The recording showed a man, dressed in an electric-blue costume, standing in front of a ruined street. Rubble and bodies were strewn everywhere. As the man looked around, his shoulders slumped, and for the first time ever, there were tears in his eyes. Then he said something; the camera was too far away to catch the sound, but over the years many people had zoomed in, read his lips, and everyone agreed on the words he’d said.

“I’m sorry.”

Then, suddenly, he jumped in the air and disappeared. The recording zoomed out, quickly panned up, and could just make out a tiny azure speck disappearing into the grey, overcast sky.

“It has been ten years since the Tragedy at Dallas, when nine hundred and twenty-eight people perished in what has been described as the worst Numan incident since the Quebec border clashes of 1977. Today, people from all over the country come together to--”

The sound cut off as I muted the TV. “See!” I said defiantly, stabbing a finger towards the screen. “There is still an interest! I told you so!”

My boss shook her head. “He’s old news. The readers are interested in the event, not him.”

“That’s because we know nothing about him! Where he is! What he’s done since!” I slapped my hand down on her desk for emphasis, making the nameplate (Emily Whitney, Editor in Chief) rattle. “If we could just...”

Emily nodded. “I know, Tonia. You’ve said it many times. If we could find him, secure an exclusive interview, we would sell millions of copies, probably even have to re-print the issue to satisfy demand. There’s only one problem.” She made a dramatic pause for emphasis. “Do you even have any leads?”

I straightened up, crossed my arms, and looked at her smugly. “I do, actually.”

She blinked, and gave me a surprised stare. “You do?”

“Well...” I said, looking away and shuffling my feet, “Right, it’s not really a lead, but… You see, I know a guy, who knows a guy, who has heard something about a guy who may help me put on the right track.”

Emily sighed. “Tonia, that’s not a lead, that’s a rumour. And just barely a rumour, at that. You’ve won two Pulitzers, you really should know better.”

“Emily, please,” I said, looking at her with puppy-like eyes. “I have a good feeling about this one, and I just know it’s the right time to pursue it. Just let me try, please?”

“Don’t give me that look,” she said, pointing her finger at me in warning. “Last time I fell for your pleading and let you pursue a story, the Mafia bombed our offices as a warning.”

“Yes, but it was the best-selling story of the year,” I replied. “And besides, the insurance paid for everything, and you got a new private office and this handsome mahogany desk as a reward.” I caressed the surface of the wood, running my fingers along the grain. “And I really don’t think it will come to that, honestly. Even if my lead--”

“Your rumour,” Emily cut me off with a smirk.

“--my lead,” I continued, “pans out… He’s not a criminal. He’s one man. What could he do that’s worse than a few kilograms of TNT?”

My boss raised her eyebrows at me. “Need I remind you, that man can punch through plate armour as if it were paper. What if he doesn’t take kindly to your inquiries?”

“He’s a hero,” I replied. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“He was a hero ten years ago,” Emily said flatly. “Time can change a man. And seeing nine hundred people die in front of you can change a man even more.”

“Even then,” I said. “If he kills me, you’ll have a story. PowerJack Kills Journalist, how’s that for a front-page title?”

Emily sighed. “I worry about you, girl. With all the great stories you brought home, with all the prizes you’ve won, no one would blame you for taking it easy. And yet, you keep choosing to go out and do dangerous stuff.”

“That’s why you love me,” I replied. “Come on, Emily. Let me try. I promise I’ll be careful.”

Emily levelled a piercing gaze at me. I’d been subject to that stare many times, but it always felt as if she could look deeply into my soul. Then she relented.

“Alright,” she said. “But only because you’ve never been wrong about a story before.”

“Yes!” I yelled, doing a little fist-pump.

“Only...” she continued, and I looked at her. “Promise me you’ll be careful. And call once in a while, to tell me how it’s going.”

“Aye aye, capt’n!” I said, standing up straight and giving a mock salute.

She smiled, and nodded towards the door. “Come on, get out of here.”

Two minutes later and twenty floors below, I stepped out of the building that hosted the offices of the New Planet Times. I paused, collecting my thoughts about where I should begin looking, then started down the street, pulling out my cellphone and dialling at the same time.

“Hello, Manny? This is Tonia. You remember that guy you told me about? You think you could set up a meeting?”

To be continued in: SONIC BOOM