Traffic Jams. Always in Houston. At all times in Houston. Around every turn, every backstreet, every alleyway, Texan drivers knew that they were making a dangerous gamble. From a pebble to the car crash of the century, the reasons were numerous for the traffic to come to a halt. The frustration would only pile on with each desperate driver smashing their honk and letting the usual Southern hospitality out of the window.

Probably the worst part of living in that godforsaken city.

Well, that, and the car being hotter than a boiler room. Indeed, Southern summer was nothing but a painful plague conjured to punish us, poor humans.

May the Lord give Benjamin Hosmer the strength to not swerve his SUV into the opposing line to end his misery. His ragged breath accompanied by the usual coughing fit, courtesy of a retirement-inducing injury, were the only thing currently preventing him from going outside and dealing with the cause of the jam himself… Well that and he could not reach his crutch from the driver’s seat. It was held on to by his wife on the passenger’s seat.

Their eyes met, and he felt like falling in love again.

Ah, to be young again. A time where his emotions were his driving force and not a poison to his scarred body. How long has it been since-

 “Hey Tito! Rohan is not listening to me!”

-since he could have a peaceful state of mind for five minutes! Sometimes, Benjamin really regretted his… adventurous business choice of working exclusively with pariahs. To be fair, it was highly illegal so only they would accept but… still. This ain’t no Disney or YA switcheroo, his associates really deserved their awful reputations in their day to day life. 

 “Dora, if this is not an important matter…”  

“But it is!” She whined, her upper body wiggling in her seat while her legs struggled to follow her hyperactive movements. “We need to decide where to eat!”

“Y’all still can’t agree on that?!” Benjamin could swear they argued more about food than their actual work.

Despite the overbearing heart in the car, there was one passenger who could still find the energy to talk for longer than two sentences. Meet Rohan; retired old ladies love him. “Indeed! Hence why I was offering a peaceful solution. I was saying that, logically, to ensure a good meal, we could grab some KFC because-”

“Five times in a row?!” interjected Dora, looking ill at the mere prospect of more fried chicken. Benjamin was just praying Rohan would not inject any more conjectures in his speech.

“-it is a safe bet,” dismissed Rohan, “We have a long day ahead of us, so why risk our enjoyment for meaningless changes in our nutrition?”

Dora just gestured frantically to Rohan who found the window view far from interesting. Eventually she gave up and went back to pleading: “See?! I swear that guy’s deaf or something.” Immediately regretting her choice of word, she looked at Benjamin’s wife. “Sorry Tita Blair.” Completely unbothered, the older woman made a small sign before dozing off.

Benjamin knew he would have been far less reasonable in his response if his wife, Blair, had been hurt. “I’m not your daddy Dora. Handle yourself like an adult.” 

“Fine! Then I guess we’re going to eat the same damn food for all eternity.”

“Eat dirt, your arm, or just cook for yourself if it’s that unbearable, Jesus." 

Rohan seized the opportunity to bleed some more of his knowledge into this conversation: “On that note, KFC would bring the both of you the sufficient amount of nutrients to mitigate any of your physical problems for a reasonable price. Unlike, say, overpriced French cuisine or-”

“Hold up blabbermouth,” snickered a new participant in the conversation from the back of the car, “there is a way to get us to agree on a meal.”

“-whatever British people dump on their plate.” 

Despite the seats in the trunk facing away from the others, that giddy woman, Ingrid of course, stood up and turned around to directly look at the person she wanted to roast. “Hey Newbie!” She called towards the one person in the backseat that desperately tried to make himself invisible. “Why don’t ya deport Happy Wheels to France or something?”

“Nobody ever listens to what I have to say.” grumbled Rohan, too self-absorbed to notice the pained expression of Dora. She bit her lips, struggling to think of a comeback that would not have her voice crack.

Meanwhile, ‘Newbie’ felt himself sweating more from the second–hand embarrassment than the heat. “I’m… not French though? I mean… I thought you’d remember after a month…”

“Louisiana, France, same shit Maurice! You’re from New Orleans, no? Then you have some family in Old Orleans!” She huffed with pride whereas her seat neighbor in the trunk upped the volume of the music in his airpods and buried his face in his hood despite the temperature.

Maurice fidgeted around: “Lafayette, actually...” and going back to his grandparents sounded mighty appealing right now.

“What? You got actions in the fashion industry?”

Dora choked on her own laughter at the sheer stupidity on display: “That’s the town's name, tanga!” 

“Should have figured the crawling worm would be familiar with frog-eaters.” spit Ingrid as she made very unsubtle motions towards Dora’s legs.

Dora slapped her hands away before unbuckling her seatbelt and meeting her eye-to-eye. “And what are you familiar with? Disappointment? Becherovka? How fast brain cells die?”

“I’ll break your limbs and heal them for days on end!” Ingrid followed this colorful threat by grabbing Dora by her shirt and preparing to deck the brat in the face. Her eyes turned a bright orange in the process.

This just made the younger girl snicker: “And suffer the drawback of your own powers? What a genius plan!” Her eyes were leaking a black goo which drained the light out of them and melted her hands into nothingness.

“No fighting darlings.” spoke Blair from the passenger’s seat. In turn, everyone turned to look at her. Wasn’t she asleep a few seconds ago? Wait, when did she even find the time to put her earring aids back on? 

“But Tita, she-” “You hag that’s not-”

“No fighting darlings.” Her switchblade found itself stuck on the seat that both girls were leaning on. Looking back at Blair’s face made the two women forget they were dying of heat a few moments ago. Her eyes looked colder than the steel of  the blade stuck next to them. “Sit down.”

Benjamin was quietly enjoying the sight of his wife and newfound peace. That woman managed to make everyone so well-behaved, they even gave her knife back on their own. When all was said and done, she unplugged her earring aids and went back to sleep. Although, not before sharing a quiet laugh with the man of life. The same kind they had when they were sneaking off in their late 20s, just thirty years later.

I love how useful you are to me, resonated Benjamin’s dysfunctional heart.

I love how useful you made me, echoed Blair’s ever bleeding lump of meat.

Miraculously, the traffic was finally moving again! Bless you, inner peace!

Now that the storm had passed, Ingrid’s seat partner in the trunk fidgeted with his phone with ease despite his awkward posture. It took him a minute before speaking: “There’s a Viet diner twenty minutes from here, Jefe.”

“Y’all got a complaint about Oscar’s choice?”

“Whatever.” “None at all.” “No…” “He’s the only one I trust out of these fools.”

Goddammit Ingrid.

“ Who are you a calling a fool-”

“One more word,” growled Benjamin, “try me and you will forfeit more than your paycheck.” He had not even taken his eyes off the road but he could feel the potential argument die off quicker than his employees could even return to their seats.

Ingrid was still seething but Oscar grabbed her arm without hesitation. “Pick your fight.” Her response was to snuggle next to him. Everything about her, her pride, attitude, strength, it all came crumbling down in silence. Oscar sighed before giving her an airpod and sharing his music with her.

Dora was left frustrated but decided to let her anger go. In the process, her eyes focused into the scenery outside. Although traffic had improved, being more fluid than inert matter was not exactly praiseworthy. At least, it was relaxing? Well… it was, until they stopped at a certain light:

“Woohoo! C’mon guys! Let’s get going!”

Nothing unusual here, just some flying dickheads. “Have fun with the traffic y’all!” yelled the second one like he was a comedic genius. It shouldn’t be considered a crime to shoot them down, thought Benjamin.

Rohan seemed to agree as he took off his sunglasses and intensely stared at the troublemakers. Despite how free they seemed to be at the moment, they were making mistakes. Too much energy output on that movement, too little on that one. It did not take an expert to realize just how little control they really had over their powers, no matter how impressive they may be. Among that group, even those that could fly actually took a few steps to rest before soaring back through the sky. They were young, inexperienced, and terribly cocky.

“C-ranks.”

“What?”

“No way are they higher than C-ranks.” Rohan took a water bottle from his bag. The fluorescent light emanating from it was reflected in the worrying glow from his eyes. “We could kill them.”

“No personal vendetta, Rohan.” Benjamin replied. Although, he hoped no one would notice the way he gripped the wheel tighter than before, or the way his face could barely contain the satisfaction his thoughts of violence were giving him.

“Jefe’s right,” added Oscar, “it’d just be bad publicity.” before adjusting his childish bandana over his mouth.

Ingrid sighed: “Who cares?” It took her a few seconds before approving Benjamin’s decision. “I’m not dirtying my hands for some low-hanging fruits anyway.”

“Yeah, we can do better than that.” finished Dora who was casually checking her 9mm under the watchful eye of Blair.

“You… you’re being awfully casual about this.”

The rest of the group turned to face Maurice. This made him squirm but he tried, and failed, to not show how much this bothered him. Benjamin was the one to pry him for more: “What’s strange about this?”

“Do we need to suggest murder right away?” Despite being one of the oldest people in the car, his thirty-one years of life experience seemed irrelevant in the power dynamics of this group. “They haven’t done anything, non? They seemed like nice kids beyond… you know…”

“Nobody does anything in Houston, Maurice,” answered Blair, “the only difference between these kids and our targets is that we get paid to take care of them. If you can’t accept that…” There was no malice in her voice but her eyes told a different story. The ire from those leering eyes was enough to get him to shut up.

“Don’t look so grim, Newbie!” laughed Dora as she slapped her seat partner in the back. “You get used to it and if not, you’re free to leave.” That’s right, thought Maurice, I could leave. I could leave this madness behind and go back to Louisiana.

However, an image flashed in his mind.

He could not. He could not go back. Not right now.

When he came back to reality, he saw that his hand had moved to the handle of the car’s door. He retracted it. “Good choice.” commented Rohan.

“What?”

“Tonight is your first contract. Just go with the flow and stop putting so much pressure on yourself.” Maurice stayed silent which coerced Rohan into changing tactics. “You know we are a net positive to this town, right?”

“How so?”

Rohan’s eyes glimmered. Nothing could beat going back to the books. “Maurice, do you know the percentage of people that awakened and became Saints?”

“Around 50% of the worldwide population?” 

“Right.” Rohan acknowledged without letting Maurice get away from his sight. “How many are living from their awakening?” 

“I don’t know.” admitted the newbie as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He tried to shift his focus outside but Rohan’s words proved it was futile to try and escape him.

“Take a look around the car.”

Maurice felt like crying from the sudden attention. Nevertheless, he complied. None of them could live from being Saints. Career-ending injuries, life-threatening cardiac problems, weak & useless powers against the monsters, or even mental problems… the reasons were numerous. Their situation inside this car was certainly not unique: “Less than we’re told?”

“And yet we were all fired from our previous jobs or forced to abandon our studies.” Maurice’s mood soured even further. That ‘clause’ was a curse for every Saints in the same situation as them. He was groomed to become a proficient Saint and failed. What about the rest of the people in this car, though? What did they have to give up so much?

“Does not seem very fair, now, does it?” There was a sickening playfulness to his words that even Maurice could perceive. “See, people like us, who are neither powerful enough to help with the monsters, nor weak enough to be expecting any kind of rescue, only really have two choices.”

It was quite frightening. No matter how much Maurice mulled over the question, it really seemed like there were only two choices available for them. It didn’t seem right but: “Lie about our powers or bite the bullet?”

“Lie or bite the bullet,” answered Rohan with a smile, “but once the bullet has been bitten, what?”

“Is there no alternative…?” 

“You tell me.”

Maurice hated this feeling. He was being treated like a kindergartner by this younger man. Yet, no matter his convictions or ideas prior to this debate, everything melted together when trying to think of a counterargument. Rohan always seemed right on everything. Maurice remembered his experience in Louisiana where he begged to be let back into his old job despite awakening and how he had already been replaced by an ordinary person. How 90% of the job market is reserved for those with no power to “even things out” between those that awakened and the others. 

Maurice did not have the strength to even look up anymore. “There’s none.” 

Rohan put a hand on Maurice’s back which made him shiver. “See? Saints like us are forced to turn to crime. We tried everything to exist in this unjust world. Most of the underworld is actually made of Saints from F-ranks to D-ranks. C-ranks like Mr.Hosmer who could actually hurt the monsters? They are a rarity.”

“But we’re just criminals, aren’t we?” cried Maurice, “At the end of the day, we’re just lowlives.”

“If we were like the others, maybe.”

“What?” yelled Maurice as he shot up from his previous position.

Rohan still did not break eye contact nor did he even react to this outburst. “We are better, Maurice. That is why Mr.Hosmer sought you out and you stayed.”