"Mr. Hayes?"

Day and I are currently standing outside Three's hospital room. She's fine, just has a few broken bones and other minor injuries. I count today as a win, but Day is nervous. She knows we didn't accomplish this win in the best way, and she's very by-the-book. Throwing sports bikes at villains while suspended in mid-air isn't exactly a recommended technique.

We fucking won, though. We caught our first numbered, all these people can pretend to be as disappointed as they want, but they're all secretly happy. This is a big accomplishment, for everyone.

I glance up at my name, finding a familiar man standing a few feet away. Al, the same personal assistant who's worked for our CEO for at least as long as I can remember. He's looking at me in expectation, though he does appear slightly nervous.

"What?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. He has no reaction to my obvious irritation.

"Mr. Wolfe needs to speak with you."

Yep, there it is.

Exactly what I was waiting for, and the entire reason Day isn't nearly as excited about this as she should be. Everything will turn out fine, because it always does, but that doesn't matter to her. She won't be happy until I'm out of the woods, then we can celebrate.

I say bye to Day, who looks stressed, then follow Al down the corridor. We exit the hospital and enter a company car, which are usually just blacked out SUVs. I spend the entire ride back to headquarters wanting to jump into oncoming traffic and wondering if I'm going to cause Day to go grey early. Before I know it I'm entering the company building and taking the elevator up to the top floor, where the boss's office is located. Al walks me into the room and immediately takes his exit.

Then, it's just Mr. Wolfe and I.

Mr Wolfe is in his early sixties, though he's retained a full head of hair. It's stark white and curls around his ears, an organized bird's nest atop his head. He's a kind man who—similar to me—came from nothing. He made something of himself entirely on his own, which is a big reason why I like him. He's also just a genuinely good guy, though.

Even when he's mad at me. "Harlan, take a seat."

Ugh. I audibly sigh, but do as directed. Mr. Wolfe is one of the few people I respect, so I try not to be too much of a nuisance around him. Keyword: around him.

"Remove the eyewear," Mr. Wolfe orders, and I do as asked. He's referring to arguably the most crucial part of my hero uniform. My protective eyewear, which cover the most important part of me. Even off-duty, it's rare I go anywhere without something over my eyes. This place has made it quite obvious how detrimental they are to my success, so I take extra measures for protection.

It's understandable. I can see quite well in the dark, though my eyes are sensitive to light. Another reason for the eye protection. Usually I'm fine when indoors, but I don't go outside without some barrier.

"Did you throw your motorcycle at a villain?"

"Okay," whoever broke the news to him did a shit job. That is not the full story. Context makes all the difference. "It was a numbered, and she was going to get away."

I see Mr. Wolfe pause, interest visibly piqued. Whoever told him what I did was clearly biased, because how could they have possibly left that out? This is a big deal. It's never been done, and the numbered have been a thorn in our sides for years. "You caught one?"

"Yep. Three," I tell him proudly, already fully aware that I'm not facing any kind of punishment for this. I just have a lot of people who hate me and want me in trouble. I also broke a sports bike worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Still, though. Almost everyone's biased.

"Wait, seriously? Where is she?"

"The hospital," I tell him, mildly irritated at his lack of information. Seriously, whoever told him this news sucks at their job. Well, it's also possible they didn't know the full story. Whatever. I thought it'd be obvious she was in the hospital, though. I threw a fucking bike at her. I was half hoping she'd die, but it's fine. I'll take what I can get, and she's more useful alive, anyway.

"Okay. Once she's recovered, contact the police if they don't call you first. They could use you for her interrogation." He directs me, and I just nod, even though I was going to do that anyway. I assume our conversation is over, so I make to get up. Mr. Wolfe is quick to stop me. "Wait. We need to talk about something."

I stop in the middle of my action, before frowning at him and sitting back down. I give him a look of expectation, and watch him take a deep breath.

"As you know, I'm stepping down in a couple weeks." He begins, and I nod. I know he's leaving, because everyone knows he's leaving, and I'm not exactly looking forward to it. It takes a lot for me to genuinely like someone, but I do. He's a cool guy, and we have way more in common than I ever thought we would, since I'd always assumed he was born into money.

So, I'm not exactly thrilled he's leaving. "My son will be taking over, and I need to warn you before he does."

Why is Mr. Wolfe building so much suspense? Why should I give a shit that his son is taking over the company? I've never even met his son, though I'm sure I will eventually. Likely not under the best circumstances. That's how I meet most people.

"About what?" I ask, when Mr. Wolfe gets a little too deep in thought. I don't understand why he's so stressed, and I find myself feeling far more curious than is typical for me. It's rare I give enough of a shit about anything for me to ask questions about it.

"He... takes after his mother," Mr. Wolfe notifies me, and I just raise an eyebrow. What the hell does that mean? I've met his wife, and she's a nice lady. A bit reserved, but she laughed at a joke I made one time so she's on my good side.

"He's a lot more serious, and far less patient than I am. I fear that he won't exercise the tolerance I do for your... occasional predicaments. I don't want to see you lose your job, Harlan. I know how hard you've worked to get here."

Well, that's true. Most heroes have their whole lives to grow used to their abilities and train for their future careers. I didn't. I started at 18. I had to work hard for this, he's right, but I'm still kind of confused. Lose my job? Is he implying his son will fire me if I fuck up enough?

"What, is he gonna fire me if I throw another bike at someone?"

Mr. Wolfe purses his lips at my phrasing. What? I'm not as good at sugarcoating things as he is. I think I did a decent job at summarizing his warning. Is that not what he's implying?

"I know you don't take kindly to rules, but all I ask is that you try to improve your behavior and practice handling things more... eloquently. Okay?" He looks nervous to be making this request, and rightfully so. I don't like being told what to do, I usually take it as a challenge to see what all I can get away with. This time, however, I decide to make an exception. The least I can do is try to improve.

So, reluctantly—for Mr. Wolfe's peace of mind if anything—I decide to agree. "Fine, but only if you implement a gold star system."

The CEO surprisingly promises to do so, further proving how much he cares and wants me to listen, and that's that.