Back at home, after a nerve-wracking day at school in which I did get chewed out but my parents weren’t called just yet, I sit on my bed watching my laptop try to connect to the stolen phone. I have a phone restore toolkit I found on some backwater forum running, and I’m hoping it does its job along with the bitcoin it’s inevitably mining.

As interesting as the green loading bar moving at one pixel per minute is, though, my mind can’t help but wander.

I have to commit to the character?

I know it’s a weird thing to get stuck on, but it hit me for some reason. My disguise wasn’t meant to be a character in the first place. Obviously, I had to act at least a little in some specific scenarios, but most of it was just me. Or, it was supposed to be, I guess.

Crawling out of my own skin. It wasn’t that bad, was it? Ava’s the only one who really noticed, so it can’t have been, right?

I frown. That’s stupid. People ignore things all the time, it’s how we get through the day. I guess Ava’s just more observant than usual.

The loading bar ticks over another pixel.

The thing is, though, I didn’t really get a skin-crawling sort of feeling when I was disguised. I mean, it was uncomfortable at first, having a different face, but I got used to it. Did I just not notice how much it was affecting me?

Would Ava notice the same thing about me now?

I blink. Am I uncomfortable right now?

I look down at myself. He looks… average, I think. I don’t really have too many feelings about it.

I can’t really tell how I feel.

The loading bar jumps forward a little more.

What would Sera say?

She was so timid when I first met her, but in the past year or so she kind of… blossomed. She came out as trans, and it was like all of a sudden she was confident and in-control.

It was all I could do to try to keep up.

The stolen phone dings. I can’t see the message yet, obviously, but I keep it in mind. The program's something like ninety percent done, so it shouldn’t be too long.

It’s getting dark out. The city floodlights are slowly flickering on around the neighborhood and in the distance.

I think I wanted to be her.

It feels taboo. Now that she’s not around, especially.

It feels repulsive.

What would she have wanted?

The program loads, and the phone dings. I lean over and shake the mouse. If nothing else, I know Sera talked a lot about the damage Cook and his gang do to the city’s foundations. That, I can do something about.

—

Cook will be meeting with three of his direct subordinates in a warehouse downtown, likely accompanied by Suckup and a number of armed guards. This is the extent of the information I was able to get from the stolen phone.

It’s enough. No more waiting, no more planning. No more stalling. As the sun sets over Westpoint, light glittering off the rooftops and spilling into the dark, I yank my bag out of the closet.

My phone, bat, a couple cans of mace and granola bars, and an outfit. The old one was trashed, so I had to replace the hoodie and jeans, but the mask survived. Mostly.

Dark stains creep up one side, broken up by hairline cracks. I didn’t have the money for a new one, but it might be better this way.

I don’t bother sneaking out. Neither of my parents are near the front entrance, my mom’s in her room and dad’s probably in his office. I walk out, and they don’t notice. They probably won’t until a little later, or whenever they check the fridge.

The spring air is cool, and the neighborhood is quiet. I start the walk downtown. The only other time I tried something like this, I was looking for trouble. This time, I stick to the shadows, avoid people. I check my phone frequently, trying to stay on track for the shortcut I planned out to the warehouse, and on the way I listen to the daily broadcast in one earbud.

Something hardens in my chest as I move. This is it. This is what it’s all for. The missed school, the distribution, the fucking disguise. It ends here, toppled alongside Cook’s sick empire.

“Welcome back to the WNN evening hour, where we’ll review the audio record the USMC has generously provided us with from the Forecaster itself! Here’s the clip.

“‘Report 4,312, subsection 1: Aberrants 1 through 3: deceased. Aberrant 4: accounted for; 61.306415 N, 73.478564 E. Aberrants 5 through 7: unaccounted for. Aberrant 0: rate increase of 12.3%. Subsection 2: terran weather patterns mundane. Day of 5/20/2019 EST predicted overcast, light rain, 62 degrees eastern, 67 degrees western. Report concluded.

“‘This audio has been provided by the United States Metahuman Coalition in accordance with the Public Supernatural Act of 2012. The United States Metahuman Coalition does not unilaterally condone the information included therein or the actions of the information’s source.’

“And isn’t that lovely, folks? Looks like the Heartbreaker’s on the move again, after its recent departure from what was formerly Surgut. We’ll continue keeping all of you at home posted as it trawls along the eastern territories.”

The reporter’s voice begins to fade into the background as I walk through the city streets.

Eventually, the warehouse looms among the brutalist black mass of shadowed buildings, a twisted monument to industry.

As I come up to the back lot, I notice some cars parked outside, guarded by one guy in a heavy patched coat and military-esque straps. He wears a patchy handkerchief over his mouth, and though it’s hard to see in the dark, I think he’s carrying a gun.

I take a moment to use my power. My available mass is slightly increased due to my cupboard-raiding in preparation for tonight, and I have more snacks stored in my bag just in case. I don’t really know how much they’ll help, but I’ll take anything I can get.

I run through a check-up, doing some last-minute muscle tuning, but I try to save most of my energy for the next part.

I crouch behind a nearby van and slowly crawl my way closer. He seems distracted.

When he looks down to fiddle with one of his straps I dart from the van to the fancy-looking car he stands in front of. He sighs and looks back up as I circle around and close the last few feet to him, bat raised.

He goes down as soon as the bat makes contact. Maybe he should’ve been paying more attention.

I turn him over and dig out my phone, flicking on the flashlight. Tall white guy, shaggy dark beard, thick eyebrows. Close-cropped hair. Looks to be… five foot nine?

I take a couple photos and undress him, starting with his coat.

T-shirt, slacks, gun straps, coat and mask. They hang off me, a little inconveniently. I kneel down, and get to work on fixing that.

I leave the gun, though.

It takes me around ten minutes to nail down the guard’s general appearance. I’ll be wearing the mask, so I can get away with minor inaccuracies, but his voice is going to be a problem. I lengthen my vocal chords just in case, but generally I should avoid talking.

Once I finish my modifications, I do a couple stretches, kick the guard under the car and make my way to the warehouse’s back entrance. No one’ll know what really happened to him until it’s already too late.

I reach the back door and shake the handle. It’s locked. I take a second to put my ear up against the door.

Silence from inside. I make a gamble.

Bracing myself against the asphalt, I rear back and shove myself forward, shoulder-checking the center of the door and snapping the admittedly sorta flimsy lock clean off. There’s a bang as it hits the wall, and a clatter as broken mechanisms hit the floor.

I stand in the doorway and wait, listening for movement. Nothing yet.

Slow, deliberate steps carry me farther into the building and down a grimy hallway dotted with the occasional fluorescent light and metal door lining the wall. The lights flicker and buzz, saturating the air with a distinct edge.

At the end of the hall I move to take a right when I see another guard just around the corner. I almost panic. Almost. With only the slightest trip, I look the other guard in the eyes, give him a deliberate nod and walk away. His eyes are lidded, his gun dangling next to his crossed arms while he gives a grunt and a half-hearted nod back.

Taking the right at the end of the hall, aiming towards the storage section of the building, it doesn’t take long before I reach a door at the end of it; metal with a small glass window at eye level.

Looking through, there’s a small lobby with a glass window facing out to the wider warehouse area. I think I might be able to see movement some distance away out there.

I grab the handle. It’s unlocked this time.

I open the door, walk in, and freeze.

Another guard, this one standing off to the right of the door. I didn’t see him through the glass. He’s shorter than the other two, but he has his hand on his gun, and until I came in I’m pretty sure he was watching the meeting behind the glass intently.

Which means now, he’s watching me intently.

“You’re supposed to be outside,” he barks, eyes narrowing.

I still have my bag, but there’s no way I’ll be able to grab anything from it before he can shoot me. I’ll have to either walk my way out or incapacitate him empty-handed.

Thankfully, I’m basically right next to him. Still, it’s going to be close.

In a last ditch attempt to end this without a fight, I make a nod towards the window, and the door next to it leading to the wider warehouse, hoping the other guy gets the message.

He doesn’t. “What? The door was locked, how did you even get in?”

The guard takes a step back and starts to lift his gun.

I call it. Stepping closer, I quickly reach out — it’s easier than I expect due to my disguise’s arm length, but I adjust easily.

I snatch the gun from the guard and clumsily swing it over his head with a whack. He grunts and stumbles back, falling against the far wall and pushing a couple plastic chairs to the side. I can tell he’s still conscious as he tries to scramble back to his feet.

He goes down for good after I give him a few extra hits for good measure.

One guard in the hallway behind me, one knocked out here, an unknown amount farther into the warehouse along with Cook and Suckup. I can’t take them all out, so the next stage of the plan is a little different.

I pull out my phone and dial the police.

It rings once, twice, then a click as the call connects.

“WPD, what is your emergency?”

“I’ve run into some kind of drug operation at the abandoned warehouse on 3rd. Registered villains Cook and Suckup are involved,” I say, trying not to wince at my deeper, altered voice. It’s beneficial at the moment.

“Acknowledged. T-minus 15 minutes until arrival, stay on the line.”

“Sure,” I say, tossing my phone to the side where it skitters under a nearby table. And with that, we move on to the last stage of the plan.

I simply need to distract Cook for five minutes. Without dying. Or being arrested.

My disguise, first. Don’t really want anyone knowing I can do this, so. I need something distinctly not like any of the guards, and nondescript enough to be disconnected from my old appearance.

I shed the patchy bandana and focus on my power.

Something’s been coiling in my gut since last night. If I get caught or killed, this face is the one I’m going to be wearing for the foreseeable future.

I’m doing this for Sera. What would she want me to do?

I think she’d want me to be happy. And anyway, I have a shapeshifting power. No reason not to experiment.

A shorter, lighter body with denser muscles, more delicate features, bone white hair with only a hint of black roots. Slightly pointed teeth, dark blood-red irises that glint in the dark. Ten minutes later, I slide open the warehouse door, an entirely new person.

Five minutes left. Workable.

I’d been checking every so often out the window to make sure Cook’s group wasn’t leaving. They weren’t till about a couple minutes ago, they seemed like they were just waiting. Now, sneaking across the warehouse floor, quietly scrambling behind wooden crates and metal scrap, I can see another person tied to a chair. They're lit by the soft orange light of a lamp stacked on top of some scrap near the wall.

He’s surrounded by three guards, a younger guy in a cowboy hat, shitty glasses and way too many belts adorned by small patches, and a shorter, middle-aged man in a white lab coat. The only patch on it is on his breast pocket.

It’s a chef’s hat. As I quietly approach, I can hear them talking. I slip my cracked hockey mask out of the bag.

“...Just listen to the big guy, yeah? This’s important, dipshit,” the guy in the cowboy hat says. Suckup. He can consume matter through touch, and use it to create structures. He usually has canisters on him that boost his power somehow. I adjust my position to get a better look, and… yeah. There. Strapped to his boots.

“Fuck you guys! I didn’t do nothing!” The captive’s agitated. He struggles with his restraints until one of the guards visibly lifts his gun. “Just… just lemme go!”

“Maybe. You’ll answer my questions, first.”

Cook finally speaks up. His voice is understated, but steady, confident. He walks towards the captive, pulling a small canister from somewhere inside his coat.

The captive leans away. “Wh — what is that?! Stop — seriously, you can’t —”

Cook reaches the man and jabs the thing into his neck. The captive goes limp.

He drops the canister into his pocket and wipes his hand on his coat.

“On March 7th at around 2pm, you successfully returned from a distribution run with the product stashed on your person. During the review of the monthly organization census, your deception was discovered.”

Cook adjusts his coat and leans down. “Where did you stash the product?”

“At my apartment. Room seventeen, Street 2-A, under the sink.” The captive answers in a daze. My blood runs cold. What did he inject him with?

“Did you work with anyone else?”

“Not directly. But my motivations were related to my partner, who I share an apartment with. Jake Mendez, twenty-four years old.”

“Did you tell anyone else?”

“No, I did not.”

Cook straightens, and reaches back into his coat. “Acceptable.”

Then, he pulls a gun out of his coat and shoots the captive. The gunshot echoes throughout the warehouse.

I don’t move a muscle.

Cook returns the gun. “Time to leave. Collect the others” He motions towards the exit door, the one I came out of.

I tense. I can’t let him leave. I have to do something now.

I’ll have to improvise.

I take a breath, slide on my mask, and step out from behind cover.