Alex hated the masks guests had to wear at the Paragon Guild.
They weren’t at all like the professional heroic ones. They were itchy and unbreathable, the flat, black leather ridges pressing against the contours of his face. Whoever had worn Alex’s last must have sweated up a storm—the visor was already damp and the darkened lenses that shielded his eyes were misting in the corners. Had they not at least wiped these down?
While the security team behind the secretary went through his bags, he let himself take one glance at the reflection in his phone to check that the mask wasn’t crooked, then looked away quickly, his heart giving a little squeeze.
It made Alex miss his own.
No. No, he didn’t. He tucked that thought away immediately.
The front desk’s administrator, a man in his early twenties with a black mask similar to Alex’s, placed Alex’s freshly rummaged backpack on the desk between them and pointed down the hall.
“Alright, civilian. After you get to the lobby, the cafeteria is just past armory management and the career center.”
“Thank you,” Alex said politely, repressing the instinctual annoyance at having something he knew explained to him. He had been down these halls a million times. Multiple times a week since he was eight years old, at the very least.
The man had no way of knowing that, of course. That was the entire point of the masks. When it came to the Paragon Guild, anonymity was the most sacredly held tenet. No one was to know the identities of the heroes or those that came to visit them.
The Paragon Guild’s guest registration line was long and filled up the lobby, red ropes hanging between each row of disgruntled civilians in a maze of cacophony. Behind Alex, a man with an amputated leg in a hovering wheelchair chatted with the five-year-old kid he came in with, an older woman whispered harshly on her phone, and a young woman chewed her lip and leaned to the side to study the front desk. Their masks clashed strangely with their civilian clothes.
Alex could assign a story to each one in his mind. The man in the wheelchair was a retired superhero coming to talk to the finances department about his heroic pension. The older woman was picking up her daughter from guild training. The young woman was a new hero, possibly still a sidekick, heading to the locker room to change into her hero suit and then to the career center to look at options for assignments, managers, or partners.
He had seen and met a thousand people just like them. Of course, he could be wrong. They could all be doing what he was doing, for all he knew.
He followed the directions and headed down the hall, passed security, then came to the grand lobby, a large, opulent room of stained glass windows, marble pillars, and statues of legendary heroes from across the decades.
The room buzzed with activity, heroes in their brightly colored suits, young trainees in their plain black practice jumpsuits, and civilians in black masks milling between the statues. A woman with a cybernetic arm and a bright red hero suit popped in front of Alex suddenly, holding out a flier.
He yelped, realizing that she had just teleported in front of him. He had never gotten used to people using that superpower. His hand automatically went to his hip to grab something, but it only grasped the air.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” The woman smiled. “We’re looking for new members for the Justice Light Alliance. We normally do jobs like dome patrol and event security, and we are very dedicated to the Justice Code. We’re even going to be one of the teams assigned to the Hero Debut Ceremony for the trainees in a couple weeks!” She up-downed him, her eyebrow raising. “Do you have any paragon relatives or friends who might be interested?”
Alex found it much more difficult to quiet his annoyance this time, but he managed it, smiling through the pain. A paragon was a person with powers—all heroes were paragons, but not all paragons were heroes. Sometimes, once they completed the government-required training as teenagers, they went on to do other things with their lives.
Alex could not imagine for the life of him why someone who had the option to be a hero would choose otherwise.
“Uh—” He started, but she kept going.
“We have a couple popular heroes interested in joining us, like Everlux and Sparks!”
Alex grimaced.
Everlux?
That asshole?
Absolutely not.
“That’s okay. Thanks anyway!”
She kept holding the paper out to him, so he took it and kept walking, crumpling it in his hands.
He swerved around the golden statue of Dynamus, one of the most famous late heroes in the room, and barrelled past the weapons management room to the cafeteria. Any inclination he might have had to sneak a peek in weapons management to see what kind of laser guns they were selling these days had been drowned out by the fluttering anxiety in his chest.
Being here, being surrounded by people who seemed to feel like they belonged here…
It sucked.
He fled into the cafeteria and spotted two people chatting with a huge group of heroes and masked civilians—a blond woman and a man with dark brown, curly hair in matching purple and gold suits. The woman leapt up on her seat, the crowd around them leaning back from her and entranced by her story. She grinned, her pony tail swinging wildly as she gesticulated.
“I transformed into an eagle and took off from the roof. The guy still kept hanging on to me. He started screaming at me to fly down. I wanted to flip him the bird, but, you know, I was a bird. At this point, Golden Blade—” She pointed a thumb at the dark-haired man she matched suits with. “—He’s flying under us, just in case the guy decides to let go of me, and he’s still holding the handcuffs. His expression was priceless—”
“I can’t believe you decided to jump off the roof with a guy on you! What if you both fell?” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You haven’t done something that crazy since we were dating. In our twenties.”
“That’s not true and you know it. Otherwise, I’ll need to step up my game.”
“Please do not, for the love of Justice,” Golden Blade wheezed, but he was smiling faintly.
“Revamp’s right,” someone in the group said. “This is pretty in-character for her.”
“And did we not catch that robber?” She shot Golden Blade a smug expression. “Crazy, but effective.”
The crowd laughed, and Alex stared at them, his stomach churning with nerves. Maybe it was the light of the sword Golden Blade kept strapped to his back when he was on duty, but he and Revamp seemed to be glowing. They were like everyone else that came to the Paragon Guild—right where they were meant to be, the definition of model paragons and exemplary heroes.
Blinding. Perfect.
Golden Blade turned his head and met Alex’s gaze. His smile grew wide, and he stood up, his hand touching Revamp’s back lightly.
Revamp turned, met Alex’s gaze, and beamed. She hopped off the chair and ran to Alex, hugging him tight.
“Mom,” he muttered, his face turning warm as the other heroes and civilians turned their gazes away from the display.
“Honey,” Golden Blade started to warn her, starting towards them.
“What? Maybe I hug every civilian that comes to visit us specifically,” she shrugged and turned back to Alex. “Besides. It feels like I haven’t seen you in a week.”
A physical weight dropped from his shoulders from the embrace alone. He preferred seeing his parents without their masks and outside of the guild, but this was fine.
Sometimes it was all he got.
“Hey, kid,” his dad grinned. Kid was the go-to nickname when he couldn’t call Alex his name or “son.” Alex wasn’t a fan, but he wasn’t one to complain. He swallowed it down.
“Brought you guys dinner, as requested. Leftover lasagna and caesar salad.” Alex put his bag down on a round cafeteria table and sat down.
“We owe you one.” Golden Blade plopped down beside him.
His parents, Eric and Rebecca Hale, were powerful and beloved in the hero community, both descended from roots infested with super powers. Their parents had been heroes, and their parents’ parents had been heroes. The Hales were a superpowered family—the few that were left, anyway. Hero work didn’t make for long lives or intergenerational family gatherings.
As a result of their popularity, they were constantly in demand. Even when they weren’t assigned to jobs, they volunteered to be on-call for emergencies. Their schedules were generally insane, and they were partners. They took on every task together.
His parents were real heroes. They weren’t like Everlux. They certainly weren’t vigilantes. They were loyal to the guild, respectful of the Justice Code, and good. They didn’t care about accruing money or influence, they cared about Gale City. Alex was proud of them. He wished he could follow their footsteps.
But that simply wasn’t meant to be.
Alex ate dinner and chatted with his parents, his mom recounting their most recent criminal catch almost as dramatically as before. She censored her stories around Alex a bit more cautiously, reminding him constantly to not pull stunts or take risks. Alex didn't like being patronized, but he smiled through it. He did like his mom's stories.
“I have a fully-formed frontal cortex, and you do not. I also have powers, and…” Rebecca hesitated a moment, then resumed. “—Anyway, don’t do as I do. Do as I say.”
Alex’s stomach sank.
His dad grinned and held up a finger, overjoyed to take advantage of the moment to share the good word. “The Justice Code directs us to act within our what?”
“Act within our own means. Meaning, if you don’t have powers, don’t act like a superhero. Got it,” Alex intoned.
He hated that chapter to his bones.
Well, he was devoted to the entire Justice Code. He was just the least devoted to that one part.
The lasagna sat in his stomach like slowly drying cement, and his lungs felt they had been punctured. He stood up, the keys to the hover car swinging around his knuckle.
“Well. I should get going.”
His parents both frowned, concern crushing their carefree expressions.
“Wait, Alex—”
“I have that party tonight at Martin’s, remember?”
“Oh. Right. The kid on Tory’s old soccer team, right?” His mom smiled again. She gripped Eric’s arm excitedly. “Our kid’s going to a party. He’s socializing on purpose! I’m so proud.”
“Hey!” Alex protested. “I socialize. Just…only with a very select group of people.”
“No alcohol or drugs,” his dad said, trying to maintain a stern fatherly expression, but Alex could tell that he was also thrilled about his introverted son actually doing something on a Friday night. “Our family preserves and protects the law, even when we’re unmasked. Remember, in section twenty-three of the Justice Code—”
“‘Even the most minute laws are in place to protect the civilian. The hero must be a model in all things, for the safety of all people,’’' Alex said, quoting the tome like he was reading it off a page.
Of course he knew it. The Justice Code had been his life for…well. All of his life.
“Yup. Good job. Keep Tory out of trouble,” Eric said, and Alex actually smiled as he gathered his bag and the lasagna tupperware to head out.
“I always keep him out of trouble.”
. . . . .
Alex had hoped he would escape the Paragon Guild unscathed. He should have known better.
The trainees were gathered around the statues in the lobby—languid, sweaty teenagers arguing about where to order dinner from. An incredibly ordinary conversation between people who were utterly unordinary.
He froze, flinching back into the hallway before he could be seen.
“Oh my god, Midnight, don’t lean on the Dynamus statue,” a blond kid groaned. “What if it falls and breaks?”
“Then it’s a bad statue,” a boy in a black supersuit quipped. “I’d be doing Dynamus a favor for exposing its fragility.”
“He’s only been dead for like, six years, and he died saving Gale City from a team of super villains. Can’t you have a little respect?” A girl sighed, her arms folding. Alex recognized Rainfury immediately, despite her costume changes. She’d changed from the typical trainee uniform to a white, black, and silver supersuit, her high, black ponytail long enough to reach her waist.
The boy in the black supersuit shrugged and stood straight. “I’ll lean on Coldreach. He died twenty years ago, and he was problematic.”
“Good idea. Lean on the sexist one,” Rainfury approved.
Another kid groaned. “He wasn’t sexist. It’s not sexist to say that female superheroes shouldn’t wear skirts. No one wants heroes flying around looking like Wonder Woman. It’s not heroic or professional.”
Alex recognized Joyride’s voice, despite his recent costume change, just by how it immediately made his impatience spike. It was practically a Pavlovian response, ingrained from years of listening to him whine during training.
“As a lesbian,” one redheaded girl started, “I definitely want heroes flying around looking like Wonder Woman. Yes, please.”
“I concur. All superheroes should wear skirts,” the boy in the black supersuit said. “Like Wild Blossom. She’s a literal nature goddess.”
“She’s what I was thinking of as an example of not heroic.” Joyride rolled his eyes. “She’s nothing like Dynamus, who was pretty much the golden standard and followed the justice code.”
The group went silent, glaring at him, and he scoffed. “I’m just saying it like it is.”
“Oh, please, like you care about the code. You’re an Everlux fan. You like social heroes. You just don’t like WIld Blossom because she’s a woman who isn’t shaped like a perfect hourglass and she’s confident,” Rainfury snapped.
“Alrighty, should we order dinner before we get any hungrier?” The blond boy spoke up again, chipper. “And angrier.”
“Super Shake!” A girl excitedly suggested. “Or Radical Sandwich.”
“Does Radical Sandwich do android delivery?”
“I don’t know.”
“I want pizza,” a kid groaned.
“We always get pizza!”
“You guys, we should be getting healthy food while we’re in training. I brought a protein shake—”
A chorus of groans followed that comment.
While they argued about food, Alex slipped through the hallway, hiding amongst the droves of people and hoping that his mask and his civilian clothing would keep him from being recognized by them.
Nothing had changed for them, had it?
Same old arguing. Same old banter.
And here Alex was, with his world turned upside down.
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