"What? They died?"

No matter how loud I shouted, my voice was nearly drained out by the blaring music and waves of chatter in the bar which was covered with bright lights. And, honestly… that was good. No need for someone to gawk at me while I was having a moment of despair over here.

Actually, the one person who was gawking at me was the white-haired young man that sat at my side, confusion flaring in his bluish-gray eyes. 

"Um…. who died?"

"The love interest!" I slapped a finger onto the panel of the comic's page, slowly sitting back down and placing my elbows on the round, dark blue table. "I don't know why the authors made them die! What's the point? Now this is gonna be the twentieth thing that makes the main character depressed. Why is this story so angsty for no reason? Like, I know nothing about how romance is supposed to work, but this isn't it."

My friend, Caster, blinked slowly. "Talia, we're at a bar. Why are you reading?"

"What?" I cocked a brow. "Anything wrong with that?"

"Well, it's weird, no? That’s not what this place is for.” He motioned to the rest of the bar. 

All around us, people were drinking and laughing it up at their tables that were kept away from the dance floor, which was placed right in the middle of the bar.

"You're dressed in pajamas and reading, while everyone around us is dancing or drinking. It stands out."

"Okay, first off, you're dressed in a full-ass suit like you're in a business meeting." I gestured to his attire: dark wide-leg pants, a collared white shirt, and a black suit with thin gray stripes. "Everyone else is wearing casual clothes, for the most part, so you're one to talk, Mr. Fancy Pants." I smirked as Caster frowned at his nickname.

"Secondly," I continued, "I don't wanna be here — neither do you; don't hide it — so therefore, I'm trying to make myself as comfortable as possible. Screw the peer pressure. I don't wanna dance."

Caster placed his elbows on the table, staring at his champagne for a moment. "Well, you could have rejected Desmond's offer to come here in the first place." He nodded at the blond man who was on the dance floor with some other girl I didn't recognize.

Yep, that was Desmond, the totally-not-annoying guy who totally did not pester me into heading to a bar three hours away from my dorm for 'the fun of it.' What was his deal with us? Dragging us to a party and then not talking to us the entire time. It was so unnecessary...

I exhaled slowly. "For the last time, Caster, that guy insisted on us coming to this place, and he wasn't gonna give up. There was no choice, okay? I promised him thirty minutes here, and then we'd leave." Lifting up my wristwatch, I checked the time. 1:20 A.M. "We got ten minutes left anyway, so don't worry. We'll get outta here soon, and you can have the aux when we get in the car to make up for it. Deal?"

Caster paused for one, two… three moments. "Fair enough. But can you please remove that book from the table and do something else?" He shot a pointed glance at the comic near my half-full glass of tequila. "I'm afraid you'll spill your drink and soil the pages."

"Oh, come on, I'm not that clumsy! It won't spill!" I replied.

Silence dropped on us like a weighted blanket, and Caster simply raised a brow that clearly said, Are you sure about that?

Two seconds passed and I bit my lip, backtracking to all the moments I'd soaked pages with water or coffee, plus the time when I had to ban myself from having paper and liquid near each other for a couple weeks…

"Okay, I take it back," I muttered, pulling the book off the desk and slipping it into my bag. "So what do you wanna do?”

He shrugged. “Say, do you have any homework to finish?”

Of course he'd suggest something worse. I should have known that by now.

“Um…” I paused. “I don't know why I'd do homework now of all times, but yeah, I do. It’s just one art assignment that’s due in…” I checked my watch. “Negative two hours.”

Caster sighed and shook his head. “You procrastinated again, didn’t you?”

Glancing away, I fidgeted uncomfortably in my seat. “Yes… and I knew I was probably gonna miss the deadline… Look, I don’t even know why I chose this art major, okay?” 

I didn’t even want to. Not because I hated art, but because I’d probably fail at it — just like always. 

“You did so because you knew what you wanted,” Caster replied (also, no I didn't; he was wrong). “But now… it seems like you’re wasting it. However, at least you had your desires in mind. I still don’t, and therefore that puts me at a level lower than you.”

Yeah, of course I was wasting it. Because I wasn’t any good at it, and therefore lost all the passion for it. Where was the reason in wanting to do something if I just messed it up? And was he really comparing himself to me again? Why?

But of course, I couldn't say all that — otherwise Caster would launch into a ramble about how I shouldn’t 'talk in such a way' — so I switched gears. "I mean, at least you aren't forcing yourself to go down your family's path. I don't think anyone wants to support the government. Give yourself some credit."

And at least he was actually getting straight A’s in his law and business course. I wish I got even a B+...

"Very true, but what I do now still doesn't please me.” Caster bit his lip. “I could try something else, but I'm not sure what opportunities I really have, given my family's opinions…"

“Well, if you were to disregard your position in life right now, what would you wanna be?”

Just as I finished speaking, the fancy glass doors to the bar suddenly swung open, and in came three people wearing dark clothing. But they were strolling around casually, so I disregarded it. Why bother with other people's business if nothing was happening? I wasn't like Desmond.

"If I could choose anything… I'd be a vigilante, I suppose." Caster tapped his chin. "Both of us have super abilities, so isn't it best to make the most of them?"

"Okay, I didn't say, 'throw logic out the window,' but alrighty then. That's not feasible though, and you know why. Or rather, it's not smart. Like, I'm not exposing my hydrokinesis just to do that."

"First off, you said 'disregard your position in life right now,'" Caster argued. "So therefore, my answer is still valid."

"I meant, 'disregard the fact that you're a uni student who doesn't exactly know what he's doing.' Not 'disregard the fact that superpowers" — I lowered my voice, even if nobody could hear — "are supposed to be kept secret.'"

Pushing his long ponytail over his shoulder, Caster sighed. "Well, I've still been pondering the idea. Vigilantes are bound to exist with inefficient police forces plaguing Codex. So there must be some superhumans out there who take matters into their own hands."

"Well, sure, but if they did, they'd get caught. It's kinda easy to expose your abilities when you're battling criminals."

"If you think about it, however, Codex has been dealing with the issue of magic powers since 9050, so perhaps it’s not so — wait, wait, I should take that back…" Caster shook his head. 

"Yeah, it's not the best point to make. When Codex was dealing with Exelonians… You know, it wasn't pleasant, with prisons and torture and war and all. Adding superhumans — who've got an even wider range of abilities than Exelonians— to the mix is only gonna cause more trouble," I replied. "Look, the idea of vigilantes is great, but I hate the reality of it."

My friend paused. "Fine. You raise a fair point. But really, don't you think that life is so dull…"

"Ack! Hey, stop! What are you doing?"

The shout came from across the room and I flinched instantly. 

I knew it was bad manners to look away when someone was talking, but what was going on at the front of the bar? 

My eyes widened when they landed on the scene happening on the dance floor.

The three people who'd entered earlier had cleared the way, and the largest one in the trio… was holding Desmond in a chokehold.

What. The. Hell?

"You're coming with me, right now! Stop resisting! You're making a really big scene here…"

Desmond was flailing and kicking, struggling against the burly hand that clutched his throat. "No… I'm not… Dexter, you're the one…. who wanted to grab a random guy in public!"

"I approached you calmly; you were the one who started fighting!" Dexter shouted.

"Someone, get the police!" shouted a lady from the crowd that was backing away from the commotion. 

"Like that'll do anything!" her friend snapped.

"What the hell is this guy doing?" cried another bystander. "Where are the bartenders?"

Folks were already fleeing the scene, some looking for patrons and others rushing towards the entrance.

My wide, fear-stricken gaze slowly drifted over to Caster, who was staring, paralyzed. He abruptly pushed his chair back and got up. I hesitantly got to my shaking feet. Hell, my entire body was trembling like a volcano about to erupt. 

"We should try and…" 

What? We should try and save Desmond from that crazy guy who looked incredibly strong and get knocked out in the process? We should try to run and leave the poor man behind? What did we do?

I clenched my fists. As irritating as Desmond seemed, I couldn't just let this happen, could I? The guy didn't deserve to die.

Then again, what would a smart civilian do? Run, because your life mattered more, right?

The shouts got louder, the fighting grew, and nobody was trying to stop it. Nobody had the guts to. 

"Our boss gonna get here any minute now," Dexter said, "and he'll be the one incinerating you for leaving the GCAG—"

"What are you… on about?" Desmond managed to shout through shallow breaths. "I thought… he was… dead!"

What the hell were both of them talking about? Who were these guys anyway?

You know what, it didn't matter. I gripped my bag, the water bottle in the side pocket sloshing, when all of a sudden —

"I'm sick of this!" barked Dexter, slamming Desmond into the ground with an earth-shattering thud. 

I flinched, almost kicking down my chair, before maneuvering around the table. "Go, go, go; let's just leave —"

BOOM!

Holy crap; was that a gunshot?

I glanced back up to see that Desmond had been shot dead a bloody mess of a bullet hole lodged in his skull. The screams that arose practically shook the entire building. 

"Let's go! Let's go! They all got guns!" a man screeched, booking it off the floor and heading straight for the exit.

"We should do the same." Caster's voice was quivering with fresh terror. "Run!"

The two of us booked it across the room, but the doors quickly became flooded with people trying to escape at once. 

Goddamnit! Why'd we pick the tables farthest from the doors in the first place?

My feet slammed into the ground as shouts came from both inside and outside. Closer. We were nearing the doors. We were nearing safety. Closer, closer, closer…

CRASH!

SLAM!

THUD!

It happened so fast. The floor shook with the force of a million earthquakes at once as the sound of shattering glass resounded behind me. I tripped over my own two feet, my body slamming into the ground, knocking the wind out from my lungs. Scrambling to my feet, I spun around when I stood up to see a constellation of sharp, crystally glass shards on the floor.

In the middle of the mess was a person in a baggy black jumpsuit and face covering, while two young men — one with a scar on his blue eye and the other with a full-face mask and a bruised arm — stood behind him. They instantly bolted for the one in the jumpsuit, who got up and jumped out of the way.

I was just about to turn and run, but a blur had suddenly lunged and tackled me.

Dexter yelped. “M? What is that guy—?”

Jumpsuit Man — or 'M,' rather — muttered something inaudible before taking a swing at my face.

Pain exploded in my jaw as my head was flung to the side. My mind reeled, thoughts spinning like a tornado. Why was I getting chased? Who was this person? Why did he hit me? What did he want?

Just what in the world was going on?