat signatures, light based detection, sound, and also more uncommon ones like density, object displacement, or even atmospheric balance in general.

  An explosion in the distance, he concluded. Sure enough, Vindex’s voice sounded on their team voice channel. “Heist on the bank near forty-two Hatters Ave. Stay alert, but don't intervene. Automique is handling it.”

  As their leader, the older boy was the one who let them know their orders with regards to whether they could engage or not.

  “Keeping my eyes open,” Jericho said while the rest of his team expressed similar sentiments. He slowly backed out of the conversations with his fans, saying he had to keep the streets safe. As much as he wanted to keep going, he knew Vindex would tear him a new one if he got caught laughing it up with the civies too long. Personally, he thought it was a bit excessive for situations where they didn’t even have to do anything except stand back and wait for things to be over.

  Until he spotted a figure sprinting over the rooftops at a concerning pace. Away from the bank. His sensors didn’t spot any equipment, so it must have been a power. Warrior-type of some kind?

  He switched feeds, trying to get a better look at their appearance only to realize they were also not perceptible to the naked eye.

  Okay, who was that?

  “Spotted someone else near me,” he said over the team comms. “They're invisible, roof-hopping at freeway speeds away from the explosion. Potential perp?”

  A pause arrived, Vindex clearly thinking it over. “There’s established villains at the bank… Apprehend them anyway though. Tress, Zyph, move to box ‘em in. Ironeer, head on over. And Echelon? Stop them for questioning.”

  Affirmative phrases were said all around, and Jericho got down to his own assigned task of making contact. This was his chance. Finally he had the opportunity to catch a potential villain! If he got the credit for this, his name would become ten times more famous. He couldn't keep the grin off his face at that thought.

  He activated the thrusters in his gauntlets and boots, flying closer to the strange runaway. The suit’s flight was stable enough not to give him any whiplash, allowing him to hover in front of his target and block their path. “Unidentified super, you’ve been found. Please come with me so we can have a little talk.”

  They did not stop, turning right and sprinting in that direction instead.

  Jericho scowled, notifying his team. “They’re not stopping.” Then, after catching back up to the increasingly annoying runner, he turned his speakers back on. “Didn’t you hear me? I said you’ve been found. You can’t hide from me, so you might as well stop and do this the easy way.”

  He was summarily ignored. Again.

  “Listen, we’re not asking you to do anything crazy. Just let us bring you in, and I won’t be forced to do something drastic. I mean, you know you're only making yourself look more and more suspicious, right? If you’ve got nothing to hide…” he trailed off.

  Another pivot, another dash. This time it was faster than Jericho could keep up with.

  “I’m losing them,” he told his teammates. “Tress?”

  “On it,” the girl confirmed.

  Around them, space twisted and knotted, connecting streets that shouldn’t lead into each other, looping all the routes out of the area, taking away every possible escape. Tress was restricted in how often she was usually able to exercise her power because of the disruption it caused for the general public if left up for too long.

  Moments like this were always funny with criminals. It took them ages to figure out that they were already trapped, and they’d spend ages doing laps before they realized what was going on.

  The target instantly came to a halt.

  That wasn’t an exaggeration. There was no delay, no brief second of bleeding momentum. The man just went from outrunning the cars on the road to standing stock still.

  Yeah, the man. He could see it now. The formerly invisible figure had evidently decided to cease the fruitless attempts at hiding. For a time, Jericho hovered. He stared at the insane aesthetic in front of him, breathless.

  The outfit itself was simple, but so well done. A pure white leather suit without a single blemish on it, accented by blue stripes that lined the shoulders, arms and legs. It seemed to be made in one piece, ending in a half-mask that covered the lower half of the man’s face. Iridescent eyes stared back, equal parts unamused and calculating. Lingering winds rustled lustrous silver hair, casting the unknown individual in an ethereal light.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Jericho hesitated. Hard. This was the appearance of a hero, not what he expected to be seeing from a real villain at all. That stance wasn’t even aggressive. In fact, it was fairly relaxed. His eyes flicked to the right, spotting a weirdly large bag that was leaning against a satellite. Stolen goods? He hovered closer, cautious of any sudden movements.

  “Came around and saw reason?” he asked, projecting his voice to be a bit more booming.

  Mystery Man raised an eyebrow.

  Jericho DEFINITELY did not flinch. If anyone said he did, they were lying.

  Meanwhile, his cameras had taken hundreds of pictures from various angles and cross-referencing that with every available database. Nothing was coming up. His scanners were working overtime trying to figure out what was in the bag, but miraculously, there were clothes inside. No money, drugs, or anything nefarious.

  With that in mind, it was strange as hell to think this person would be carrying around some weird… crystal? In their pocket.

  “Are we really doing this?” his potential arrestee challenged in a voice smooth and authoritative enough to give their captain an aneurysm trying to mimic it.

  He faltered a second time. Then he pushed on. “Depends. What is that in your pocket?”

  “Not yours.”

  Holding himself aloft in the air like this, he lacked the confidence to cross his arms. But he did level a gauntlet, primed to fire a containment net. “I beg to differ.”

  An intense stare-down later, Jericho moved first. It didn’t matter. The net was dodged as though it’d been part of a rehearsed play. Immediately, his opponent’s gaze locked onto Tress’ exact location.

  Half a second passed between that and his reaction, which was too long. The maybe-villain shot into the distance, once again too quick for him to keep up. He quickly gave chase and issued the warning.

  “Tress!” he shouted. “Guy’s coming your way. Watch out. High physicals.”

  The problem they were facing was due to one of Tress’ limitations. Beyond a small radius, she was incapable of trapping someone on a spatial loop without being present in it herself. That meant they could be broken out of, provided that the target knew to attack her in order to escape.

  One advantage Jericho held was that with flight, he didn’t need to chase when he knew where to go. Better to fly over the buildings straight to his destination than to take turns like a ground-bound hero.

  Naomi sped past him as he arrived, preparing a draft in one hand to leave the white-clad super of deceptive allegiance reeling. Zyph was her name in costume, and she wore a lightly armored green costume that left a lot of room for flexible movement.

  She was in the speedster category, a rare brand of powers he didn’t think there were more than a handful of known users of. At least not above a certain number of miles per hour.

  If the Guy Who Wouldn’t Listen and his fucking big screen movie-level outfit was quick, then Zyph was quicker. She possessed the power to create external coatings of wind around her that improved her speed. On top of that, objects she touched below a certain mass or volume would get wrapped up in a miniature tornado. The more coatings she stacked on herself, the higher her velocity. The downside, on the other hand, was that her tornadoes became weaker with every stack, and a single tornado expended a layer. That would slow her down until she could reapply her power.

  Comparing past uses of her power, he estimated she had a fair amount of layers stacked. Not the maximum number, but firmly ahead this poser they were about to embarrass.

  Wishful thinking.

  At first, he almost believed Zyph was going to make contact. Then his hopes were crushed when the handsome bastard calmly leaned to the side without looking.

  Zyph started turning, only for the wind by her feet to detonate for seemingly no reason. She tripped. The series of impacts expended her layers and cushioned the high momentum fall, ending with her rolling onto her back, mouth agape.

  “Crap,” he heard her say on the voice channel. “Invisible tripwires. Careful.”

  Huh? Oh yeah, Jericho could see them after looking closer. Just barely. The leather chords were transparent? Camouflaged? Hard to tell. All he knew was that this needed to end before it could spiral further.

  He switched his ammunition settings to concussive lasers, built to incapacitate, not kill. Using these, he would let loose his first shots and turn the tables that way.

  Best not to waste time, the son of a bitch rando was walking towards Tress. Jericho shot three lasers to test the water, wait for counters. None came, all he saw was more effortless evasion. The walking enigma danced between the attacks with a grace you didn’t even see in those bullshit talent shows.

  “Precognition,” Tress concluded, her tone grim. “Someone handle him, I need more time.”

  The space warper held her swirly black-and-white gloves together, making complicated motions the air distorted in tune with.

  “Not so fast!” shouted Zyph, stacking more than the first time. Was she planning to go faster than sound? Must’ve been after that many layers.

  She zoomed from one end of the street to the other, going in for a supersonic touch. Mystery Man bent his knees slightly.

  And disappeared.

  Gales burst outwards, so violent it pushed Jericho back a little. A body flopping to the pavement.

  Zyph was on the sidewalk, clutching her stomach with both arms. Her visored face was contorted in a painful grimace.

  The enemy loomed behind her, a single fist clenched in front of him. What the hell? How did that even happen, did this guy have teleportation? No, the sensors kindly informed him. Readings were consistent with a person crossing the distance physically.

  That. Was. Pure speed.

  It didn't stop there either. That monster in human skin advanced, intent on confronting their biggest area denial super. Desperate and furious, Jericho threw caution to the wind, shooting a long metal pin. It didn’t hit, and wasn’t meant to.

  He never told people about this weapon. The rod held a negative charge, completing the circuit and allowing the positively charged gauntlet to field the resulting lightning bolt. Try and dodge this, fucker.

  YES. It hit dead-on. For a beat, Jericho was happy. Next, he registered that it did no damage. How!? He didn't get an answer.

  Worst part of it all was, his attack didn’t even warrant a response. The freak just kept both eyes on Tress. Damn it all.

  On the bright side, they'd bought time. His teammate began springing the trap, space bending in a gazillion incomprehensible ways to create an inescapable box.

  The mysterious adversary countered easily, stepping in just the right places to avoid the worst distortions while silently dismantling them utilizing the power of… increased reality? Jericho wanted to reject what he was seeing. That looked… experienced. Had this person faced spatial abilities before?

  They were out of their depth.

  Argh. He wanted to shoot another useless laser, but was interrupted by a wrecking ball crashing into the place where Stranger Dude was standing.

  Cracks formed in the pavement as the ball of shiny metal exerted devastating force. Dust was kicked up in the air, leaving the sensors in Jericho’s suit to pick up the slack for the umpteenth time.

  Tress seized the opportunity to back out, coming out of the other end of the smoke cloud coughing in the crook of an elbow.

  Thunderous impacts resounded across the area, followed by a hulking figure sailing out of the smoke. Liquid metal shifted to solid, and the taciturn boy’s battered form exposed itself to the daylight. It had barely taken five seconds for Ironeer to be defeated.

  Lifting his right gauntlet, Jericho changed the settings to full lethality lasers. Fuck it. If nothing was gonna work anyway, what was the point in holding back? The beam cut into the cloud, seeking the enemy like an angelic sword.

  If only there wasn’t another laser to counter it.

  Literally. His opponent fired a laser in response which clashed with his before overpowering it completely. The circuitry in his gauntlet got fried as it reached him. In a panicked breath, he retracted his hand, thinking it would burn, but it didn’t. The laser had stopped exactly on time to keep from penetrating his under glove.

  He didn’t have any time to be relieved about it due to his destabilized flight. Jericho tried to course-correct, then found himself with a hand on his helmet dragging him back to the Earth.

  They landed, his suit scraping on the asphalt and kicking up sparks. Honestly, the fall wasn’t as rough as it could’ve been. At this point, he was open to surrendering. But he couldn’t look that weak. He didn’t want to be the first one to say it.

  “C- couldn’t you just explain yourself? We only wanted to bring you in for q- questioning. We weren’t gonna kill you.” Fuck, why did he have to stutter now of all times.

  Maybe he should’ve expected the monotone, succinct answer, “I don't have the time.”

  Teal weapons flew in from behind. Energy constructs, made by their glorious leader. Vindex soared in on a platform of glowing teal, dressed head to toe in power-created armor of the same color.

  Everything darkened as one.

  To his credit, Vindex managed to turn in time and even counter a couple of hits with a sword and an axe, the two weapons having turned pitch-black. The effect looked familiar? Jericho had a hard time following.

  Spinning kick. Axe gone in a wave of discolored sparks. Backhand. Sword destroyed in turn. Palm thrust. Chest plate breached, Vindex doubling over. The brief clash finished just like that.

  His teammates were still struggling to get up. Tress wasn’t ready for another trap yet. Come on, Jericho. Think. He needed to do something.

  The world reverted back to normal, painting the vulnerable area denial specialist in stark relief. Finished with the rest, the stranger ran at her, arm rearing back with a—

  Suddenly, the fist stopped an inch from her face. Tress fell flat on her ass and scrambled back with all her limbs, visibly trembling while making as much distance as possible from her awkward position. Their enemy lowered the offending arm and looked up.

  “STOP! STOP, PLEASE!” shouted a voice from above. The picture of a cyber angel floated down, a pair of mechanical wings sprouting glowing blue force fields akin to feathers. Complementing that was a red suit of regal armor styled in a similar way to a dress. Her lance was sheathed at her side leaving both hands free to raise in a placating gesture.

  Automique. Lead hero of their city. An adult to deal with the mess. Took so goddamn long. Jericho couldn’t have been more relieved.

  “I am convinced,” the heroine spoke, “there’s been a severe misunderstanding.”

  Sweeter words had never been said.

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