I shouldn't have googled myself. I didn't have a choice, but what I know now...is hard to take in. The words are branded into my brain, condemning me every time I close my eyes.

TWELVE DEAD AND TWENTY CRITICALLY INJURED.

WEST QUARTER HERO HEADQUARTERS SINGLE-HANDEDLY DEMOLISHED BY SUPERVILLIAN, BLANK SLATE.

THOUSANDS MOURN THE DEATH OF OUR BELOVED STORM CELL LEADER, VULPINE, AND CALL FOR JUSTICE TO BE BROUGHT UPON HER MURDERER, BLANK SLATE.

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE: BLANK SLATE. POWER LEVEL: ESTIMATED TEN. POWER: UNKNOWN. CITIZENS: REPORT, DO NOT ENGAGE. HEROES: DO NOT ENGAGE WITHOUT TEAM.

I am a murderer. A villain. I deserve to be the most wanted in West Quarter. All those people...that building I took down...I did it. I hurt them. Killed them.

Dropping my gaze to my hands, imaginary blood coating my palms. Maybe a normal person would be repulsed, disgusted, or even guilty, but all that fills my mind is one blinding question: why?

Why did I do it? Why did I kill when I have a rule against killing? I had morals then; that much is clear from the auto-played message.

I didn't want to kill. I didn't want to use my power on a living being. I didn't think I was evil. What on earth could make me break my own rules? What was so bad, so drastic, that it pushed me to take down an entire building?

Something in my insides twists, a phantom chill ghosting through my veins and congregating in my hands and spine. In my mind's eye my power pulsates in my veins, glowing with impossibly bright light.

Superpowers are measured in strength on an exponential scale of one to ten, with most heroes being threes or fours. The strongest are eights, possibly nines, and very rarely, tens. Elevens are not supposed to exist.

I am not supposed to exist.

A wry smile tugs at the edge of my mouth, the edges of amusement sharpening at the corners. I can't be normal, can I? Of course, I could be lying about being an eleven, but I am inclined to think it's true.

The pictures of the heroes' headquarters are proof enough. I left it a puddle of concrete with chunks of steel, wires, glass, and other random assorted things sticking out everywhere. A ten couldn't do that—not to a seven-story building.

Maybe the act of jumping from a nine to an eleven made me go a bit nuts. Maybe I lost control. That much power...and if it is as easy as a single touch... A shudder runs down my spine and I struggle to shake it off.

With a sigh sliding through my teeth,I lift my hand to run it over my curls. My sleeve slips, and I pause as a flash of black catches my eye. On my inner wrist is a startlingly realistic tattoo of a viper coiled around a nine of spades, its mouth open wide and fangs dripping venom.

I run my finger over the viper's body, brows furrowing. It seems important. Symbolic. Sentimental, almost.

When did I get it? Why did I get it? I...I didn't think I was the kind to get tattoos. They just seem pointless, unless they represent something extremely special. But what could be so important about a viper and a nine of spades?

The static in my head buzzes louder, throbbing in time to a building headache. Everything in my head is floating around in a cluttered mess like a corrupted file of source code. If only I could find an easy way to answer all my questions, like asking someone who knew me. If only I could—

Wait. My coffee shop friend, Dan, knew me. He knew my old self—at least my civilian alias. Maybe I could ask him. Carefully, of course, but it would be better than throwing question after question into Google, not knowing lies from augmented truth.

Then again, Dan's a hero, one of the ones specifically looking for me. Talking to him would be extremely dangerous, especially if he found out that I don't remember anything. Besides, it would be breaking one of my rules.

That didn't stop you before, a part of me mutters. How could he be your friend if you didn't talk to him? No, he's your best lead. It's worth the risk.

But is it? What happens if he finds out? He would be concerned, most likely, and would want to know how it happened. I can't tell him that, but I could come up with a good alibi. It could work.

I squint at the tattoo and lower my arm. It's a possibility, but it'd have to be a good alibi. Maybe a...head injury? I'll think of something, but not now. It is late and my mind is too stuffed full of fuzz and sparks from an entire day of googling.

With a long sigh, I stand and head to the bathroom. Nudging the door open, I flick on the light and freeze, eyes locking with a haggard-looking face in the mirror.

Instead of bright brown eyes alight with light and mischief that I remember from my childhood, my eyes stare at me from sunken sockets, heavy bags sagging underneath an invisible weight. Pale brown hair sits on top of my head in a curly, wind-blown mess, contrasting the neat, lush curls my dad loved to ruffle.

Did...destroying the heroes' headquarters take this big of a toll on me? It doesn't seem right. It is an upsetting thing, yes, but I was a villain. I did wrong things all the time. It shouldn't have made me so upset that I would wipe my own memories, right?

There has to be something more to it. Maybe Dan knows what it is—he's a part of the Storm Cell team, after all. Or maybe he has some clue that can help me. Either way, I am going to ask him.

●↽—01000010—⇁●

[You have reached your destination.]

Lowering my arm and shaking away the GPS hologram, I study the shop in front of me. It is small, tucked into a corner on a road off the main street, huddled behind a wall of plants. Hunger's End, reads the clap-board sign next to the entrance. Hero friendly.

So this is the shop my citizen alias' social media is littered with pictures of. It's smaller than I thought it was, but just as cozy-looking as the pictures portrayed.

I step past the outside tables and enter the shop, the scent of coffee and baked goods hitting my face with a bell's jingle.

"Hey, Denizen!" calls the cashier, a bright smile on her face. "The usual?"

"Yes please."

Nodding, the cashier swipes a few holoitems onto a command chip's screen. I hold out my hand and she taps the c-chip on my holowatch, a beep signaling, 'transaction complete'.

With a nod and a few more words, I retreat to a secluded outside table where I can observe everyone who comes and goes. The chill of my power lingers in my fingers, evidence of my jangled nerves.

I flex them in my pockets, breathing deeply and pushing back at the chill. How did I ever pass as a normal citizen with these oversensitive powers?

"Chirp!" A little metal dragon about the size of a pigeon swoops towards me, carrying a plate of HHH potato bread and ham sandwich in its claws. Flaring its wings, it sets down the plate and dashes away, returning moments later with a drink.

I take it from the dragon, watching it flap off to serve other customers. Maybe this is why I liked this place: it uses dragon delivery-bots for waiters.

"Denizen!"

Ice jolts through my fingers, and it takes all the training I remember from Ten School to not blank my drink. Putting it down and shoving my hands under the table, I snap my head towards the man approaching me.

With bright blue hair, a navy leather jacket over a startlingly white shirt, a confident walk, and vibrant blue boots, he is the exact opposite of an unassuming and inconspicuous figure the name Dan suggests.

"It's good to see you!" Dan slides into a chair opposite me, dark eyes darting over my face. "How's life been treating you?"

"Fine enough." Keeping my expression cool, I lean back into my chair, pulse thudding in my ears. Calm down. You can do this—just act natural. Not that I know what natural looks like, but still.

Dan frowns, leaning one elbow on the table and flicking his gaze over my face. "Are you sure? You don't look so good, if you don't mind me saying."

"I'm fine. Work's just been stressing me out lately." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know they are a mistake.

Dan's expression clouds, brows wrinkling. "Oh? It was going great last time I heard. What changed?"

Shoot. Forcing my power down, I grab my sandwich and take a large bite that awakens a ravenous hunger. What can I tell him that he would believe? A change in boss? Office? Coworkers? The possibility of him knowing about those more than I do are too great, but switching topics would raise more red flags.

"I um..." I glance down at my plate. "...deleted an important file. And the backups."

"By accident?"

Eyes narrowing, I flick my gaze to him. "Of course." Does he suspect me of sabotage, the kind a villain would do? Is he on to me? Don't get ahead of yourself. He's just being a friend.

Dan nods slowly, smoothing back a strand of hair. "Can't you restore from the last save?"

"If I could, I would have already."

A flicker of movement lifts Dan's eyebrows. "Aren't there protocols that make it impossible to be unable to restore saves?"

Are there? All the things I remember about coding flash through my head, but none tell me of any protocols like that. Shoot. He knows more about coding—or at least my job—than I do!

Shaking my vision free of stray curls, I heave a sigh and pull my expression into what I hope is a somewhat guilty, weary look. "Look, it's complicated. Can we not talk about this?"

"Oh! Of course, of course." He smiles apologetically, his eyebrows arched over his eyes like two cresting waves, and briefly raises his hands in acquiescence. "You're probably sick of thinking about it. Sorry."

I nod and gather my thoughts, some tension leaking from my shoulders. Phew. Now I can ask my questions.

But just as I open my mouth, Dan speaks. "So, how's the plants coming along? Finally beat those aphids?"

The half smile freezes on my face. Aphids? I am a plant lover? Me? A villain? "Uhh..." Should I say they're gone? Still there? Multiplying? "...still fighting. They're almost gone."

Dan nods, adjusting his jacket. "About time. What about the Touch Me Nots?"

"The what?" The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them, splatting on the table between us like a bucket of paint.

Shadows flit across Dan's face and he pauses, turning his full attention to me, a quizzical curve to his mouth. "You know, your Touch Me Not."

What on earth is a Touch Me Not and why aren't you supposed to touch it?

My face must have reflected my thoughts as Dan arches an eyebrow. "The one you've been trying to grow for weeks?"

"Uhhhh..." Thoughts crash through the static in my head, bouncing around like crazed squirrels trapped in a cardboard box. They're too wild and uncoordinated for me to grab onto one and shove it into a coherent reply, and with each bounce, sparks of my power build in my hands, threatening to explode.

I stare at him, a blaze of alarm leaping up my spine two vertebrae at a time. I can't think—barely hold back the ice fire screaming to turn the table into scraps of metal. But I have to hold back. I have to think. Everything depends on it.

"What happened on the day we last met?"

The squirrels burst out of the box, disappearing into the static, leaving me with only the pounding of my pulse in my head. "What?"

"Just answer the question."

"Why does that matter?"

Dan just shakes his head, a strange intensity to his expression. "What is my favorite animal? What does 'yes, m'orb' mean? How many times have you tried growing Touch Me Nots?"

"Woah, woah. Why are you interrogating me?" I narrow my eyes, wiping my simultaneously sweaty and freezing palms on my pant legs. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm!

Our gazes lock and a jolt of ice sizzles through my veins and freezes my heart. Dan's citizen's mask is gone, replaced by the fiercely intense look of a hero.

He's on to me.

Shoot, shoot, shoot!

Dan leans forwards, gripping the edge of the table. "Denizen, do you remember anything we've ever talked about?"

"I—" Sweat slides down my back and moistens my palms. I—can't deny this anymore. He's caught me and I have no more escape holes to run to. "No."

Dan's gaze crawls over my skin and I drop my eyes to the half eaten sandwich on my plate, blood roaring in my ears. Cold fire burns in my fingers, and when I close my eyes, they are glowing as bright as a flashlight in a pitch black room.

"Denizen, what happened?" His voice is dangerously low and calm.

I glance at him then away to the plants hedging the tables and surreptitiously snag one of the garden decorations. Taking a deep breath, I release my power and the first excuse I can think of. "It just—was a wild night. Drank too much; you know how it is." Please believe me. Please just believe it.

"Wine doesn't make you forget entire months of memories." A hand, surprisingly strong, lands on my arm. "This is serious. When did this happen? How much have you forgotten? Did you go to the doctor?"

I turn on him, jerking my arm out of his grasp, a snarl lodging in my throat. Don't touch me, I want to snap, but swallow back. Angering him would make this rotten situation even worse. "Yesterday. And...no."

Horror rounds Dan's eyes. "YESTERDAY? DENIZEN! Do you know how potentially life threatening memory loss is? You could have died in your sleep! Parasite! You could even die right now!" He leaps to his feet, knocking his chair over with a clatter. "I'm taking you to the hospital immediately."

A flash of static made of needles and electrical sparks stabs through my chest. "NO! You can't do—"

Dan shakes his head, grabbing my arm, jaw set. "I'm sorry I have to do this to you, but you don't get a choice. You might have serious brain damage and I'm not letting you die on my watch!"

"But—" Dan tugs and I stumble forwards. Regaining my feet, I whip my head up and begin to jerk away.

Dan stares at me with a look so firm and unyielding that I freeze. He stands straight now, shoulders stiff and knees slightly bent as if he's ready to leap into action at any second—the impeccable picture of a hero.

Dan—this Dan—is not my friend. He is a hero, full of strength and loyalty, not an innocent citizen that would be satisfied by my lies. I was a fool to think I could get any information out of him.

"The game is up," a voice hisses from the deeper recesses of the static in my head, "and now it's time to burn our way out."

I grit my teeth and wrench my eyes away. Burning out of this would be shaking him off and running. Burning out of this would be swinging around and punching him in the face. Burning out of this would mean throwing everything into the fire and skyrocketing my losses into the thousands.

No. I can't do that. I have to go with him; play along; minimize the damage as much as possible. Go to the hospital, lose him, and leave as fast as possible. That's something I can do.

Letting my shoulders drop and stuffing my hands into my pockets, I sigh. "Fine."

Dan flashes a small grin, his citizen mask settling over the harder edges of his hero identity. "Glad to see some sense is still in you."

He leads me to his hovercar and I reluctantly get inside. A blue light briefly shimmers over me as I buckle in and as it disappears, a holowindow pops up beside Dan.

Glancing at it, he waves it away, jaw clenched tighter than it was before. "Security scan," he explains as I shoot him a look. "Nothing to worry about; I've authorized you."

As we pull out, I lean my head back on the headrest and squeeze my eyes shut. Don't talk to heroes. If I'd only followed that rule, I wouldn't be in this mess. As soon as I get rid of him, I am following that rule to the T. This isn't worth it—not one bit.