Chapter 1
Chapter one
Mandie
If I had known that in a few hours I’d be attacked by supervillains and saved by some hunks in costumes, I probably would have worn something cuter to work.
Most women fantasize about being saved by a superhero. I just want one to pay for the car they smashed during their last fight downtown.
I sat slumped in one of the leather chairs, my black coffee untouched on the table, the steam long since dissipated. The air smelled like burned popcorn and industrial cleaner. Some intern had probably nuked their lunch again.
Cassie sat across from me, her blonde ponytail swinging like a metronome every time she tilted her head. She’d tied it back with one of those silk scrunchies she swore by. Her blue eyes were too bright for this Tuesday afternoon. And they were fixed on me.
“Have you heard from the insurance company yet about your car?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, but the adjuster did say my policy covered dickhead superhumans, so I got that going for me.”
She gave me a look.
“Those weren’t his words, obviously.”
"You sure you’re okay?" she asked, her voice soft but persistent. The kind of tone people use when they’re trying to sound casual but are actually digging for bodies.
I exhaled, lifting my coffee cup to give my hands something to do. The liquid was lukewarm now, a bitter sludge.
"Yeah, Cass. I’m fine."
She didn’t buy it. Cassie never bought anything less than full, unfiltered honesty, and even then, she’d check the receipt.
"Mandie," she started, leaning forward. Her sleeve rode up, revealing the faintest hint of freckles on her wrist. "It’s been six months. You don’t have to pretend with me."
I set the cup down harder than I meant to. Coffee sloshed over the rim, darkening the table like a Rorschach blot.
"I’m not pretending." The words came out sharper than I intended. "Teddy’s ancient history. I don’t even think about him anymore."
Lie. A big, fat, neon-flashing one. But Cassie didn’t call me on it. Instead, she bit her lip. It was her tell for deciding whether to push or retreat.
"If you say so," she said finally, but her eyes lingered on the tattoos shifting on my skin. They did that when I was lying. Or angry. Or both.
The silence stretched. I could hear the rhythmic thrum of the building’s ventilation, the hum of servers three floors down. Sum Zero Tech never slept. Neither did its employees.
Cassie sighed, reaching across the table to squeeze my wrist. Her fingers were warm, nails painted a pale pink that matched her blouse. "Look, I just… I worry about you. That’s all."
I pulled my arm back gently but firmly. "Don’t."
It wasn’t a request.
She recoiled slightly, hurt flashing in her eyes. Cassie wasn’t used to being told no. We’d been best friends since college, roommates, confidantes, the duo that made other people sick with envy. But even she had limits.
"Fine," she said, sitting back. A playful smirk touched her lips. "But you still owe me for getting you this job."
I snorted. That was easier to handle. Gratitude, I could do. Pity? Pass. "Yeah, yeah. I owe you my firstborn, or whatever."
She grinned, tension easing from her shoulders. "Nah, I’ll settle for lunch next week. My favorite sushi place on Fourteenth Street?"
"Deal." I relaxed fractionally. "Though I still don’t get why you like raw fish. It’s just… sad fish."
Cassie laughed, the sound bright and genuine. For a second, it almost made me forget the weight on my chest. “Some of it is cooked.”
Then the electric door hissed open.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The air grew colder. Or maybe that was just Tabitha Cross.
Our department director strode in like she owned the oxygen we were breathing. Six feet of sharp angles and sharper glares, black hair pulled into a severe ponytail. Her green eyes locked onto us immediately.
"Beck. Weaver." Her voice was all business. "Reports. Are they done?"
It was never a good sign when she used last names.
Cassie straightened, her smile faltering. "Almost, Ms. Cross. Just finishing the last of the data cross-referencing."
I didn’t bother with politeness. "Working on it," I muttered, grabbing my tablet.
Tabitha’s glare could’ve melted steel, though unlike the monster supervillains who'd been all over the news, hers was purely corporate.
"'Working on it’ isn’t good enough. Leadership wants those projections by the end of the day. Don't forget, team meeting in fifteen minutes."
She didn’t wait for a response. She turned on her heel and marched out, the door sliding shut with a quiet whoosh.
Cassie let out a breath, sagging. "God, she’s terrifying."
"She’s a bitch," I corrected. "And Victor is worse. If he doesn't get his numbers, he looks at you like he's imagining your head on a pike."
Cassie opened her mouth to defend them but was cut off by the sudden blare of the break room TV.
brEAKING: CAPITAL PUNISHMENT ATTACKS DOWNTOWN—THE FULCRUM RESPONDS.
Fulcrum. That random group of superheroes that had started teaming up recently.
The footage was grainy, shot from a shaky phone, but the terror was high definition. Buildings were burning, but the figure in the center of the street wasn't moving like a man. He looked like a liquid mercury statue that had willed itself to life.
Capital Punishment.
He didn't stomp; he flowed. He moved with an unnerving, silent fluidity, his aluminum skin reflecting the fires around him. But as the camera zoomed in, the jagged cuneiform scripts etched all over his body pulsed with a sickly, rhythmic red light.
Then the heroes showed up.
Riven was first, navy leather suit, a mirror-domed helmet, and a yellow cape snapping in the wind. He lunged with crackling energy blades, aiming for the villain's neck.
Capital Punishment didn't even raise a guard. He simply stood there. When the two connected, Riven just bounced against his surface as if Capital Punishment had instantly become as dense as a mountain. The villain turned his head; his eyes were pools of churning molten slag.
With a blur of motion that defied physics, he shifted from heavy to weightless. He lunged faster than Riven could track, his hand reshaping into a dense, metallic bludgeon that swatted the hero out of the air.
"Oh my God," Cassie breathed. "They’re actually fighting him."
I crossed my arms. "It's about time."
Pulsewave dropped in next, oversized hoodie flaring, visor glowing blue. He raised a hand, sending a ripple of visible sound outward. It hit Capital Punishment, but the metal man just rippled like a disturbed pond, absorbing the impact before reforming perfectly.
"Look at them," Cassie whispered. "They’re risking their lives for us."
I rolled my eyes. "Please. I bet they can't even die. They’re just showing off." But my gaze was glued to the screen.
Liquen appeared, wearing his fedora and trench coat with his oversized sunglasses. He morphed into a shimmer of water, reforming from a puddle to blast a geyser at the fires in the buildings.
Gorath charged in, eight feet of blue muscle and crystalline spikes. He had four massive arms, which he put to good use as he swung all four fists, but Capital Punishment danced between the blows, light as a feather, the cuneiform on his skin glowing brighter with every dodge.
Quantum Knight was a streak of charcoal, landing a kinetic blast that finally sent the monster skidding back. His black suit, covered in gold circuits, allowed him to move as if he had powers of his own.
And then Flexel. The one who could stretch. His black suit with jagged green lines looked like living art. He elongated an arm, wrapping it around Capital Punishment’s throat to restrain him.
The metal villain didn't roar. He didn't make a sound. Instead, the ancient script on his face and body flared blindingly bright. He grabbed Flexel's elongated limb, and even through the grainy footage, I could see the heat radiating from his grip.
Flexel recoiled, yanking his arm back.
Cassie made a small noise. "They're incredible."
I didn’t answer. My throat was dry. They were losing.
Capital Punishment recovered. He leaped into the air, defying gravity, looking almost hollow, then suddenly dropped. I watched the pavement crater as he maximized his density right before impact, sending a shockwave that knocked Flexel and Pulsewave off their feet.
"What are they even fighting over?" I asked.
Cassie shot me a look. "You can’t tell me you’re not impressed."
I leaned back. "I’m impressed they’re struggling. It’s six against one, and that thing looks like he's barely trying."
Cassie shook her head, smiling. "You’re impossible."
The reporter shouted over the wind. "—unprecedented attack! Fulcrum is holding their own, but this fight is far from over!"
I looked away first.
Cassie was still watching, worried. "Do you think they’ll win?"
I shrugged. "Dunno. Not like we can do anything about it."
She looked at me with that infuriating hope. "We could help. You know, if we—"
"No." The word was sharp. "We’re not heroes, Cass. We’re data analysts. Our superpower is Excel and Python."
She closed her mouth. "Right. Of course."
The TV cut to a commercial for an energy drink.
"We should get to our meeting," she said.
"Yeah, before Tabitha comes back with a death wish.
There are certain circles of hell Dante forgot to mention, and I was pretty sure the Sum Zero Tech auditorium was one of them.
It was designed to make you feel small. Two hundred ergonomic chairs facing a minimalist stage, floor-to-ceiling glass walls overlooking the city.
Cassie shifted beside me. "I wonder what this meeting’s about," she whispered.
I stared at the stage. A table, two chairs, two microphones. "I just hope Victor isn’t going to be here."
“I think he is. Who else would that seat be for?”
"All I know is if Victor uses the word 'synergy' one more time, I’m going to commit a felony with a stapler," I muttered, rubbing my thumb over the serpent tattoo on my arm.
Cassie frowned. "I think he’s really nice and a fantastic CEO."