Excerpt from Jane’s Secret Radio Broadcast 4/30/0089:

  “What’s so special about Bronze Boy, Mr. Cuthbert? Or, uh, sorry, is it ‘Sir?’”

  “Whichever you prefer.”

  “‘Mr’ it is, then. Why Bronze Boy?’

  “Well, he’s the first Superhero in the world to join Captain Iron on the side of the Allies during the Second World War. And the armor has had many distinguished people to pilot it since.”

  “You say Superhero, but that classification didn’t exist at the time, did it?”

  “Oh, certainly, but the armor is capable of flight, feets of strength, and energy projection, which were rarely matched. If Captain Iron is our measure for what a Superhero is, then Bronze Boy is the first to meet that category, and define what it looks like to others. Not only is it an essential artifact of history, but an essential piece of Americana.”

  “You say ‘artifact’ like it’s a part of history, and not our everyday?”

  “Of course. No matter what you read in the hero tabloids or on the Super-net, Bronze Boy was damaged in the Culling of Heroes, and never recovered. We simply don’t have the expertise to repair it.”

  “But why? It was made 50 years ago. Has technology not advanced since then?”

  “Well, progress isn’t a straight line, is it? The Romans used a kind of concrete mixture with varying densities that lasted thousands of years, far longer than conventional construction, yet we didn’t know how it was made until just recently. The Quick Response Team has a kind of directed energy pistol we’ve not seen since the Golden Age of Heroes, and few have replicated it.”

  “Are you saying we don’t even know how he works?”

  “No, of course not. We’ve been studying the armor for decades. What I am saying is that however functional it may be, we don’t know how to make it work safely, and that’s a clear distinction. There is a reason we keep it under heavy lock and key — if even the smallest cog got in the wrong hands, it could birth a supervillain.”

  “Then why even put it on display? It sounds dangerous.”

  “Well, it is. But the world deserves to know its history, to see it with their own eyes. And we take security very seriously.”

  “I can’t help but notice that the Mayor has made a statement condemning the burden that the Garden City Hero Historical Society has on the city’s taxpayers. Could it be that this is just a convenient time to show off your prized exhibit, consequences be damned?”

  “I think we have reached the end of our conversation.”

  “Of course. Thank you for your time.”

  Red Fox Action Log 41:

  “What do we know so far?” I asked, walking down the hall toward the elevators. “We have a name or anything yet?”

  “Frank Messina. And little else. Made a call to his uncle to let him know he’s safe.”

  “Will I have backup, or is it just me in there?”

  “In where?”

  “In the interrogation room?”

  Sniffer Sleuth put a hand on me.

  “Relax. We got it. You haven’t met the rest of the support heroes, but The Brain has photographic memory, remembers stuff better, and with higher granularity, than a camera. Betamind is a telepath, and trained in interrogations. They’ll get what they can out of him, but I knew you would want to be awake when they were done.”

  “Right.”

  “Should be quick.”

  We hopped in the elevator. Sleuth tapped his foot. I tried to ignore it.

  “Did my stuff arrive while I was out?” I asked.

  “Three duffel bags in the comic shop. What is it?”

  “Chemical fabrication machine, and some shop equipment. Also, my suit.”

  “Nice. I always thought it was snazzy.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  The doors opened, and the rest of the team, all seven of them, stood there to greet me.

  Rhys, also known as Glue Guy, I’d already met. He gave me a wave. We’d not talked much, but I knew him by reputation. A layer of glue-like sweat covered his skin, hence the long sleeve shirts and pants. The Super-net had a video of him taking out two guys trying to rob a convenience store, so I knew he could fight. But he was clearly Street Level.

  Nora and Barry talked near the elliptical machine. She seemed agitated while he acted apologetic. I filed that away for later.

  The rest I didn’t know, but could well guess. One was clearly a hero, long blonde braids and a two piece supersuit. White Rabbit, I guessed. I understood how she drew attention now. She had an energy and bounce to her that the pictures didn’t do justice. She was also strikingly beautiful.

  The other hero I could guess as Levitron, based on the fact that he had a table tennis paddle bouncing a ball rhythmically near his body, seemingly supported by nothing. His supersuit hugged his lean frame smartly, and the icon on his chest showed a stylized picture of a brain with waves around it. A telekinetic, though how skilled remained to be seen. His piercing blue eyes, and dark hair gave him a leading man look I only envied a little.

  When your job relied on gaining the trust of the public, it helped to look good.

  I didn’t notice until later, but he didn’t walk when he moved. He floated several inches above the ground.

  The last two I suspected worked with Nora in the intel bay. They had the look of coders, one a pasty white kid in a ratty tee, and the other a brown-eyed girl in a shapeless hoodie.

  They all stopped talking, and looked right at me. I shoved my hands in my pockets, and shrugged.

  “This is The Red Fox,” Sleuth introduced. “He came here from Texas to see if he couldn’t help us out. That was before we got attacked.”

  I saw suspicion play out on both Barry and Levitron’s faces.

  “Through his help,” Sleuth continued, “we were able to fight off the attack with few serious casualties. But that means we may need to learn to work together quicker than we like. He smells good. Ah, I mean,” he turned to me. “I can smell deceit.”

  “How does that work?” I asked.

  “Later,” he said, then raised his voice to continue to the rest of the team. “I’ve seen him in action, and he’s as competent as the best of us. Together, I know we’ll put a stop to whatever this was, and we can go back to the work we’re most passionate about — the community.”

  I saw a look I couldn’t place pass between White Rabbit and Barry, an odd one. I filed that away too.

  Glue Guy raised his hand.

  “You don’t have to raise your hand, Rhys.”

  “Right,” he said, his accent hiding a trace of Received Pronunciation, “but we think it could be a Supervillain action, yes?”

  “Nobody is saying the S-word yet,” Sleuth replied. “But someone clearly wants us dead. They brought enough guns for the three of us.”

  Murmuring broke out in the group.

  “Alright, alright,” Sleuth said above the din. They turned their attention to him again. “We’ve got work to do. Intel bay, if they’re up for it, should probably get on the Super-net, cross reference our clue-base, and see if they can’t figure out if — and that’s a big if — this was a Supervillain attack, who it could be, and what they want.”

  “Why haven’t you been doing that all along?” I ask.

  “Because not every retired hero, or escaped government experiment breaks bad. Plenty of folks just want to be left alone. If we treat every potential villain as a definite villain… well, we start looking like the bad guys.”

  I shrugged like that made sense. Supervillains sometimes were heroes that broke bad. Shadowstone had been part of the Gem Brigade before she killed the whole crew but for Gem Girl, and temporarily plunged the earth into darkness. But more often than not, they were people who seemingly came from nowhere.

  My mind briefly brushed up against the flame, and the horror of my own Supervillian. I dismissed it.

  “That means,” Sleuth continued, “that us Field Team folks need to get some rest. I know it’s hard to sleep with all the excitement, but get what relaxation you can. Eat what food we have left. And for Christ sakes, if you have to fornicate — burn some incense.”

  He recognized my shock, and gave me an apologetic look. Then he left. I saw the intel bay people twiddle their thumbs guiltily, and White Rabbit shrug.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Come on kids,” Nora said, lugging an armful of snacks. “We have work to do.”

  Intel bay left with her.

  “I’m gonna get some rest,” Glue Guy said.

  “Me too,” Barry mumbled, and they both left.

  I went to the kitchen and made myself a ham and cheese sandwich. Just mayo with a little bit of mustard. Would have liked tomato and lettuce, but there didn’t seem to be any vegetables to be had outside of a package of baby carrots.

  I ate the sandwich quickly, barely registering that I'd done it. I rummaged around in the cabinets, and found a single pudding cup. Gem Brigade brand. I smiled to myself at the little cartoon rendition of Gem Girl Sapphire, and peeled the lid.

  A spoon floated to me. I took it.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Levitron nodded, and grabbed the baby carrots, the bucket of ranch dressing, then set it on the counter as he uncapped a pen, and began scribbling. While scribbling, the carrots hovered out of the bag, dipped themselves in the ranch, then floated near his face. He bit them without looking, and continued to scribble.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “What we know about the woman on the motorcycle.”

  “Oh!” I said, suddenly remembering, “I need to get my stuff.”

  “Already done,” he said, then taking another bite of a carrot. “Help me with what you remember about the attack.”

  “All three duffels?”

  “Yep. In your room.”

  One of those had to weigh damn near 80 pounds. So, he was no slouch with his telekinetics. The Superhero Registry didn’t track telekinetics like they did telepaths and precogs — it was too rare a power — but the few who did have it weren’t flinging cars around. It was mostly a party trick from what I’d seen.

  “I don’t remember much about the attack,” I lied. “It all happened so fast.”

  I was only mostly sure none of these folks here had turned double agent on the team, so I was playing this close to the vest.

  “Do you remember anything she said?”

  “Well, she said something like ‘good luck.’”

  “Anything else?” he asked, mouth full of carrot. “Anything about the motorcycle, or what she was wearing? I’ve learned to be pretty good with a pen. Helps visualize things. That way I can lift them better without accidentally breaking anything.”

  I paused for a moment to collect my thoughts. Then I launched into a description of what I’d seen. The helmet was a standard black motorcycle helmet, fully obscuring her face. Riding leathers for pants, and a jacket, open to show a t-shirt and her smallish chest. The motorcycle was a cheap 150cc dirt bike.

  And all of it had been deliberately stripped of brand markings, though I could probably recognize the sound of the motorcycle were I to hear it again. That was, if she hadn’t ditched it. Probably the point of a cheap bike.

  Other than the fact that the goons needed someone to be bait, something about her ‘good luck’ stuck in my craw. That felt like someone with more agency, and power than just a woman being paid to set up a trap.

  Levitron turned the paper around and I scrutinized his work — pretty good! Looked almost exactly like the motorcycle I remembered. We went back and forth about adjustments to the sketches for a bit, before I got curious.

  “How fine tuned is your telekinesis?” I asked.

  “Good enough,” he said. “A bit like using your left hand. You can pick up, and carry things without thinking much about it, but you’d want to use your right hand if you were trying to pitch a no-hitter.”

  “Is that a baseball —”

  “It’s a baseball metaphor, yeah. Texas doesn’t have baseball?”

  “I just always found it kind of boring.”

  My Fox Instincts started to twist in my chest. Danger. I glanced behind me, and saw a dozen knives floating inches from my face. I cursed. Levitron laughed, and the knives floated back toward the drawer.

  “Jesus, you scared me,” I said.

  “I was the primary field hero before Barry joined. I may be Street Level, but I’ve never let that get in the way of the job.”

  “What’s the limit? Is it weight, or is it number of items, or what?”

  “It’s attention and focus,” he said, floating up, and sitting on the countertop. “The real trick is knowing where everything is. I have a harder time using it when I can’t see what I’m doing, or in an unfamiliar place.”

  “How did you see behind me?” I asked.

  “I am very familiar with this space.”

  “Huh. How fast can you throw things?”

  “Pretty fast,” he said, tossing a baby carrot at my chest. When it hit, it stung. Faster than I’d imagine a throw, but maybe not as fast as a paintball marker. I caught the carrot as it bounced off my chest, and tossed it back in the bag in two smooth movements.

  “If that was a knife, it’d be deadly,” I said.

  “It would,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling. “Luckily, I have Rick here to keep me on the straight and narrow. ‘Heroes don’t kill.’”

  “Certainly.”

  “And we believe that here,” he said. “I wasn’t always as cuddly as I am now. You ever hear about the Franco-Markovia gang?”

  “I have not.”

  He gestured toward me with his hand as if that proved a point.

  “I see,” I said. “Point taken. I’m not here to hurt you guys.”

  “I believe you,” he said, floating the baby carrots and ranch back into the fridge. “Rick is very rarely wrong about people. If he trusts you, I trust you.”

  “Then what’s the implied threat for?”

  “It’s to let you know that Bunny is the cute one, Barry is the fun one, but I’m the one you don’t mess with.”

  “Message received,” I said with a smile.

  “Good!” he replied, falling off the counter, then flying away.

  I returned to my dorm, and put on my supersuit. I didn’t think Levitron would actually hurt me — just marking his territory likely — but I’d made it this far by being careful.

  I liked the suit. I’d made modifications myself. Or well, we had made modifications.

  Mostly black superdex material, reinforced with duratanium alloy around the chest, forearms, and boots. The belt around my waist had hard duraplastic containers for my tools, and a leather holster for my grapple gun. With the mask and cowl put up for now, all together the suit fit into one sleek form, full body cover.

  Mostly charcoal grey, the accents and fox emblem stood out in red, but disappeared in night ops. The human eye couldn’t really see red at night, and you needed something lighter than black, or else the suit would be too dark, and easier to track while moving.

  I’d get the chemical fabricator set up later.

  The Fox Serum was permanent, and I didn’t have any extras of it. We’d only had enough for me and well, enough for the ones that were there when we’d found it. But the fabricator was important because with it, I could create situational serums to augment an op when needed.

  I could make vision enhancers that let me see infrared light, or strength boosters for a tough fight. They usually didn’t last more than a couple hours, and things like strength boosters had the problem of putting strain on my heart, or making me punch so hard I could shatter my arm. So, I had to be careful. And I was strong enough anyway.

  That said, you didn’t do this stuff if you weren’t ready to risk your health for the greater good.

  I took the elevator to the common floor. For some reason, I was craving cookies. Hopefully Nora hadn’t taken them all to the intel bay.

  When I entered the gym, I spied White Rabbit walking on a treadmill.

  “You’re almost as cute as they say,” she joked, taking the treadmill at a decent pace. She gave me a flirty wink, then stared ahead at the skyline out the window. Wait, did people do that anymore, a flirty wink?

  “I don’t think I know you,” I stated.

  “White Rabbit,” she said. “Congrats on making Journeyman. I’m still Street Level.”

  She had an elegant bouncy gait, and a fitness-influencer-like, athletic shape to her, highlighted by her sportswear-style super suit. Just a hint of abs. Her twin braids bounced rhythmically against her back. I didn’t see any Hero icon at first, until I spotted the jacket on the stand next to her — pink with a white bunny icon between the shoulders.

  “Red Fox,” I said. “And you think you’re close to Journeyman?”

  “My friends call me Bunny. And I figure it’s just a matter of time.”

  “That’s hardly a very intimidating name.”

  She laughed.

  “You gonna look all day, or you gonna get up here, and make it less awkward?”

  I felt my face flush, and I hopped onto the treadmill next to her, setting the pace to what I figured was hers.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  She gave me a grin.

  “What’s your skill set?” I asked.

  “Mostly reconnaissance,” she answered. “I’m a tier 2 precog, so I can get in and out without getting caught.”

  “T2, huh? That's constant, not activated. 5 second limit?”

  “3 usually. But 12 if I really focus.”

  “That’s higher than any T2 recorded.”

  “Is it?” she said with a hitch in her voice like maybe she wasn’t expecting me to know that.

  After the Time Contagion, many people acquired a nonlinear relationship with time. T1’s like Nora and I, couldn’t control their premonitions. T2’s had constant low grade future previews, ideal and highly sought after for elite soldiers and athletes. T3’s were only speculated to exist. The conspiracy minded said the government had one, but I’d found no evidence of that.

  The Government would have to have shown competency, for one.

  “Unless you’re exaggerating to throw me off,” I said.

  “I could be. I find a little mystery helps with the work, don’t you?”

  I grabbed the mostly empty water bottle on the cupholder, and tossed it directly at her face. She caught it without looking or breaking her stride.

  “Just checking.”

  I found the short peel of laughter to be delightful.

  “Of course.”

  “What’s the limit?” I asked.

  She shrugged, and set the bottle on the stand next to her.

  “It’s about intention. I can’t preview anything that couldn’t happen, or I don’t intend to happen, even if it was reasonable.”

  “How can you ‘expect’ to do something you didn’t know would happen? I didn’t decide to throw it until just then.”

  “I always expect to protect my face. And you were always going to throw something.”

  “So, because I never intended to throw them at your legs, you couldn’t preview that?”

  “Technically you did. In a version of that event. I’m just always going to protect my face.”

  “So if I punched you, you’d dodge it.”

  “Of course. Combat is instinctual. Less variables. I’m not strong, but I don’t get hit.”

  The implication was that she had a solid kick too. Again, I’d seen the photographic evidence. Which I had searched for specifically to scope out a peer, not to ogle.

  I briefly thought of what her life must be like, to constantly be able to preview your life every second you lived. It would have meant there would never be an awkward kiss. That there would never be a misspoken word.

  That sounded exhausting, like constantly seeking perfection. If you did mess up, would you ever blame anyone other than yourself?

  “If I had the ability to preview my life 5 seconds ahead, I’d get overwhelmed,” I said. “Could you choose to make the preview shorter?”

  “Would I even want to?”

  Something to consider. I turned over the idea in my head, before continuing.

  “Is it hard, always previewing your life?”

  “I stay busy. If I’m living my life the way I want, living it twice just makes it sweeter.”

  I thought about that. There were a couple things I wouldn’t mind doing twice. I briefly considered what they’d be like with her, then thought better of it. I didn’t know if she had something with someone else here, and I didn’t want to cause drama.

  Besides, it felt like it had been forever since I’d been intimate with someone. I was probably pretty rusty. Then another thought struck me.

  “Wait, so doesn’t it feel a little like acting, like you’re just pretending to be surprised at a birthday party you knew was coming?”

  “It’s only 3 seconds —”

  “You said 12.”

  “Sometimes. It’s really not as useful as you think.”

  “How so?”

  “I can still make mistakes. A good result now doesn’t always mean a good result later.”

  Pushed a button, and the treadmill began to slow.

  “You’re pretty wise.”

  “Not wise,” she said, smiling bright, “just experienced.”

  Sniffer Sleuth returned.

  “They’re done,” he said. We all knew who he was talking about. “And Nora thinks she may know who’s responsible.”