After hours of walking around in a forest brainlessly I managed to find my way out. Aching and exhausted I hitched a ride with a family of three heading to the airport. Throughout the entire journey the little girl kept on asking me questions.
"Why do you have white in your hair?"
"Why were you in the woods?"
"Why have I seen you somewhere before?"
"Why do you have a funny accent?"
"Why do you keep on looking out of the window?"
"What's your name?"
"How old are you?"
"Do you have a little girl like me?"
"Do you like ponies?"
"How strong are you?"
"Why are you wearing a ring?"
"Where are you going to?"
"Do you have a plane ticket?"
"Are you on holiday?"
"Can you sing?"
"Do you know any magic tricks?"
At that I looked up. I did indeed know a magic trick, but it was only one. The little girl handed me a pack of cards and I shuffled the deck.
"Pick a card," I said in a quiet voice. She took one with chocolate-covered fingers.
"Don't show it me," I said quickly. "Remember it. Have you remembered it?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Then fold it up." She did as I asked and then handed it to me. I ripped it apart and she gasped.
"Wait!" I said before she started crying. I curled my hand into a fist and blew on it. When I opened my fist the torn up card was gone.
"Where is it?" she asked, puzzled.
"Behind your ear," I said, pulling it from just behind her ear, whole again. She cheered and clapped, taking the cards off me and putting them back in her little pink handbag.
"That was good," the mum said, looking at me in the mirror. "Are you a professional magician?"
"No," I replied. "My wife loves magic and knows a few tricks so I decided to learn some, to impress her, y'know?"
"It worked then," the mum said with a smile, eyes flicking to my golden ring. I'd refused to take it off the entire time I was in America, part out of loyalty and part out of habit.
"Yeah," I said, mirroring her smile. "Yeah, it did."
"What's her name?" the little girl asked.
"Georgina," I said.
"That's my name!" she squealed in delight, clapping her hands together. I laughed softly.
"It's a nice name, isn't it?" I said. Georgina 2 nodded.
"Very nice," she agreed.
"So why are you in America, Mister...?" the mum asked, tailing off.
"Rogers," I said. I couldn't be bothered to say my codename anymore. I was fed up. "Pepper Rogers."
"Why are you in America, Pepper?"
"I was with some friends," I said honestly. "But they departed earlier than they should have."
"So you're all alone," the dad summed up.
"Yeah," I said, the truth sinking in. "Yeah, even my kitten left me."
"What was your kitten's name?" the little girl asked with big eyes.
"His name was Cat," I said. "I'm not very good with names. But hey, I'm called Pepper and my brother was called Salt, so I guess it runs in the family."
"Do you have any kids, Pepper?" the mum asked.
"No," I said.
"You're still young," the mother reassured me. "You've got time to start a family of your own."
"With my luck I doubt anyone would live," I muttered. The car went silent until the mother spoke.
"Have you had stillborns?" she asked tentatively.
"No. Just everyone I meet normally ends up dead." I said it a with more bitterness than I should have and the car went quiet once more.
An hour or so later we arrived at the airport. It was a seaside place and as I got out of the car, thanking the family and waving goodbye to Georgina 2, I realised something.
With my speed and power I could probably run all the way across the sea and get home.
Checking that nobody was close enough to see me I darted forwards, saving most of my strength for deeper, choppier waters.
People started to talk who were stood along the pier and others came out of their houses. I continued my jog, a perfect mix of balance and speed at the right angle. I was speeding along like an out of water shark, feet just under the surface of the sea but I ran as smoothly as if it were tarmac and not water I stood on.
"It's Jesus!" one woman screamed. "Come to kill us for all our sins!"
"Calm yourself," I yelled back. "I'm a twenty-four year old with fabulous hair who is running on water. There is no way Jesus could pull off this look, or this shirt."
Didn't I mention? Trix had found me another silver shirt.
Onlookers were talking amongst themselves once more. I ignored anymore cries that came my way and ran, sprinting across the waves. It seemed like I'd never be tired, fuelled by anger and a power that could only come from beyond the grave.
Within time I made it to the closest country in Europe to the US - Ireland. I thought it would have been Spain but no, the accents confirmed otherwise. From there I had a short rest before hopping back across to the UK - literally. I hopped across the sea.
I was tiring fast by the time I reached Liverpool. Stopping off at a John Bishop arena event I was soon on my way, overwhelmed by the Scouse.
My journey took me from the North right down to the South with only a few breaks. For most of the time I skirted around major cities - the exceptions being Liverpool and other places along my route that were unavoidable.
As I neared the heart of London I stopped my sprint and hailed a taxi. The driver stopped, allowing me to get in, and asked me where I wanted to go.
"The Stronghold," I said weakly. "Please."
"Are you okay, mate?" the driver asked in concern. "You seem a little shaky."
"I've been working hard," was my reply. "Is it alright if I sleep?"
"Yeah. I'll wake you when we get near."
"Near?"
"You can't drive right up to it anymore. A load of security measures were put in since that business dude left."
"Ah."
But the driver wasn't finished. "Yeah, they got really paranoid. He's been gone for what, six months?"
"That long?" I said in surprise.
"Yeah. I suppose all his friends were certain he would come back. I reckon he eloped with the tall guy." The driver snorted and shook his head. "Stupid, if you ask me."
"Eh," I mumbled. "You keep on talking, mate, and I'll just fall asleep back here listening to your irritating tones."
The driver did indeed keep on talking whilst he drove, lulling me to sleep. I only awoke when he beeped the horn at me.
"Thanks," I said. "Charge the fare to my account."
"Then that means..." the driver gasped. I nodded.
"Pepper Rogers is the only one in the entire world that has a taxi account! Well, to me knowledge anyway."
"Yep, I'm Mr Rogers. Have a nice day now." I waved and walked up to the Stronghold, willing myself onwards.
Halfway there I was met by a pair of steel gates. I shrugged to myself and climbed over them, carefully keeping the spikes and my crotch very much separate.
I continued walking up to the main doors. It wasn't a bustle of activity like it was most days when I was there, it was cold, and empty.
"I need to get my empire back," I murmured to myself, pushing open the double glass doors. I walked to the old lifts and activated the panel that allowed access to the thirtieth floor, my home.
The lift doors pinged open and I stepped out. The scene that greeted me was a full-scale, relatively terrifying argument.