CRASH.
It was early in the morning. I was still enjoying my tea, when someone decided it would be a good idea to stick his foot through my living room window. A muffled "ouch" followed shortly thereafter, as the kid attempted to pry his foot free.
The boy grimaced, most likely because he was currently being stabbed by several pieces of razor sharp glass. He was no older than sixteen, and it appeared as though his IQ was no higher than that either.
My window is especially thick, mostly because that piece of glass takes up the entire West wall (I quite enjoy watching the sun set in the evenings). So when the boy kicked his foot through, the entire window didn't shatter. I'm high enough off the ground that no one should be bothering me, but of course, when deciding to live on the 32nd story, I hadn't accounted for the possibility of flying children.
"Well, well, well." I said quietly, walking toward the window. "What have we here?"
I reached my hand out to the boy, still on the other side of the glass. With a pushing motion he began flying backward, and with a slight flick of my wrist I brought him forward again, slamming him into the window.
Shattered glass illuminated the floor, and the boy lay in the center of it. He looked as if he was about to cry.
After watching for a few seconds to see if he would recover on his own, I crouched down next to him. "Get up," I commanded.
The boy didn't respond verbally, but his shoulders heaved as he attempted to stand up. Slowly. Too slow. I pointed toward a cage I had been using as a makeshift coffee table in the corner of the room, and flicked my finger upward. It flew in our direction before finally landing, imprisoning him.
This got his attention. "Let me go!" The kid said, as he shakily stood up the rest of the way.
I got closer. My face was nearly touching his, but the boy didn't back down. As scared as the kid was, he looked like he was ready to put up a fight.
"Why," I growled. "Are you in my house?"
Most people are already afraid of me, so I hadn't had to intimidate someone in quite some time. But I hadn't forgotten how. It took a certain air of condescension, but not so much so that you no longer appear nonchalant.
The boy and I stared at each other for a moment. Without my black platform boots, I would have been nearly his height. However, as I was wearing them, I was taller by about two inches. The kid had brown hair, and brown eyes that peeked out from under a clearly homemade mask.
"Playing dress-up, are we?" I taunted. "Poor little boy wanted to play superheroes and needed someone to fight. Well guess what, kid," I said, grabbing the bars of the cage, before continuing my threat. "I'm not gonna play your game."
The boy didn't back away, but continued to look me in the eye. "I'm not here to play games."
He sounded nervous, yet he continued.
"Max Owens. The city of Murkbourne sent me to stop you from-" he looked around. "-whatever the heck you're doing up here."
I froze. He wasn't playing superheroes, he was a superhero. Murkbourne sent a kid. To fight me.
I don't want to sound conceited, but this is a job too dangerous for even an adult. The city knows what I'm capable of; they've seen it with their own eyes. Heck, even the police department backed down after awhile. The only reason they've let me live up here is because they know I won't bother people. We've left each other alone since I moved.
But now they send a kid to stop me?
I slowly let go of the cage, keeping my eyes locked with Max's. I can't fight him. I can't. But it would look stupid to let him go.
I crossed my arms. "So this is what Murkbourne has come to?"
He never broke eye contact, not even for a moment. And while he was putting on a tough act, the poor kid must've been terrified. I didn't want to freak Max out even more, but what was I supposed to do? Comfort him? I may have human instincts, but I've got a reputation as a villain to uphold.
I tapped my foot on the floor. "Well?"
"'Well' what?" He said quietly
"Are you just going to stand there in that cage?" I bent over slightly so my eyes were level with his. "You know that means I've won, right?"
There was only one way out of the cage: lifting from the bottom. Surely that would be easy enough for him, right?
Wrong.
I crossed my arms as I watched Max try to lift the large metal contraption (unsuccessfully, might I add) for the fifth time.
I made sure to roll my eyes when he finally looked up at me. "Go on," I said, with a wave of my hand. "Escape."
The boy glared at me, and began to try again.
However, with that wave of my hand, I had helped Max out a bit: by using telekinesis to lift the cage slightly off the ground for him.
The metal clattered against the floor as the boy took off through the broken window, without so much as a second glance.
I then went back into the kitchen to drink my tea.