Heaven.

My lungs burn from running. Heckles dog me, and never before have I felt so dead,so like prey. I wonder if criminals feel the same when they run from me. I mean, I go some six-seven hundred something mph max, so escaping me must be like out-running a jet-engine.

Right now though, I'm going moped speed. The world isn't really blurring, I feel like I'm in slow-mo, and the van-villains are gaining. I can feel the earth shake and hear the purr of the van's engine. "So dead," I hear a woman say over the thrum.

"They're pathetic. Her? She's their Suicide Squad?"

I focus on my beat up sneakers and duck into an alley. I know this city like I know the buckles of my armor. I can lose them. I'll find a way.

"Owl is such a pushover, sometimes. Love her to death, but she should've taken that kid years ago and killed James while she was at it."

I flinch. Owl? Owl is a pushover? These aren't the type of people I'd like to meet in a dark alley.

Oh, wait.

The city reeks of garbage and decay, and I gasp to breathe. Brick and graffiti surround me, a skimpy wire fence marking the end of the alley and the beginning of someone's "yard." I dive for a hole at the fence's base as the van squeals to a stop. Strands of hair whip in my face, asphalt ripping holes at the knees of my jeans. I wriggle through the wire, shredding my perfectly good WWE tee.

(So I have the fashion sense of a nine-year-old boy. So what?)

My sleeve catches on the hole's twisted edges, and I bite back a slew of cuss words. I never signed up for this.  I should be saving kids from candy-pedaling strangers instead of crawling through killer strings of rusty steel.

Click. Click. Click.

My heart thuds. I suck in a breath and lunge, kicking for bloody life.

"Cute." I'm barely through the fence when someone grabs my ankles. I thrash and howl, snatching loose handfuls of gravel in my fists. Another yank. My head hits brick, and the fight leaves me in a daze. It's just a second of incomprehension on my part, but that's all they need. A bag's jammed over my head, my wrists held against the street.

"What the hell is your problem?" I'm still kicking, energy draining. Think, Hev, think. "What do you want from me!"

They absolutely lose it, howling like maniacs. I throw the pebbles in their faces, kicking like a turtle to get to my feet.

This goes as well as you'd think it would. "Huh," says a woman. The hard, rubbery tread of her boot meets my stomach and I go flying. My shirt catches on the fence's barbed loops, and I hang there for a second, a few feet above the ground and trying to catch my breath. I rip the hood off. A shadowy group surrounds me on all sides. One, two, three, four members. With superpowers. 

"Spunky little kid," says one gang member. 

"What powers does she have?"

I kick off the wire, lunging for the group. If I could just get through them. A woman slams me back, her hand on my neck. She tilts her head, motioning for the others. They move toward me.

"I don't want to fight you," I say, deepening my voice so I sound like I have some mystical power I'm scared of unleashing. A length of polished wood shimmers under the dim moonlight that someone pounds against their hands. A...bat? Does someone have a bat? Oh. Well. I won't escape this without a couple of broken ribs. I squirm to get the woman's hand off my throat.

Slap. Slap. Slap. The bat-wielder steps closer. "Superhero," she says with a sickened little hiss. It sounds like the opening to a page-long monologue, and I roll my eyes as she stomps up. "Glorified sadist. Tell me, hero, do you enjoy beating the life out of 'criminals?' Is that why you signed up for this?"

My mouth drops open. I'm so shocked at the question I can't even think up an answer. The woman's so close I make out fuzzy details. Long blonde hair that shimmers white under the moonlight, narrowed brown eyes, and a red half-face mask.

"I...I go light on them," I say, scrambling to defend my honor. I'm still kicking and scratching, but the question hits hard. I'm not a brute and I'm not a sadist. Violence begets violence; sometimes a little force is necessary. "I do what I do because my city deserves to be safe. I have powers, so I use them."

"Oh, look," she coos, "you're breaking curfew. That's illegal, you know. I guess I should use my superpowers to punish you."

I glare. "I don't act like that! I don't punish people, I apprehend them!" The woman swipes her fingers down the bat and it bursts into a red glow that lights up the alley. I continue, staring, trying to place it. "I'm not a vigilante, I help the police catch dangerous criminals or clean Graffiti or whatever!"

I've seen weapons glow like that before, but only in clips and documentaries about the Golden-Agers, the superheroes Starlight looked up to before everything went to shit.

There was this one superhero, Jupiter. He was beautiful in battle, streaking through the city like a knight in his polished, silver armor. He was so fast and such a good swordsman, he could deflect bullets right off his sword. It was like magic. When he swiped his fingers across the blade, it shimmered with bright blue light. I didn't know what it meant or why it did that, but it was one of the prettiest things I had ever seen.

Slap. Slap. Slap. I squirm, screaming bloody murder. So I'm wimping out on this one. A minute passes. I wait for a superhero to show, but no one comes. No tell-tale streak across the sky, no "Unhand the young lady!" No hero to rescue me. Not even the shriek of police sirens. Just the darkness of the sky. I'm alone.

The woman with the bat laughs. My heart jumps.

This city is usually crawling with heroes. I mean, there's been a bit of a decline, but I can't be the only superhero left in Starlight. All this time, I couldn't be the only person out there to stop the robberies, the assaults, the theft, and the murder. When someone needed help, when they shouted for a hero, I couldn't have been the only one out there. Could I?

My head pounds, and for a second, I go limp. I remember shirking on my duties to search for Gats. Oh. Oh, no.

I was asleep for a week!  What happened? How many people got hurt when I wasn't patrolling? How many people cried for a super and got no answer? A city without heroes...

I blink hard. I failed my people.

The woman swings her bat, a flicker of red like a moon above my head.

"Hev?" someone calls. "Heaven? Are you alright?"

People definitely got hurt because of my disappearance. 

I try my best, but I need help. I never get a break. Never, ever get a second to catch my breath. It's school, fighting crime, watching Angel and Gats, patrol, and oh, hey, fighting more crime, while I'm at it.

There were other superheroes before, I mean, Crossword King and The Incredible Label Maker weren't that helpful, but why did they leave?

I tell myself to pull it together. The bat hits. Right in the stomach.

For a second I draw blank, unable to process what happened. Then a weird sound cuts from deep in my throat and it aches in my chest, back, and stomach to breathe. My knees curl to my chest instinctively, my hands up. So I get hurt a lot. So what? I don't want to fight these people. This isn't saving kids from rushing traffic or stopping seniors from having their life savings stolen. I just want to survive this. And Lord, I bet I look just like Angel, cowering when I should fight. But I'm tired and my powers still suck and I'm trapped.

"Hey! Hey! What the hell are you doing?" I look up, and the woman with her hand on my throat drops me. I hit the ground.

"Gats, get out of here!" I rasp, the world spinning and the words sending stabs of pain in my sides.

"Heaven!"

I'm curled in a little ball on the ground, trying not to move. The women giggle, the bat's devilish glow lighting up the alley.

"Aww!"

"He's so cute."

"Here, kitty! Here kitty, kitty!" A woman clicks her tongue. I try to take advantage of the situation and crawl away. She slams the bat over my shoulders, leaving me sprawling, the world crashing around me in stars and spirals.

"Leave her alone! She didn't do anything to you!" Gats shouts. I cringe, lifting my head from the loose rocks to see him rush up.

"Gats, no!" I expect them to whale him. Instead, he flings himself in the air, throwing a graceful array of spin-kicks. It's kind of pretty. He slams one woman into a brick wall, knocking her out cold.

Before he can do any more damage, the others snatch him, still giggling and cooing. Gats' face goes red. He kicks and screams. I try to stand, but I can't. My legs just don't work like they're supposed to. It's like my whole body's a shell. I growl and try to stand. I drop.

I have to give Gats credit, he tried. The villains tie him up so fast, it's like they don't want to bother. Like torturing him is boring compared to me. He hits the ground at my side, struggling and writhing. He sees me and settles down a little, flashing me a nervous smile, pale and trembling.

Not again...I feel if I focus hard enough, I can hear his thoughts. Or maybe I'm just thinking the same thing. After everything we did to escape. This?

It pisses me off, seeing him so boyish and young and scared. It's enough to break me from my pity party.

"Can you believe it?"

"The cutest thing."

"I know!"

I swing to my feet, the shock of pain so strong I almost fall right back down again. I tell myself I don't need to get far anyway. The world is a gray blur, and the blonde woman knocks me off my feet with a swing of her bat. I try getting up and she does it again. I wonder if this is some sort of game to her. Funny. Beating me to a bloody pulp. She hits me again and again. I spit, blood and saliva.

Gats cries out. "Stop it! Just stop it! Please!"

That's all it takes, a quick redirection of focus. They look at him just a second too long, then back at me. "Snare wants her?" There's a second of quiet. Then a snort. "Let them have her."

"Owl will be so mad."

"Not if we give her the useful one."

Oh. Not again. Not after everything we did. Not Syndicate. Maybe the neutral supervillains would treat Gats with human decency, but Syndicate...

I'm suddenly cold. Syndicate is the bad guy of bad guys. Neutrals want money. Snare wants turf. But Syndicate? They want more, much more. And God knows what that "more" is. I don't know what they'd do to Gats or what they'd use him for. An agent? An unwilling villain? An exotic pet?

"Don't." It hurts to speak.  I hold out my wrists. "You wanted me, didn't you? Just freaking kidnap me! Or kill me! Whatever!"

"No," Gats says, so quiet I almost don't hear him. I'm boiling up, so frustrated I want to find a pillow and scream my lungs into it. A villain picks up Gats and slings him over her shoulder. He struggles. I'm on my feet. He yowls and claws and shrieks until they have enough and a woman throws a nasty blow to his head. He shuts up. I run, or at least try, staggering, swaying, and biting back squeaks of pain. Everything hurts. I feel like I should be dead.

"Come on, Rose," says one villain, "just take her out of her misery."

"Why should I?" asks the woman holding the bat.

The other shrugs in reply. Gats' eyes meet mine for a split-second and my heart plunges in my chest. He looks so scared, his blue eyes big and bright and flashing.  The villains throw him in the van's back and I try really, really hard to move, to give some sort of chase. I stagger and fall, stagger and fall. While I try to stand, the van spits exhaust and speeds off, kicking up loose bits of gravel in my face.

Gone. I watch them leave as I lie sprawled on the ground. I hardly process it. They have Gats. Gatsby. My best friend. My boyfriend.  I pound my fists into the street and scream until my voice is gone and my knuckles are skinned raw.

Everything we did, every battle we fought, was for nothing.