"Well, you look tired."

I glance up from my notebook, where I'd been attempting to draw a bird that landed in the window by the register. A woman with gray hair pulled back into braids and multiple flowy garments draped across her body stands before me. She gives me a small, well-meaning smile, setting two stacked pots and a bouquet of tulips on the counter in front of me.

The loud noise startles the bird and he flies off. I try not to feel disappointed, setting my sketchbook down. I begin to ring up the woman's items, giving her a small smile and glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.

"Late night. Work," is my excuse to the lady. She quirks an eyebrow.

"In a flower shop?" A reasonable follow up question, honestly. It's not like I'm even open late, I close at five every day. My evenings are pretty much always free.

"Was making that," I tell her, pulling up the pay screen which immediately starts flashing at her to insert her card. I motion over to a crocheted ladybug that I technically made the day before yesterday, but whatever, she wasn't here. As soon as the woman's gaze lands on it, her expression brightens up.

"It's so cute! How much?"

I shrug, already cancelling the pay screen and adding in a custom charge that I title LADYBUG.

"Like ten dollars." I decide, unaware if that's even reasonable. Despite being a business owner for multiple years, I still have no idea how much anything I make is worth. Well, except the flowers. I can price the flowers, hence being a florist. Crocheted ladybugs? No clue.

The woman's eyebrows raise like that's a steal, grabbing the bug and adding it to her pile. "Done."

By the time the woman is out of there, after making two more impulse purchases, it's almost time to close. It's not that she was in here all that long, time just kind of flew today. I haven't been able to stop thinking about last night. Maybe it's just anticipation for today.

After I flip the open sign and lock the door, I turn up the volume on the TV by my counter. I flip through stations until I find a news channel that specializes in hero and villain activity. Sure enough, I'm immediately met with the sight of a butterfly-haired girl with a too-wide grin.

The screen cuts to the image of four people sitting at a news desk, the two at the center doing most of the talking. The woman who speaks has an intense, heavy expression on her face.

"Now, for our next story, breaking overnight: we've finally been able to get behind the scenes, and it's ugly. By far, this is the worst we've seen from Monarch. Sal?"

Wow, perfect timing. Then again, this is all they've been reporting about all day.

The man next to her responds. "That's right, Melanie. Just last night villain organization Monarch, lead by the infamous Delta, infiltrated a Villain Reform Institution on Jan's Way Boulevard. Not only did they free multiple dangerous criminals, but sensitive data was also stolen and many inmate treatment records dating back decades were made public. Scary stuff."

"I'll say," Melanie LaRona agrees, an exaggeratedly solemn expression on her face. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. They weren't criminals. You don't need to purposely commit a crime to be thrown in a villain correctional facility or prison, all you have to do is scare someone a little too much.

Or be a severe biohazard.

No, nevermind, that one's reasonable.

"Monarch was a threat before, of course, but this is their worst work yet. The public is pushing for something to finally be done, for these crazy people to finally be taken seriously. Here is what Mayor Nadia Saleh had to say about this crisis."

The screen cuts to a woman at a podium. She has dark, pink-straight green hair pulled back into a high ponytail, as well as a full, perfectly tailored suit. Her face is serious as camera flashes spark around the screen, the woman closing her eyes and waiting for the reporters to calm down.

She's one of the youngest mayors the city has ever seen. She's also pretty good. I mean, I voted for her.

"As you all know, our Department of Villain Affairs—or, alternatively, DVA—works tirelessly around the clock to ensure the safety of Solace International and its precious citizens." The woman begins.

"This breach has changed everything. Monarch's betrayal of the citizens and history of corruption have already hurt this city enough. They are now at the top of our priority list and they will be brought to justice. Our experts and top heroes are on it, as well as Solace's amazing police department."

Bang bang bang.

I jump a bit, my gaze shooting over to figure out what interrupted my news. It doesn't take me too long to spot the culprits, standing on the other side of the front door of my shop. It's almost entirely glass, so I find them plain as day. Two kids stand on the other side, both around eight or nine years old. They have their faces pressed to the glass, one boy and one girl. Siblings from down the road, I believe their grandmother owns the bakery over there.

I can't help the small smile on my face as I head over, unlocking the door and feeling the cool autumn breeze brush my face and blow some of the flower petals around my shop entrance.

"Mr. Wells," the boy addresses me seriously, all business, using my cover name. I still go by Sunny, but I've been freed from the plague of my real last name for multiple reasons, including an identity cover. Wells was the name Delta gave me, I'm not sure where it came from. Possibly the water reservoir. "We got more."

His sister holds out a handful of deflated balloons in various states of disrepair, most likely having been found nearby. There is some sort of party venue around here and they are horrible about managing their balloon waste specifically. The deflated silicone and plastic always end up scattered around here, and the birds choke on it.

I hold out my garden glove-clad hands and take the handful from the girl, giving her a smile. "Thank you. One second."

I take the handful over to my trash and dispose of it, shutting the lid afterward and heading to my drawer. I find my stash of individually wrapped strawberry candies, my personal favorite, and grab four.

When I turn around, the kids have made themselves at home.

They do this sometimes, usually when it's cold out. I have a deal with them that if they bring me the old deflated balloons, then I'll compensate them with candy. Usually they're content to just take their payment and leave, but not now. Not only have they entered the closed shop, but they're watching the news.

The news isn't interesting to children, so I'm briefly confused. Then I realize who's on it.

A hooded figure, silhouette triangularized by a cloak, is centered on the screen. It's only a photo, though there is a slow motion video playing off to the side of the figure and Delta, Delta in the middle of a fight and the figure off to the side, surrounded by people. People who drop one by one over the course of the video.

The hooded figure has glowing red eyes, and that's all anyone has ever seen of his face. Scythe like knives line his arms, curving out near his shoulders, all of which fit together to create a silhouette generally viewed as terrifying. The grim reaper. The boogeyman. The—

"The Executioner also made an appearance, taking the lives of one of the facility's top scientists and two security guards." A voiceover announces.

I sigh, but I don't wince. I used to.

I try to distract the kids. "Here you go, have a good day."

They don't get the hint that I want them to leave, both children staring up at the screen with looks of some sort of fascinated fear. When one of them notices the candy, they move on, their attention turning to my gloved hand as they both reach out to take their rewards.

"He's so scary," the girl remarks, eyes lingering on the TV as the reporters begin speculation about The Executioner's ability and involvement, the figure widely regarded as an enigma since his first appearance with Monarch several years ago. Nobody knows his name, his face, his voice, how his ability works—nothing.

"Oh yeah. I heard he can kill you with one look."

"No way," the girl shakes her head in disbelief. "He's looking at the camera. See? The camera man would be dead if that was true."

Hm. Smart girl. That observation seems to have her brother thinking, looking up at the TV inquisitively.

"You can't even tell! It's just red dots!"

I turn it off.

"Oops, TV's broken," I say apologetically, ignoring the resounding groans as I urge the kids toward the exit. The girl has already finished her candies somehow. The boy still has both of his.

The children bid me farewell after a few more comments on random things. I lock the door behind them, feeling strangely relieved. Not for myself, for them. They're no longer in danger, they're away from me.

I throw on some sitcom that always comes on around this time as I count the till and handle all the financial data entry and accounting. I'm closing up shop within the hour, and I'm so excited to go home. Even if home is literally my apartment upstairs. I get to see my friends.

It's a two-bedroom apartment with half the walls covered in plants and the other half in art. I ignore my own bedroom as I make my way down the carpeted hallway, reaching my fish a moment later.

I have two aquariums on opposite sides of the medium sized room, the rest of which is filled with supplies I've heard I use obsessively to properly care for the fish and maintain correct water quality and PH, etcetera. I have ten fish total, all with their own names and personalities, and my expression brightens at the sight of them.

"Hello, everyone," I greet them all, beginning to get my supplies ready to feed them. "How was your day?"

They're probably answering me, I just can't hear them since they're underwater and also don't speak English. Either way I hum occasionally as though I'm listening as I begin my typical maintenance routine, taking care of the fish and making sure they're all good for the night. The whole process takes another hour, maybe a bit more.

Then it's time to make dinner.

Except, as soon as I open the fridge—

Bzzzzzt bzzzzzt.