Bandit

Chapter Three

In the morning after a rough night of sleep, Sarah and Mack cooked me a nice breakfast. My body still ached, but I managed to get dressed in some spare clothes all by myself. Two nights ago when I’d broken into one of Mercy Heights’s smaller banks, Titus had twisted my arm so hard that my shoulder had dislocated. I hadn’t had the time or medical knowledge to fix it, so I’d escaped to the safe house as fast as I could for assistance.

Sarah had tended to me, handing me a strap of leather to bite down on before she’d shoved my shoulder back into its socket. I didn’t even have the mental capacity to feel embarrassed when I’d screamed and passed out. She’d given me some pain medication, but it had only helped so much. One assisted sponge bath later, and I could hardly look her in the eyes.

Thank goodness I hadn’t had to go through that again.

Mack was meeting with Finn to deliver the money this morning while Sarah took Allie home. There was a bus down the street I could use to get home, and once I had masked my black eye and bruised cheek with some cosmetics, I left the safe house. As much as I wished I could go home, I knew I needed to work. I’d thoroughly slacked off the past few weeks, and I felt guilty.

London owned the comic shop, Geeks and Freaks. It was located in the heart of downtown. Which was unfortunate because that’s where most of the Super fights took place. But London had insisted, saying he’d dreamed of owning a business downtown.

Still, I did the best to make sure any fights I happened to be involved in were directed away from the comic shop. I knew how much work he put into the place and didn’t want any harm to come to it.

The clouds wept torrents of rain, and I cursed. Hurrying faster, I ducked under the covered bus stop. There were others waiting inside, but I didn't pay them any mind. My attention was drawn to the large photo on the bus stop wall.

It depicted a Superhero holding a civilian in his arms. The hero smiled brightly, almost cockily. And while the civilian in the photo was smiling, the rain from outside dribbled on the panel, casting tear-like shadows over their cheeks.

The bus arrived, and I muttered under my breath at the large, bold letters in red painting the outside. "We're here to help!" In other smaller fonts, there were phrases about protecting the weak and innocent, about calling the Mercenary hotline if anyone saw something suspicious. I couldn't help but want to take some paint and cover it all up.

I wore someone else’s skin as I rode the bus. No one paid the old man with balding white hair any attention as we passed the suburbs and headed toward downtown.

I got off the bus close to the shop and wobbled down the street, glaring at the banners celebrating various Supers and their “good deeds.” Sure, they helped civilians every now and again, but only when they absolutely needed to.

My joints ached, and I regretted shifting into the stranger’s body. As far as I was aware, I was the only shapeshifter able to take on the abilities of those I changed into. Usually, a shapeshifter could only take on someone else’s appearance and nothing else.

But just like taking on their abilities, I also took on any chronic illnesses they had, like arthritis or asthma. So it was no surprise when the faster I tried to walk, the more I wheezed.

I stopped for coffee at my favorite shop, a small local business just a few streets down from the comic store. The baristas bounced around behind the counter as they hurried to make orders for the morning rush, and I waited patiently until it was my turn.

After ordering my usual, I waited patiently with the other customers. I didn't have to wait long.

“Have a nice day, handsome,” one of the baristas greeted, handing over my coffee before making orders for the people who had been waiting here longer than I had. When you're old, everyone's a lot nicer to you. I'd had people open doors for me, let me skip ahead in line, and even offer to give me rides.