I slide my right middle finger down the page of my finances notebook, still amazed by what Foul Play and I have accomplished. In a handful of weeks, I have donated more money to charitable organisations than most people will in their entire life.

I glance at the confirmed transaction on my laptop's screen, inking the details into the assigned boxes, beginning with today's date: February 1st, 02/01.

The money I am using is not from yesterday's activities, I always wait for the coast to be clear, which Cheryl is tasked with deciding. Although Gotham City's banking institutions are not very pervasive, it is wiser not to attract attention with reckless expenses involving new money. They might start asking questions, merely hoping to collect a "fair" sum in exchange for their discretion. Also, while they might not warn the police, that does not mean that law enforcement will never investigate my account, justifying my careful methods even further.

The sound of Persephone's running faucet ends, emitted by my cellphone's speakers. I am sitting at the small desk in my bedroom, and my phone is resting on it to my computer's left.

"'Kay, I'm done. So, if I'm still following, Scott invited Colin and you to his engagement party, and you were saying you wouldn't mind going, but..?"

I hear a ripping sound coming from her environment.

"What are you making?"

"Pasta, but keep going! I'm all ears."

My bedroom is plunged in artificial lighting, because I closed the blinds and curtains as a precaution, plus the unrelenting rain outside makes the afternoon seem like nighttime.

"I can't, you're making me too hungry," I taunt her.

"Shut up, Tan-tan! Just tell me!" My long-distance friend half-groans, half-laughs.

"How can I tell you if I'm supposed to shut up?"

I close the tab of UNICEF's website, hearing her scoff over the clicking of a wooden spoon against a solid surface.

"I just think it's weird that he invited us, the couple, you know? He didn't invite Colin, then Tanza, his coworkers. He invited his friends who are partners, at least that's how it felt like."

"I see... Did you get an individual invitation?"

"No, that's the thing, his fiancee sent us both the same one and it has our two names on it. Is that weird? I mean, Scott and Mi-Young are kinda strange, sometimes, but... I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."

"Well, isn't Colin basically the most awesome boyfriend known to humankind?"

"Yeah. He is... Perfect, as close as you can get to it."

"Okay. And this Scott guy's closer to me in age, right? I think treating people as a unit once they get together is just an age thing. Y'know, he's in another mindset, his love life or whatever is completely different. Did you consider that?"

I sigh. "I have, I know he's just excited for Colin and I, in his mind we're meant to be or something..."

"You think you are going to break up before the party?"

Unease ripples through me as she gently speaks out what I dread.

"What happens, then, Seph? And what if Scott's whole thing gives Colin any ideas? I mean, he's older, what if he feels the pressure to rush into something with me that neither of us want?"

Persephone chuckles, reassuring me, "If he proposes after seeing one card, no matter how amazing you are, he's not in his right mind. You'll be better off. Just do what feels right, and if Scott doesn't want you by yourself at his engagement party, so what? Don't go to the damn thing and have some real fun instead. Go roller skating or buy something nice or watch a movie and go to your favorite restaurant..!"

"I don't want us to break up, but I... I just don't know how long I can keep this up!" I confess, staring at the closed book.

It represents the only paper trail I know of that could hint to my actions as a vigilante.

She inquires, "Keep what up?"

Lying.

~

(i heard Russell called you in. are you OK?)

(❤)

My eyes were riveted to Colin's text messages, the red heart almost cutting into my eyeballs...

I sighed shakily, resting my body's entire weight against the bathroom stall's inner wall. Doctor Russell's voice clashed loudly in my head, every word he had hissed at me repeated endlessly into a deafening yell.

"Some people think that your whole non-binary shtick is unnatural and you cannot disturb your patients with all that pronoun nonsense! These people don't care, Constanza!"

"I assure you that it was an accident, Doctor..."

"Did I ask for an explanation? You're lucky I'm not going to report your supposed 'accident' to the board. This is a workplace, Ms. Aguayo, not a gay festival. Keep your personal life out of your practice, if you have any respect for your colleagues and your patients!"

"I was not trying to make anyone uncomfortable, it was an..."

"You think you're SO special, don't you? You're not. You are nothing. And no one owes you any respect! You. Don't. Matter. What matters here is that your patients get the care they need. We're not here to burden and irritate people with our little ideals!"

That was Sunday, four days ago. I still have not discussed the matter with anyone, not even with Persephone when we called earlier today. I did not want to overwhelm myself with additional emotions right before a tiring 10-to-10 shift. I fully intend to finally stop dodging Colin's questions and address the situation, tomorrow.

Every time I attempt to show vulnerability around my boyfriend, which is a rare happenstance, I become petrified. I can't bring myself to do it. He wants the cool paramedic, the confident, funny, smart and medically-interested Tanza, anyway. Our relationship is just fun and casual, he does not need to know my deepest deliberations. I am simply feeling guilty because I can read his thoughts, I do not actually want to trust him or rely on him...

The more the paramedic proves his loyalty, his good character and strong moral values, the more I am reminded of someone who was diametrically unlike him. A boy I had a serious relationship with. We were children, teenagers, but he meant the world to me, once upon a time.

When Colin and I hold hands, I can feel Joaquín pulling my hair. When he kisses my cheek, I feel the chilling grasp of Joaquín's arms around my waist. When he compliments me, Joaquín's voice drowns him out with slurs and insults. When we disagree, all I can hear is Joaquín screaming, outraged and puzzled.

"I thought you loved me! You can't say stuff like that to me!"

I have been painstakingly attempting to push my lingering, undetermined feelings for Joaquín away. I am tempted to experiment with telepathy to solve this issue, but... The idea itself feels wrong; locking away or tearing apart old memories with my special abilities cannot replace healing, it's denial.

I was organizing my first aid bag and stocking it, teaching Maximilian my method. Presently, the both of us are walking back into the EMTs' break room. I lift my eyes to read the digital clock on the right-side wall, it is 8h29 AM.

Leah raises her head away from her cellphone.

"Hey, guys! What did you have for breakfast? I just found this artic..!"

The lights suddenly shut off, along with the fans, letting us hear the violent impact of raindrops on the windows in the pitch black room.

With a loud humming and buzzing noise, the generators take over and pale orange lights blink into function, installed in the corners of the four walls.

I lean against a table, while the youngest of us speculates, "Do you think the storm shut off the power?"

The woman is swiping in and out of applications on her phone and answers him.

"It's raining hard, but not that hard. If anything, it's because it hasn't stopped since last night."

"You think there's a flood somew..?" I let my interrogation trail off, as our walkie-talkies' emergency lights start flashing.

I deftly turn up the volume of my radio, grabbing it to let all of us hear the transmission.

"This is Dorothy Chapman speaking. Multiple vehicles have caused a collision on Maverick Place. All units respond. Travel cautiously. Over."

The young man seizes his walkie-talkie, and mine crackles.

"This is Susan Letti speaking. Negative, Ms. Chapman. 76-1 through 4 are out already. Over."

Susan is an efficient and headstrong member of Squad 76, with bleached originally black hair. Colin and her have been acquainted since high school.

"Copy that. 76-2's GPS is out of order. 76-1, 3, 4 make contact. Over."

Out of order..? My eyes widen fearfully, and I revolve to stare at Leah.

"What if..?"

Colin. If he's out there... No, no, no, no.

"Tanza, don't worry. He's not the only one working tonight, and that GPS thing could mean anyth..." My coworker's soft words are cut off by a message.

A man gasps, panting into his microphone, "76... 3... We're on the scene, 76-2 is... Their ambulance is wrecked and... We have some damage, too. Over."

Maverick Place is one of Gotham City's largest and most travelled intersections, I refuse to let myself imagine the amplitude of the accident... "Multiple vehicles" is already such a concerning premonition. Dwelling on my morbid creativity will not save the injured victims of the crash, so I punch the speaking button of my radio.

"This is Tanza Aguayo, I'll find Scott and take 74-2. Max and Leah can leave with 74-1 right away. Over."

"Copy that. 74-1 and 2, please head to Maverick Place. Over," accepts our redheaded boss.

Scott is briefing Dr. Jenkins-Ferguson about a patient whose charts he filled sloppily, but she should send him down to the ambulance bay any minute now. Luckily, for my well-being in the workplace, she has been replacing Dr. Russell every day that I have worked since he harshly reprimanded me.

The electricity still is not in function, therefore I am pacing in the semi-darkness of the bay's backup lighting. Not one communication so far has mentioned Colin, although plenty of EMTs and other individuals are occupying the frequency. At last, the paramedic joins me and we drive out onto the unlit and obscenely unsafe streets of Gotham City. All the traffic lights are deactivated and rainwater is accumulating on the ground, which enhances our fellow Gothamites' inability to drive properly. That is without taking into account that the sudden darkness and the obliteration of any security cameras have convinced thugs and hoodlums to commit criminal acts at the early hours of their day. The chaos is amplified by zooming police vehicles and blaring firetrucks.

The first incapacitated machine we are met with at the scene is a smoldering police car, that the aggressive rain prevented from burning entirely. I easily yank open the left-sided door, while Scott opens the right. The two officers appear dead, with their heads digging into the deflated blood-stained air bags. I pull the driver back toward the seat by his wet collar, and his corpse sloshes against the headrest. However, his lacerated face, his drooping mouth, his charred exposed flesh around the forehead or even his leaking eyes, which imploded, are not what startle me the most.

I am so astonished that I inadvertently mumble:

"Mike..?"