Chapter 10

WANTED

ONE WEEK LATER

Routine, especially as a part of recovery and keeping oneself busy, was damn good for the soul, Alexander decided. It was important to have enough variation to hold boredom at bay, though.

They had stayed up late into the night, that first night when Frank had burst into the workshop, Volt Cannon waving like he was ready to unleash life lessons in regret upon anyone foolish enough to have trespassed his domain.

While he used the little bathroom connected to the workshop to get cleaned up, Frank had found a local supercenter still open despite the late hour and had picked him up a few changes of clothes. And a proper set of size-nine work boots.

Alexander, for his part, had agonized over how much to tell Frank. He knew the guy and trusted him, even across two worlds.

Telling the old man that he’d died, the real him at least, and that some alternate version of himself had swooped in from across realities to take up residence… He’d almost convinced himself that was a terrible idea by the time Frank had returned.

But when the two of them started catching up, Alexander couldn’t help it… he’d blurted out the full story between choked sobs and self-derailed anecdotes about killing, about Annie, about his ‘real world’ experiences.

He’d never burned through so much emotion in his life. Frank had listened patiently, his eyes never once showing judgment or doubt. He’d braced for anger or shouting, but his questions were calm and measured, clarifying details Alexander had failed to explain properly.

By the end, Alexander had run out of patience and asked why he wasn’t angry at him.

Frank had closed his eyes and leaned back in the second-hand couch across from him before he’d let out a slow breath and an answer Alexander would remember for the rest of his life.

“Kid, whether or not you’re from here, you’re still Alexander Rooke. Naive, stupid, yet somehow still the smartest little shit I’ve ever met. And yeah, it ain’t settled in fully yet, and I’m sure I’ll grieve the part of you that’s gone. But I also know you’d have been okay with another you taking up the torch and carrying on the dream.”

Frank had told him to crash in the workshop for a few weeks until pursuit died down, and pulled out a sleeping bag and pillow from the storage closet. Alexander had always marveled at the fact Frank could find anything he needed in there.

As he’d departed, Frank had left behind one last bit of wisdom for the night. “And hey, kid. I ain’t telling you not to feel nothing about it. But just remember: you've got as much a right to live as anyone, and if doing that means you've gotta crack a few bad eggs? Well. If I’d been there, I’d have twisted their necks and buried ‘em out back for you. Sleep tight, kid.”

Since then, Alexander had slept in the workshop, setting up a line and draping some sheets over it for privacy. He’d fallen back into the work part of his routine with ease, though it had been necessary to update his knowledge in some areas because the tech was more advanced than he remembered.

The rest of his time was spent doomscrolling the local superhero news. The ‘Super Supermax Prison Break’ was the most covered topic no matter where he looked. That led him to something important: the bounty boards. Or, more officially, the STEPS: Superpowered Threat Evaluation, Pursuit, and Surveillance organization bounty system. It was a mouthful.

Frank had scored him a set of credentials from a retired bounty hunter friend of his after that.

With most of his free time dedicated to scouring the bounty boards, Alexander had figured out a lot of the things he’d been struggling to understand.

First, worldwide currency was obsolete. The Galactic Standard Credit had replaced them.

He still had trouble wrapping his head around the idea that aliens were real. He’d seen some pictures, and many looked about as expected, but he’d yet to encounter one in person. Which led to his second bit of learning.

Earth and its solar system were Humanity’s core system, and as such was protected by one of the most important laws codified by the Galactic Council: more officially known as the Starborn Assembly.

Core worlds and their systems were strictly protected entities.

The Core World Sovereignty Accords, one of the Starborn Assembly’s oldest mandates, enshrined this in galactic law. Law that was enforced even during war-time. Presumably, to protect against the possibility of genocide. Core worlds were only accessible to members of other species when invited, or if the system was declared open to a particular civilisation, such as when it was part of an alliance.

Apparently, humanity had no allies.

That was because of superheroes. Their… creation had sparked considerable mistrust amongst the various alien civilizations from a political standpoint. However, superheroes had also helped humanity narrow the massive technological gap. Not by giving them better technology, but by providing a deterrent against their more territorial galactic neighbours.

The last thing he learned was what was on his mind the most, though. Annie, or Annette Sheridan as it turned out, was popular. Very popular.

All the wrong kinds of popular, as far as Alexander was concerned. She was trending on the ‘Most Hunted’ bounty rankings in America.

He hoped she was keeping her ginger head down.

Annie was annoyed.

She had spent the last week crossing back and forth across the city, tagging all the locations she could think of where her sister, Sasha, might have holed up.

She’d turned up nothing. Her only lead was that she might have joined up with a bunch of delinquents out by the docks, and that had been about as useful as a match in a storm. This section of the city had plenty of abandoned warehouses and shipping offices. She’d been scouring them for the past two days.

Standing in a shadowy corner of one such warehouse, Annie was watching a two-story office building that should have been silent and dark. She’d been watching for a while now, as lights from torches or tablets flickered between a few second-floor windows.

She’d finally ditched the orange prison uniform, no longer looking like trouble at a glance. But that was the trick.

Long ginger hair tucked into the back of an oversized hoodie, hood up, beneath a faded denim jacket. Cargo pants with too many pockets for anyone honest. And boots comfortable enough to throw down with in a street fight. She had a gray bandana hanging about her throat, ready to pull up in a pinch.

She’d always been good at moving anonymously through a crowd, just another forgettable face.

Light flashed and vanished in an instant. A sharp crack followed, chased by the slow, distant rumble of thunder. Raindrops fell, light and pleasant, yet carrying the certainty of an oncoming storm.

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Time to move.

Annie burst from the shadows hiding her. Eight months in prison might have dulled a lifetime of disciplined exercise and martial arts training, but she’d done what she could to maintain her edge even there. Her teacher had taught her repeatedly and with no little pain that she’d always be outclassed in height, weight, and reach. He’d also taught her to grasp for any advantage.

The years after their parents’ death—murder, she reminded herself—had forced her to practice moving swiftly and silently, as she learned to provide for two. ‘Hands-on entry experience’ was what Sasha called it.

Annie reached the railing and leapt, catching a rusted bar in her metal grip. She felt the rust flake and bite, but there was no pain. She hauled herself up quietly, slipped through a gap, and dropped into a crouch by the door.

The door’s lock was basic, forty years old at least.

Annie pressed a finger to the mechanism and pulsed her power with practiced intent. A few soft clicks, and the lock rotated with a loud clunk.

She paused, listening.

Nothing.

She eased the door open, slipping inside with quiet, practiced footfalls.

She crept down the hall, floor creaking under her despite her best efforts. The building reeked of disuse, but the air smelled of smoke. Something was burning. Or someone was smoking.

Or both.

Rounding a corner, she caught sight of flickering light coming from a room near the end of the hallway.

She moved close and leaned just enough to peer inside.

And there she was.

Sasha.

Relief hit hard, tight across her chest. She almost cried out.

But… Sasha looked different. She’d dyed her hair black. Dark lipstick. A spiked collar and boots.

Sasha had gone full goth! The complete antithesis of Annie’s sunshine-and-rainbows personality.

A dozen teens lounged around the room. In one corner, a metal barrel stuffed with smashed furniture burned, flames reaching for the ceiling. A pair of budding pyromaniacs were busy stuffing more wood into it.

A few more watched something on a propped-up tablet, laughter echoing off the cracked plaster walls. Others passed around cheap bottles of beer, crunched on snacks, or smoked at the windows.

Annie took a calming breath. I am a superhero.

She stepped into the room, eyes only for Sasha.

“Sorry it took me so long,” she said, voice even. Confident.

Heads turned.

A tall, wiry kid pushed off the wall and stepped toward her. Oldest of the lot, maybe eighteen, maybe just tall. Patchy facial hair, attitude like he was in charge.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, striding over, chest puffed out.

Annie didn’t react to the sudden invasion of her personal space. Be nice, Annie. They’re Sasha’s new friends.

“Just here for my sister. Not looking for trouble.”

Sasha, perched on a dented table near the barrel, grinned. Said nothing.

Tall boy glanced back at her. “You know her?”

Sasha shrugged, that amused smile still gracing her face.

Wrong answer.

The boy turned back. “You think you can just waltz in here? What, you her mom?” A couple of chuckles from the peanut gallery. “Cause if you’re here to drag her off, you gotta go through me.”

She sighed. Sasha’s stupid new friends.

“I don’t want to fight you, kid.”

He stepped closer. “No shit. I wouldn’t wanna fight me either, shrimp.”

Annie struck first.

She slipped left, pivoted, and then struck out with her right heel at the undefended knee. There was a cry of pain from Tall Boy, and then he went down hard.

This wasn’t a practice fight in the ring. While her childhood love, other than superheroes, was wrestling, and she’d taken the lowest weight mixed championship more than once, her bread and butter was Muay Thai.

The room was silent other than the Whimpering Tall Boy clutching at his knee. Then, it burst into chaos.

Three rushed her at once with bad angles, worse timing, and nonexistent teamwork. One of them had a chair leg; another, just fists. The third looked like his only weapon was that he was about to vomit.

Annie flowed into action. Pocket-sand to the face for the kid with a chair leg. A pushing front kick to keep range from the second. She spun, grabbing the outstretched wrist of the third idiot, and then shoved him backwards into his friend.

They both went down on top of Whimpering Tall Boy.

From across the room, a voice piped up.

“You’re such a badass!”

Annie smirked. “I know.”

Sasha laughed softly, pushed off the table, and finally approached.

“She’s my sister,” she said casually to the wide-eyed youths. Then, to Annie, “Took your time.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “I was in a Supermax prison for supers.”

Sasha shrugged as if that shouldn’t have delayed her. “You hungry? We got chips. And warm beer.”

The room had calmed.

Tall Boy was still nursing his knee, but he’d given Annie a smile as she grabbed a beer. It was warm, as she’d been warned.

Sasha had returned to her perch. “You’ve still got it,” she smirked.

Annie popped the top off with a flick of a metal finger. “You’re lucky I didn’t hit you instead.”

That earned a familiar, soft laugh.

They talked for a while. Nothing important at first. Just the stupid things. Sasha recounted learning about Annie’s capture. She’d hidden for a couple of weeks until the food ran out. How she’d fallen in with this group shortly after.

How she’d passed on Annie’s lesson about which buildings were best to squat in. Where they could get food and fresh water, so long as it wasn’t done too often. How to identify the easiest windows and doors to break into.

She’d become the leader of the group. The kids listened to her, called her Ash.

Annie had spoken of boring months in isolation. The part about the attack on the prison by Skybreaker had ears perking up around the room. Meeting Alexander, heroically saving his life, and separating with the promise to meet up.

She left out the messy part.

Eventually the conversation turned serious. Annie asked her to come with her. Told her things could return to normal. She’d be safe. Sasha had argued that she was safe. That she had a home. That she belonged.

Besides, she’d pointed out, Annie was a wanted fugitive now.

That’s when the kids showed her. Someone flipped their tablet around, and there it was: news footage replaying the Supermax breakout. Wanted posters scrolled by. They paused when Annie’s showed up on the screen.

Her bounty was twenty-five thousand credits.

One boy whistled at the figure.

Annie insisted. They argued. Voices low and sharp. Sasha called her overbearing. Annie called her reckless. Neither of them was wrong. Neither of them won.

In the end, Annie had paused in the doorway before leaving.

“You’ll keep me updated?” she asked.

Sasha—Ash, Annie corrected herself—nodded, smirked. “And you stay out of prison.”

Annie took another step, then paused. “I’m proud of you, Ash.”

She left without looking back.

Silent tears ran down Annie’s face, blending with the rain. The storm was closing in off the coast. Wind pulled at her hood, strands of hair dancing free under the flickering lights between the warehouses.

It hurt. Both that she had missed so much in her sister’s life, and the realization that she was right: Annie’s presence was a threat to Sasha’s safety.

I need a place to lie low for a few days, and then I can catch up with Alexander. He didn’t seem all that street-smart, but he’s definitely a ‘man-with-a-plan’ type.

She smiled at that. We’ll make a great team.

That’s when she heard it. The soft thud of someone landing behind her. She turned, arms instinctively raising to shield her head.

A small, wiry man in worn brown leather stood before her.

Another thud. This time from the direction she’d been heading.

She risked a glance back: a woman, taller and stockier than Annie. Similarly dressed.

Superheroes.

No… worse. Bounty hunters.