It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single superhero in possession of a good reputation, must be in want of a nemesis. It's what everyone knows, and what everyone believes in. No light without the dark, no good without the evil. Balance is key, and for the way that this industry works, everyone's one true calling has an answer.

In fact, the adage is so true, they teach a class on good superhero-supervillain relations.

Of course, I failed that class and then promptly replaced it with an elective in Surviving as a Casualty. This is why the night after graduation, I’m in the middle of a destroyed intersection with a giant slab of building on my lack-of-abs. As a bonus, though, I'm still breathing.

Jokes aside, I'm glad I'm not alone out here.

“Name?” the League officer asks, as he levitates the building piece off me. He's middle-aged and round-bellied. Any other day and situation, I'd have pegged him for a white collar at your average nine-to-five. Only the calmness on his face tells me otherwise. That, and the bright orange uniform with the League emblem emblazoned on the shoulders.

As the weight lifts off my body, I reach out blindly and siphon some energy from his cell phone, the closest device to me. Ever wonder why your battery can drop from 100 to 50 real quick? My fault, sorry. Unauthorized data transfers take a lot of energy.

As I catch my breath, I mentally sort through the information I've received from his Calendar. Two facts come to light: He’s got his son’s piano recital to attend to in less than hour, and I’m probably the last rescue. I can work with this.

“I'm River Ng.”

My name rings an affirmative on his tablet. His eyebrows shoot up to his forehead as he reads it, and then reads it again. “Supervillain.”

“I start in an hour,” I say, gingerly sitting up. No big pain so far, aside from moving. Thank goodness, because insurance won’t accept any claims dated before I start working. I clench my fists open and close, and tense my muscles. “But yeah. I don’t look like I’m evil, I know. I get that a lot.” Rotating my neck reveals no other problems either, so that's good.

He ignores the comment. “Supervillain name?”

“River Ng.” Quickly, I add, “Both names are the same.”

The League officer taps the tablet, lips pursing. His eyes flicker up to me. “Your supervillain name is your given name?”

"I filled the forms out wrong." My weight doesn't buckle under my feet when I try to stand, which is good. The unsmiling expression on his face is, well, bad. “I didn’t realize they meant the made-up name. Plus, the name change fee costs more than a new phone, right? No thanks. I can live with it. Hashtag millennial, am I right? Haha.”

Unhashtag millennial looks unimpressed as he winds truth-teller rope around my wrists. Even if all it is to ensure that anything I say can be used in court, I tense automatically, before I force myself to relax. “Bystander or involved?”

“Bystander, Officer.” I watch the ropes glow green, and then peek his expression as he checks the option off on his tablet.

“Anything I should take you in for?”

“No, sir.” Again, green. Obviously. While hateful, draining someone’s phone battery isn’t a crime. The only crime is the fact that I haven’t even made a debut yet and I’m already in the system. I keep my face neutral, trying my best to project that I'm not a threat.

“I'll need to get a statement. Can you tell me what happened here?”

"I saw the building falling on top of me,” I say, “and it hurt.”

He flips out a field sensor from his pocket and runs it over me. It's usually the first thing the League does, but I guess I'm just special. “Just bruises,” he confirms. “You’ll be fine...” He looks back at my file and frowns. I can see the gears in his brain pause. "Sorry. Are you a--"

“Ng is fine,” I say, to save him the effort. And, since we both have somewhere to be, I speed up the time on his phone. As per his warning alarm, his phone rings. “Can I offer anything else?”

“That’s all I need, Ng,” the officer says. He takes the phone out of his pocket and silencing it. In a hurry, he unwinds the ropes to clip them back onto his belt. Then, he flips the tablet around, hurried. “Your fingerprints, please."

The process is easy. Fingers down on the tablet scan, League confirmation, and then I'm given a warning and left to my own devices.

The few blocks I can see look like a dinosaur stomped through. The street's pavement has been ripped out of the ground, upturned, and twisted. Building foundations are exposed, ornaments collapsed, and overhead lights and wires have fallen and tangled. The wreckage is vast; the repairs will probably be extensive.

Explosive damage on the sides of still standing buildings. No blood spilt, but a car with a roof smashed in and glass shattered, skid marks trailing down the road from a mess that looks like a traffic disaster. Looks like someone fell on the first car and rolled right off. So...a fight then?

To my left, smoke putters out from an extinguished fire; it's still somewhat trickling into the morning blue sky.

It's the signature scorch marks across the side of concrete that makes me pause. I'd recognize it anywhere.

I grin at the sight. "Burner."