We didn’t stick around for long after the show. Barely paid lip service to the host and Stacy as we nodded our thanks and made a swift exit. I drove us both home in the Meteor, and we sat in silence for the whole journey. After parking up and getting out, Roxy grabbed me by the collar and practically dragged me through the garden and into the house. Up to the bedroom where we proceeded to desecrate the furniture over an extended period of time.

  The talk show had been an affirmation for her. Freeing. Some long sought for validation that she wasn’t the bad guy that her ex had painted her as. That she wasn’t solely a short-tempered meathead stereotype. When pressed, she had shown maturity and enough eloquence to come out smelling of roses against the mudslinging of the Maestro.

  For all the upward spiraling our lives had been lately, this win over her past had been the igniting spark to set a firework off. The downside? We’d need to find better heat resistant paint and wood lacquer for the bedroom. We had done it a disservice.

  I emerged from some well-earned sleep first. Stretched my aching body out and left her to rest longer. I wasn’t exactly sure what the itinerary for today was, and didn’t care to check.

  At the very least, I’d need to find out what the Heroism Arena was.

  In the bathroom, I freshened up with some sink water. Checked myself out in the mirror. Either it was my imagination, or I had been bulking out a little. Hand-print scar on my chest had faded a little more, but was still clearly visible. I titled my head to the side, as the bathroom door opened up.

  Clara walked in, wearing a dark gray nightgown. She barely acknowledged me, her expression rather glum, as she walked over and sat down on the closed toilet.

  “I’ll assume the talk show went well, Gunquake,” she said.

  [On account of us not murdering anyone and fleeing the city?]

  The techie rolled her eyes. “If you two set the house on fire, I won’t be buying you a new one.”

  An odd threat to level at me, but it was hard to be subtle when one of us turned into a literal furnace under certain circumstances.

  [They tried to spring Maestro on us. Roxy handled it professionally, and we came out looking great.]

  “Huh.” Clara raised her eyebrows. “But you didn’t kick him in the balls?”

  [No… but I apparently challenged him to something called the Heroism Area. Perhaps I can kick him in the balls there.]

  The techie groaned and put her face in her hands.

  […Bad idea?]

  “It’s not that, Gunquake.” She sighed. “Your new arm is coming together, but we are short of some parts to add some functions that I intend.”

  [Can they be added at a later date?]

  “No.” Clara scowled at me. “We aren’t doing this piecemeal. I understand your impatience in having a hand once again, Gunquake… but this is a little bigger than that now.”

  This was about peak technological development. I had agreed to be her work-in-progress, and part of that process was allowing her to use me to build up her career. She didn’t just want to make me a hand, or even an upgrade to my weaponry. The techie was creating a masterpiece, unparalleled. It was my duty to help her reach that pinnacle.

  And then hopefully kill some motherfuckers with it.

  [What parts do you need, and how can I get them?]

  “A sweet gesture, Gunquake.” She rested her chin on her hand. “Unfortunately, what we are missing cannot be easily bought, and prompting you to do crime would be antithetical to your life as a hero.”

  [Humor me.]

  “We need another V-Force drive, which is rare and regulated. Also, four Hema-two pins. Finally, a Z’nano Orange-district Electroboard, version eight. I have a six and it is not up to task.”

  [I understood some of those words.]

  Clara sighed. “I have Doctor Jarl poking around his contacts, but we’ve all but stripped his workshop of anything useful.” She furrowed her brow. “Also, I’m waiting to use the bath if you could kindly excuse me.”

  [Oh, of course. Apologies.]

  I left the bathroom and hummed to myself. Since I was just in my compression shorts, it might be a good idea to do some training. It had been difficult to adjust Roxy’s gym equipment to be useable for someone with more normal strength limits, so I decided I’d just go for a run instead.

  As I walked down the stairs to the lobby, Warlock trotted out of the living room and meowed at me.

  [Good morning to you too. Hungry?]

  His reply told me that he was ravenous. I took a detour to the kitchen to put him down some food, and then I replaced my nutrition canister with a fresh, chilled one. As the cold liquid sunk into my system, and the cat chomped noisily, I looked out of the window at the small garden.

  It was remarkably peaceful.

  Perhaps the talk show had been some validation for me as well. I was… liked. Acceptable on the public stage, despite all that I had been. I was normal.

  An ironic thought, given that the next track my train shifted onto, was how I could steal the items that Clara needed. Getting caught breaking and entering would tarnish the reputation I was building up. That said, I had a few ideas that could work in my favor. All I had to do was…

  My eyes switched from the sunlit greenery outside and up to the messages coming through in my STAR.

  Footsteps thudded from the bedroom and onto the landing as I stepped out into the lobby.

  “Dubs,” Roxy said, looking down at me.

  [I know, I got it too.]

  //Stacy: Congratulations are in order!

  //Stacy: As of this morning’s update, Natural Disasters are 9th on the charts.

  //Stacy: I have already arranged for you all to have today off.

  //Stacy: Enjoy your day and keep up the good work.

  “Nineth!” Roxy hissed. She ran down the stairs, still in her black nightie, and jumped into my arms.

  More than job security, this set us on the stage for further growth. The talk show hadn’t even aired yet, but our single team mission had been enough to drum up the interest to be ranked higher. The rebranding was a success, and the team now relegated to tenth must hate us.

  [Are you thinking we get the others over to celebrate?]

  “Exactly.” She pulled away and smiled. “After lunch, though. I want a little time for myself to bask in the glow of success. Oh, and of the sun. I want to sunbathe.”

  [I’m going to go stretch my legs while Clara is using the bathroom.]

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Roxy brought my head down to kiss my forehead and left me to go back upstairs with no response other than a wide, genuine smile.

  I turned my head to the side and watched as Warlock stared intently at a couple of light patches on the kitchen floor before he pounced on them. My brain tried to come up with some metaphor about fighting the dark or light… but my heart wasn’t in it.

  Instead, I left the house and took a deep breath of fresh air. Things were slowly sinking into place. We were potentially a long way off ascending to being an A-Rank hero team, but this wasn’t something to be rushed.

  My STAR was alight with the rest of the team getting the news and expressing their happiness over the ranking change. All were eager to get together and celebrate, and discuss the tentative team mission that had just been added to our calendars. The League would want to capitalize on our surge in popularity, so that meant being seen out and about doing good. Hopefully reception of our talk show appearance would be good.

  //Dubs: Whatever time Roxy invites you over…

  //Dubs: Come half an hour before that.

  //Belle: Alright, as long as I don’t get in trouble.

  //Belle: I’ll confirm with Clara - apparently she has a better solution for my teleportation.

  I didn’t promise that Roxy wouldn’t be annoyed with an early showing, but I reckoned I had earned enough goodwill as of late to let it slide. As she was the magic-user of the group, I wanted to pick Belle’s brains over a few things. Mostly, I just didn’t think Clara should have the monopoly on war-crime adjacent ammunition design.

  After a few steps onto the soft grass, I paused and stretched out my cybernetic legs. More out of habit than any real need. Then I was off. A light jog to start with, out past the garden and the workshop, and then in an arc around the inner perimeter of the protective dome.

  At this point, my new legs didn’t feel any different from my old ones - with some exceptions. They wouldn’t tire no matter how long I ran, and were obviously made of something harder than skin and muscle. But they acted as if I had been born with them.

  It was enough to make me wonder if they intended for me to suit cybernetic replacements so naturally, or if it was an aftereffect of my old super-soldier bullshit. That thought led to why the World Government hadn’t tagged their toy mercenaries with tracking devices.

  Well, if they had, then Boss would have known and removed it. Could be another reason I was mutilated in the process of becoming Agent W. For as much as I had moved on from Boss and his shadow covering my existence, I wasn’t foolish enough to believe he was fully out of the picture. The ends didn’t justify the means when it came to how I was treated.

  But… it had worked out, in its own messed up way. I’d much rather have Roxy and my friends than be a corpse in a ditch somewhere, erased by the Government.

  Perhaps it was this ever-inflating bubble of bliss that had me slightly sour, waiting for the eventual pop. Maybe I just didn’t like cardio.

  I upped the pace, my metal feet digging into the sandy ground as I went for my third lap around our base. My max speed had near tripled with the new legs, but I was still only a fraction of what Roy was capable of.

  Eventually, I slid to a stop. Out of breath and sweating. I’d definitely earned a fresh canister, at the least.

  I walked from the back of the house around to the front to see the pair I lived with in the garden already. Roxy was lying on her front on the deckchair, sunglasses and a black bikini on. Clara had a parasol up over the garden table, while she tapped away at her laptop. In seeing me appear, she held up a canister.

  “Nice run, Dubs?” Roxy asked.

  [It just isn’t the same without some violence at the end of it.]

  “How about rubbing some sunblock on my back instead? It’s over by the gremlin.”

  I rolled my eyes and took the hint. Back across the grass and Clara handed me the canister first.

  “Congratulations on the ranking, Gunquake.” She was in her usual black undershirt and gray dungarees combo, which was semi-workwear.

  [You’re a part of that too, are you not?]

  “I suppose. Sometimes I wonder if I should design a mechanical suit to wear and join you in the battlefield as an actual sidekick.” Clara raised an eyebrow, waiting for my thoughts.

  [Too much cardio.]

  “Precisely. It’s enough keeping up with my other responsibilities. I asked Wren to arrive half an hour early to go over the blueprints for the command center, and you’ll never guess what Rockslide did.”

  I tilted my head back to look at the super, who was undoing her bikini top so that I’d have full range of her muscled back.

  [She asked Roy to come half an hour early to teach her kickboxing?]

  “And you say I’m the mind reader, Gunquake.” The techie held up the sunblock. “Now go lube up my sister so that she may cook evenly without burning.”

  [You don’t want to partake?]

  “If I ever have that much time to lay idle, Gunquake, just assume I am dead.” Her eyes went over to the super before back up to mine. “Perhaps ask again once you have your new hand.”

  [If it’s as good as you are alluding it to being…]

  I didn’t finish that sentence, as much as she was hanging on my every word. With another roll of my eyes, I returned to Roxy. The more my life filled out, the more I craved having a hand again. My gun-arm had served me well over the years… it felt like a part of me… but just knowing I’d be able to grab or hold things was exciting.

  Something ever more apparent as I massaged the sunblock into Roxy’s back with one hand. She appreciated it, but then she’d never really viewed my weaponized limb as a downside. While she would occasionally pout at me not having a kissable mouth, she acted as if my arm and legs were just me.

  [Did I ever tell you how much I appreciate you?]

  “Mm?” she replied, relaxed. “Oh, I know exactly how you feel about me, Dubs.” Roxy smiled as I worked my hand over her shoulders. “I’m glad we had that talk about marriage. I feel a lot less anxious about things now.”

  [Yeah? What we have now isn’t so bad, is it?]

  “Not at all. Not at all.”

  [Good. Well, I’m going to shower and get ready for the others to arrive.]

  Roxy pulled a glum face at me leaving her, but didn’t try to stop me. I paused at the edge of the garden as Warlock was lying on the porch in the sunshine, before stepping carefully around him.

  I got myself clean and dressed in a casual shirt and shorts. It sounded like we all had some business to attend to before the drinks came out, which was probably the best order to do things. Later in the evening, we’d all sit around in the living room and watched the showing of the Power of Love.

  The prospect of seeing myself in third person wasn’t that exciting, and as I went to leave the house again, I wracked my brain trying to think of anything especially cringe that I said.

  Roxy had flipped over to cook her front now, while Warlock had moved to sleep on the garden table, just outside of the shade of the techie, tapping away.

  [Clara.]

  “Yes, Gunquake?” She raised her eyebrows and glanced away from the screen.

  [Can the metal used for the Sanguine stakes be fashioned into blades, or maybe a fist weapon?]

  “No, unfortunately not. The properties of this variant aren’t well-suited for repeated impacts. That’s why these newly created ones are single use.”

  [What about powdering the ore up to make something like a smoke grenade? It could cause asphyxiation, perhaps.]

  “Again, you are trying too hard. Not that I don’t appreciate the ideas.” Clara tilted her head. “Some novel way of disabling a super without outright killing them could be ideal.”

  “Could you not discuss ways in which to torture and maim people while I’m right here?” Roxy lifted up her sunglasses to glare at us. “This is a day of celebration.”

  [Then how about you tell me about the Heroism Arena? Do I get to shoot people?]

  “No. Dubs.” She sighed and gestured to the other deckchair. “Sit your ass down and I’ll fill you in.”

  The classic lesser of two evils conversation. I didn’t want to bring up Maestro or whatever potential trouble I might have gotten myself into on such a positive day, but switching from the worse subject made it an easy segue.

  I sat down in the middle and faced her.

  “Before you get all excited, it’s not a fighting tournament where you’ll be able to kick his teeth in.”

  For a split second, I considered asking if the balls were still an option.

  “That said… there is a small chance you’ll have to fight. For the most part, the Heroism Arena is like a competition over how good a hero you are. Uhh… there’s simulated scenarios where you’ll have to rescue someone or fight off a monster. Each of the contestants does the same thing and you get a score based on whatever bullshit metrics they use. Five rounds and highest score wins.”

  [Have you ever done it?]

  “Fuck no.” She pulled a face. “Stupid thing has killed plenty of careers early. Nothing can destroy your public perception like turning one of the challenges into a shitshow. There was one dude a few years back… Grabtoe or something. Dumbass killed four civilians when only two were in danger.”

  [Not real civilians, I hope?]

  “They use robots or similar. It was a disaster rescue relief scenario, and he led two who were just malnourished into a building nearing collapse. Whole thing squished them all.”

  [Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to this.]

  “Honestly?” Roxy screwed up her face and looked away in thought. “Winning is a good boost to your career, and I trust that you’ll win. Often the people that join up are either desperate for the attention and bad at their job, or secure enough that they think they’ll win so they’ll be a little sloppy.”

  [Which one of those is Maestro?]

  The super closed her eyes and hummed for a moment, gathering up her thoughts. “He is… neither. His goal will be to show you up and get a win over you in any way necessary.”

  Other than by being the better hero, of course. The thought of being a spectacle in a series of games didn’t exactly sound like my sort of fun. Especially when I was putting my fledgling career on the line…

  But I had accepted, and that would be broadcast out to the whole of Goldarch tonight. The thrum of intrigue and gossip was soon to fill the streets. To what end?

  As much as I was eager for a fight, my repeated successes in life had taken the edge off of my desire for petty vengeance against the man. I had already won. The princess was mine, and as I lounged in my castle, I couldn't help but feel pity for someone still so lost in his past.

  [Ah, that’s a shame. I wouldn’t want to have to play dirty.]

  Roxy tilted from the deckchair, leaning over so that she could extend her index finger and prod me in the leg.

  “No, you have to do anything it takes to beat that asshole. That’s an order.”

  Well, who was I to argue with that?