No Capes

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Author's Note: HELLO! Thank you for being here. That's pretty cool.

Here is my BIG UPFRONT DISCLAIMER JUST FOR YOU: Please DO NOT SPOIL this story for first-time readers. I've read several complaints about people stumbling upon spoilers when they don't want to, and that is not fun for them or me. 

That being said, if you are a first-time reader, be wary that spoilers to this story exist. There are many people commenting on chapters with theories--some of them are right and some of them are not. Because this is a completed work, people do comment with what actually happened. If you want to be surprised, please just be wary of the comment sections in this story!

Thanks thanks and happy reading :)


Chapter One: Who Pays $200 for a Babysitter?

"Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten." - G.K Chesterton


If you've ever been mugged, you'd know the encounter goes something like this: It happens on a night when all you want to do is go home. Maybe you'd just finished babysitting Kim Kardashian's long-lost twin, in six-year-old form, and you're on the verge of passing out. Maybe the little girl's name is Alex and her father can't get anyone else to babysit, so he pays you two hundred dollars for your troubles. Maybe Alex's father lives in the kind of neighborhood police tend to ignore. In my town, that's almost every neighborhood.

But I'll get into that later.

You would know you're being followed, too. You saw a dark hooded figure watching as you stashed your earnings not-so-safely in your pocket. You saw the same, dark-hooded figure miraculously appear on your bus ride home. You shrugged it off as a coincidence.

I don't believe in coincidences. At least, I don't believe in them when I'm by myself, in the cold, at midnight, and in a rough neighborhood. As I stepped off bus 43, out of the warmth and into the brisk nighttime air, only to turn and see Sketchy Sweatshirt Guy do exactly the same thing, my adrenaline kicked into fight-or-flight mode.

I chose flight.

Unlike the Supers, I couldn't actually fly. I could only pick up my pace and wrack my brain for an escape plan. My dad was on a business trip in another state, so he couldn't rescue me. I didn't have a lot of friends who would answer a call this late, either. Dialing 911 was out of the question—the cops wouldn't answer, and even if they did, they'd assume some Super would get to me first. Where the heck is Hyperion Gold? I asked myself, glancing over my shoulder. What's the point of having Supers if they're not around when you need them?

Oh yes, that's right. My city has real, living, breathing superheroes.

That was the good news. But, as the universe goes, good news must be paired with the exact opposite. In my case, the bad news was that Sketchy-Sweatshirt Guy had united with three of his friends and the gang closely followed my trail of footsteps.

A cool breeze pricked the back of my neck and I shivered. It was barely October, but it was already getting cold. I buried my arms in my black, Capitol City Swim Team jacket, shielding myself from the night air and the danger I felt around me.

Time for Plan B. And if Plan B didn't work? Well, at least I had 24 other letters to get through before I was really in trouble.

I spotted a forgotten newspaper on a park bench, seated myself, and pretended to immerse myself in it. I waited for the men to pass me. Instead, all four hooded figures huddled together a few feet away. One of them lit a cigarette and the disgusting secondhand smoke wafted over to me. I held my breath to keep from coughing, or making any noise, and peered at them over the newspaper. Whoever the men were, they were huge, like bears. Not like slightly-taller-than-average seventeen-year-old girls, like I was.

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