The act itself wasn't until next week, which gave me plenty of time to contact Armsmaster. I could let him know what I'd discovered while keeping Tattletale from sniffing it out with her power—set up a plan, and maybe even arrange it so the Undersiders could get away without serious consequences. Or at least, I wouldn't start my hero career with a criminal record. I imagined Mayor Christner wouldn't be too thrilled about his house getting trashed, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.
In the meantime, I had to find a way to keep myself busy. I couldn't exactly go back to school—not with Emma and her little clique waiting for me. Maybe it would just be easier to hang out with the Undersiders a bit longer. Try to learn more. That settled, I grabbed my coat and stepped outside, heading toward the docks—
And stopped.
A battered pickup truck was parked in front of the house next door. The property had sat vacant for months after the last owners sold it, but it looked like someone had finally moved in. The truck was loaded with secondhand furniture, haphazardly arranged in the back like a game of Tetris played under duress.
Only one person was unloading it.
I watched him for a moment. At first glance, he didn't seem like much. Tall—about the same height as my dad and lean. But where Dad was all angles and limbs, this guy was compact. Toned. He had that quiet strength you only noticed when it was too late—like an athlete built more for power than bulk. He didn't so much as grunt as he hauled a bedframe off the truck like it weighed nothing. A dark leather hoodie concealed his face, with a crimson stylized symbol on the back. Underneath, a white shirt peeked out from a pair of weathered jeans.
He bent down to pick up a cooler, but froze halfway like he'd suddenly realized I was watching. Then he turned.
And my heartbeat kicked into overdrive.
His skin was ghost-pale, bordering on gray. Icy blue eyes stared out from beneath the shadows of his hood. His face was sharp, expression unreadable, but not blank. No, behind those eyes was something else. A hunger. A simmering rage that seemed to boil just beneath the surface. It wasn't that he looked angry it was that he looked like he couldn't feel anything at all.
He was dangerous. Not like Lung, who was brute strength and dragon-skin. Not like Oni Lee, who gave the impression he could stab you in the back and vanish before you even hit the ground.
No, this man looked like he could kill you and not even care.
I found myself backing up, panic flaring in my chest. My fingers brushed over the can of pepper spray clipped to my belt, but I doubted it would do much. Maybe I could summon some bugs, sting him until he retreated. But that would take time and I hadn't expected danger this close to home—
"Taylor," Dad's voice called from the doorway. "You ready to go to...?"
He trailed off. I glanced behind me to see him frozen, eyes fixed on the newcomer. The man was upright now, hands in his pockets, glowering with unblinking intensity. A woman stepped out of the house, shorter than him, with short brown hair and the same icy blue eyes. But hers held warmth, energy. She smiled and waved as she approached.
"Hey," she said, friendly and casual. "You must be the neighbors."
She held out her hand.
"Dana Mercer. And this is my brother, Alex."
"Danny Hebert," Dad said, shaking her hand firmly. "This is my daughter, Taylor. Nice to finally have some new faces around here."
I wasn't listening. Not really. My attention was fixed on Alex, who hadn't stopped staring. His posture was still, eerily still no blinking, no shifting, none of the usual cues that someone was relaxed. Dana glanced back at him and gave him a sharp elbow in the side. That got a reaction. He blinked once and looked at her like she'd spoken in another language.
"Alex. Say hi," she instructed.
Alex turned back toward us. His voice was gravelly, low.
"Hey," he said flatly.
Then he looked back to Dana. "Where do you want me to put the couch?"
"Just in that room there," she said, gesturing. "But wait until I help you out."
Alex gave a small huff and leaned against the truck. I noticed how the metal frame dipped slightly under his weight.
Dana offered Dad a tired smile. "Sooo... what do you do for a living, Danny?"
"Me? I'm the spokesperson for the dockworkers. I talk to the mayor's office, try to get more jobs, better pay, stuff like that." He shook his head. "Most of the time, I just hear more excuses. Then I have to go back and tell the guys that more jobs were lost. Even though the mayor promised better support."
"Really? That's interesting," Dana said, pulling a small notepad and pen from her pocket. "So how often does the mayor make promises he doesn't keep? Once a month? Twice?"
"I... I'm sorry, are you...?"
"A freelance reporter-slash-blogger," she replied easily. "Not tied to a major paper, but I submit stuff when I find something good. Moved to Brockton Bay to chase better work."
She gestured around at the neighborhood. "No offense, but this isn't exactly millionaire territory."
"None taken," Dad said with a sigh. He ruffled my hair, a familiar, gentle gesture from when I was little. "This one likes to go for runs. Says it clears her head. I just wish she could do it in a better neighborhood. Somewhere I wouldn't have to worry."
He gave me a pointed look.
"Speaking of which, you'd better get to school. Don't want to be late now, do we?"
"No, Dad," I said automatically. Guilt flared hot in my chest. I hated lying to him—but I was also relieved for an excuse to leave.
I bolted past them toward the bus stop, my temporary backpack bouncing with each step. A quick glance over my shoulder showed Dad and Dana still talking, laughing even.
But Alex was watching me.
His eyes tracked me like a predator.
Fitting, really. Birds eat bugs.
Alex had most of the furniture set up by the time Dana returned from her impromptu interview. Danny hadn't noticed a thing too caught up in answering her questions and distracted every time Alex moved anything heavier than a chair. Now he was crouched over, screwing the legs onto a wobbly table.
Dana stepped inside, her smile dropping the second the door shut behind her. She shook her head.
"Alex," she said with exasperation, "you'd make life so much easier if you didn't look like you wanted to murder everyone you meet."
She dropped into the desk chair he'd just assembled, arms crossed.
"I saw how you were staring at Taylor. You looked like you were about to kill her."
"Wasn't," Alex grunted. "Just don't trust people. Not good with them."
Dana rolled her eyes. "No shit you're not. That's why we're doing this. New start, remember? Be a little more sociable or at least try not to look like you're three seconds from a homicide."
She exhaled slowly, leaning back and staring at the stained ceiling.
"In the meantime, we need to talk."
"About what?" he asked without looking up.
She opened her laptop, clicking through a few bookmarked pages.
"I poked around the PRT's public net. Glory Girl finally filed her report." She cleared her throat. "New local villain wears a black hoodie and jeans. Mask hides the face. No other identifiable features. If sighted, do not engage. Contact the PRT immediately."
She glanced at him, expectant.
Alex caught the look, frowning. She wasn't angry. She was... smug? Amused? He couldn't tell.
He flipped the table upright with one hand, barely a grunt of effort. "Is this the part where you scold me for defending myself against a nosy busybody?"
"Actually, this is the part where we come up with your supervillain name."
He turned toward her slowly, blinking. "My what?"
"Your supervillain name. We don't want the media calling you 'Hoodie Guy' or 'Masked Menace.' Gross." She made a face. "You'd think reporters in a cape city would be more creative."
"I'm not a supervillain," Alex said flatly.
She gave him a look. "Alex, c'mon. You robbed a bank, broke a rising star hero, and vanished. You're in the game now. Even if you wanted to be a good guy, the Protectorate's not exactly going to give you a handshake and a second chance. Not after that stunt."
She smirked. "Maybe the Wards, though. You do look young enough."
He grunted, glowering. "I'm not a parahuman."
"You're close enough. No one's going to care about semantics."
"Dana," he said sharply, "that robbery was a one-time thing. If I pull stunts like that here, with my skills, the PRT will come running. That means the Protectorate, the Wards, and every other cape outfit in this city. And when they find you... I doubt they'll treat the sister of a so-called villain very kindly."
He crossed his arms.
"There's no shadowy conspiracy here. No secret projects. No one knows anything about Blacklight or Redlight. No one knows me. We stay out of the way. That's it."
Dana groaned, rubbing her temples. "Ugh. Killjoy. I was kind of enjoying having a supervillain for a brother."
She sighed dramatically. "Fine. Go get a nine-to-five job or something. I'll make you another fake ID."
She turned back to the screen. "But make it fast. The deposit and furniture ate up most of our cash."
He waved a hand. "Find me the first opening and I'll make it work. Someone in here's gotta have the skills for it."
"Fine," she muttered, typing away.
She began transcribing Danny's answers into a draft article—but she didn't close the tabs on local parahumans.
There were a few ideas worth keeping.