Geillan slung his rifle over his shoulder, sky glassy in the inverted reflection of his helmet. Ships streaked overhead, the dark wicked shapes of Trisk gunships and the shine of Novasol fighters.
But Geillan wasn't here to fight, not today. Today he was merely here to evacuate the people of Salalian, the grassy verdant planet he had been shipped to earlier in the week. Kel and Marian had been assigned the two other sectors of the colony, leaving him with eighty six doors to knock on in the two hours he had been allotted. He sped up, boots nearly silent on the smooth streets. All he could hear was his own breath, fogging his helmet and then evaporating into the filters on either side of his head.
The first door swung open of its own accord, revealing an empty dwelling. He moved hurriedly to the next, and his sharp rap on the door was met by a younger man and a woman.
Geillan pressed the button on his helmet to activate the message clip he had recorded earlier. "Novasol orders instant evacuation due to Trisk assault. There is a shuttle waiting for you at the end of the street. Only take what you absolutely need, it leaves in two hours, whether you're on it or not. Novasol thanks you for your cooperation."
He left before the shock could register, gloved hand finding another door, pressing the 'play' button almost before it opened.

~

An hour and forty-five minutes later, he came to the last door. It was the same standard dwelling as the others, and yet, for some reason unexplainable to him, Geillan hesitated on the threshold. There was a presence, there. A feeling he did not have a name for.
When no one responded to his knocks, he twisted the door handle, and stepped inside.
The building was empty. He called out, playing his message and opening doors, revealing the building to be empty.
He turned to go. After all, there were numerous reasons why no one was here. There had been other empty dwellings along his route.
And yet--something lent him hesitation, and he turned around, brows furrowed.
There, just below a floating bookshelf, was a sliver of light. Curious, Geillan knelt, knocking his knee against the wall and shoving open a hatch set into the wall. Beyond it were a set of stone steps.
He checked his time. Still twenty minutes left. Enough time to take a look down here and then get back to the shuttle, surely.
Cautious, hand on his sidearm, he descended the stairs, coming to a door at the bottom and pulling it open, stepping into. . .
a church?
He had not seen many, but there was little other way to describe the small room. It was lined with rows of benches and mismatched chairs, and at the head was a modest altar behind a wooden podium.
The room was filled with perhaps twenty people, heads bowed together, low voices filled with the solemnity of prayer.
Geillan hesitated on the outskirts of the room, feeling like an intruder.
I cannot leave these people to die. He stepped forwards, and, on instinct, removed his helmet, drawing in lungfuls of unfiltered air.
A man turned towards him, noticing his presence, and stiffened, for reasons Geillan did not fully understand. Religion may be frowned upon by some members of Novasol, but it certainly wasn't illegal. In fact it was still widely practiced. There were whole colonies for those of common belief, after all.
"I come from Novasol." He said, rather unnecessarily, considering his uniform. "The attack is likely to go on for some time, and may prove dangerous to those below. I am tasked with ensuring the safety of civilians. We only have fifteen or so minutes to get to the shuttle, so you had best hurry."
The man watching him shook his head emphatically. "This is our home, soldier. We have lived here for generations, some of us. We're not leaving."
"You have to. Otherwise you might die!"
The man only smiled faintly, as if in on some inside joke. "We all die, son."
"But it doesn't have to be today! If we hurry, we can still make it, we--"
The man raised a placating hand. "Simmer down, son. There is no law saying we must go. It is a choice, yes?"
Reluctantly, Geillan nodded.
He turned to the others assembled. "We are all in agreeance?" A round of nods. "Then we stay. The good Lord shall protect us. Beyond that, this is a sturdy bunker, not merely a church. We will be safe here, God willing. However, you have no duty to stay with us. Go, if you believe it means your safety."
Geillan hesitated, time trickling through his fingers with every moment.
"Do you not think you were meant to find this room, soldier?" A woman spoke, voice gentle. "Do you not think, then, that you were meant to find us? That you are meant to be here, in this moment?"
He was struck then, with the strength of their faith, that they would risk death to stay in a place they called home. Slowly, he nodded. "I believe I was meant to know your belief, whether I understand it or not. Thank you." He took the stairs at a run, putting on his helmet just as the timer on his overview clicked to 00:00 with a tinny beeping.
Perhaps it was delayed. . . . He should not have dawdled so long underground. Geillan burst out of the door, feet pounding across the street, even though he knew it was too late. He skidded to a stop as the shuttle pulled away, and was just turning back to the dwelling he had come from when it exploded into a blinding shatter of sparks by Trisk ships.
Geillan fell to his knees, staring up at the wreckage, heart in his throat.
The woman's words returned to him, then. Do you not think you were meant to find us?

I'm Frank Pepitone, from the Superhero Accountability Department. SAD is a subdepartment of the Preternatural Hero Force. If you find out you have superpowers one day, don't hesitate to keep it to yourself.

The world needs more superhumans who mind their own business.

I swept the beam of my flashlight over the dry, flat walls of the cave. Joy's beam intersected with mine briefly as she scanned the tunnel with me. She wore cargo pants loaded with PHF issued Anti-Hero Cuffs, and a pink shirt printed with a unicorn and a rainbow. Just for that visual assault, I made her carry the backpack. She didn't seem to care.

It smelled like dust and goats down here.

"Have you seen any signs of an ambush yet," Joy asked.

There were too many shadowed nooks to know for certain, but I was pretty sure I had seen at least five that were sufficient for hiding someone, if our rendezvous turned out to be a trap. Which, at this point, I took for granted. Another good assumption is that someone is listening. So I said, "Not yet." I held up five fingers where she could see them.

She nodded in understanding.

Supposedly this was an ancient church. It might have been famous. I honestly don't even remember what country we were in. I was sick of the cat and mouse game. Maybe I should say a goat and mouse game. What was it with middle eastern countries and goats?

We stepped out of the tunnel into a large pillared cavern. There were five rows of pillars splitting the width of the cavern and the flashlight's beam didn't reach to the far end of the cavern. If it wasn't for all the sandstone, and dust, and how close the ceiling was, it might have looked like the mines of Moria.

I nodded to Joy. She nodded back and was gone in a flash, leaving her backpack at my feet.

A second sweep of my flashlight revealed our target. He wore a spandex flame print body suit and a scowl. As if the scowl would offset the stupidity of his suit.

"Frank. I told you not to interfere with my work."

"And I told you to turn yourself in. It seems insubordination is catching," I said. "And don't call me Frank."

He folded his arms, smirking at me. "What happened to your trench coat? Doesn't your drycleaner repair fire damage?"

I let the jab slide, kneeling to pull the fire extinguisher out of the backpack. It was one of those big, industrial numbers that doubles as a medieval jousting weapon. I stuck the end of my flashlight into the top of the backpack to light the whole area and stood.

"Are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?" I said, loosely pointing the extinguisher at him.

"How about we do it my way," he said, then proceeded to stand there, doing nothing. One hand was suspiciously behind his back.

"Calling for backup?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "Me too." I shouted over my shoulder, "Joy?"

She was at my side in a blink, cuffs hanging from one finger, other hand on her hip.

"Got 'em?" I asked, not taking my eyes off Pyro.

She scoffed. "There were only three. Got him?"

Pyro's face twisted in rage.

"We'll see," I said, as he rushed me, bursting into flames. I pulled the pin and smashed the lever, dousing him in foam. Sharp chemicals blanketed the goat smell. I kept it going until I couldn't see him past the mountain of white.

Joy was off again, disappearing into the sludge. She reappeared in a few seconds, dragging a choking Pyro by his cuffs. She dumped him at my feet. "Man. I've got to do these Accountability missions more often. Do you always have this much fun?" She looked over her outfit, which still had puffs of white on it in some places, and was soaked in others. "Aw. Do you think this will wash out?"

I looked her over, pursing my lips to avoid smiling. I grunted. "You'll get over it."

Please, please don't drop this character after the challenge is over! I'm having so much fun with Frank Pepitone in my life. 

Posted by: @samsleep

↑

If you find out you have superpowers one day, don't hesitate to keep it to yourself.

(These characters die before the beginning of my WIP so it was quite fun to picture them alive. 😊)

“The Wise Ones were right,” Naira called forward to her husband. He crashed through the jungle like a wild animal, machete in his tattooed left arm. “There is no sign of life here.”

“I have a feeling. Even from Chamur, I had a feeling that there were people here once.” Tohzek paused his attack on the jungle to look back at her, excitement flashing in his eyes. Naira turned away, looking back through their path in the jungle, past their small rowboat, the water and the next island beyond. Their ships sat waiting there.

“Are you not ready for home?” Naira asked, hating the way her voice trembled at the final word. “And I smell a storm in the air.”

“I am ready to see our girls,” Tohzek admitted. He drew near to her, pulling her into his sweaty embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head. “But you must admit it has been peaceful out here, where nature accepts both of us.”

Naira nodded. Their family was one of differences—her Vidanzi, him Runa, her with pale skin and her attempt at the island braids while his island scales were covered with the ink of her people. In spite of the tattoos, her people had never fully learned to accept him. His people said they accepted her, but she saw the truth in their eyes and the hushed conversations. 

Tohzek spoke the truth. Nature accepted both of their species. Naira nodded into her husband’s embrace.

When he broke away to continue pressing through the jungle, she followed more quietly. How she loved the man in front of her, who since their school days had been fighting for a place for both of their species to belong. How she loved the way he loved her.

After some time, Tohzek burst forward into a clearing. Naira followed, a sense of peace washing over her.

“Do you see this?” Tohzek whispered.

Naira saw. Tree branches embraced overhead to form a green dome, concealing all but the flashes of lightning in the sky above. Moss draped the trees. Vines dangled downward, allowing slow drips of water over what had once been a gathering-place, an old church. If she narrowed her eyes, she could see even more clearly. Logs lined the space between the trees, evenly spaced apart, covered in carvings of letters, brown with age. Hearts surrounded initials. Arrows pointed from one to another. Smaller branches sprouted from the rows of seats.

Tohzek stepped tentatively down the wider center space that must have once been an aisle. Moss covered stepping-stones that led downward to what must have been an altar. So many letters, carved into branches. Naira crouched, running her fingers along an M and K that appeared newer, less worn-down by time. Who were M and K? Where had they gone? 

Thunder crashed overhead. Naira startled, leaping to her feet as the sounds of the impending storm swooped through the clearing and her mind returned to the present. They had lingered too long.

Tohzek stood at the front of the gathering-place, a boyish smile across his face. “I could imagine being a child here.”

“We should go.” The sense of peace that had fallen over her when they entered the clearing was gone now. “Did you hear that thunder? We may not make it back to Chamur before it hits.”

Her husband sighed, taking in the peaceful clearing around them once more. Thunder crashed. His nose wrinkled as he looked upward through the canopy of leaves. “You are right. But we should return, and bring the girls. Imagine a life here. This may be the place where we at last belong.”

“It is a beautiful dream, my love.” Naira joined him where he stood as lightning streaked once more across the sky. “But our ships are waiting, and beyond that our island and our daughters. See how this is all overgrown? There has been no life here for years.”

He wrapped his arm around her, drawing a deep breath. “I know. But, just imagine…”

She could hardly imagine anything as thunder crashed once more, louder this time. Rain clung to the air. Perhaps they should find shelter, sail back to the crew in the morning. But Chamur was so close, within eyesight from the shore. 

Responsibility settled back over Tohzek’s shoulders as it always did. He shuddered, pulling her close again and then releasing. “You are right. Let us go.”

Tohzek led them back through the path they had cleared through the woods. Naira’s heart thudded louder than the thunder overhead. How she wished she could reassure him—could promise him they would find a place to belong, that someday their children would carve their own letters into the trees, find acceptance and love. But could she promise the impossible?

The storm loomed overhead. Tohzek, ever wiser than the weather, set their small rowboat afloat. Naira clambered in behind him. They would return to their life, to their responsibilities, to their children. They always did.