In the morning, I wash off the red spray paint from my bike and pack a change of handlebars and a basket that attaches to the front.

I chose my bike, knowing it is the most popular brand. I bought five different handlebars, three seats, and two baskets to change out whenever I assume a new identity. And I always carry red, black, and white spray paint for a quick bike change.

Knowing about the crater, I change my route to avoid it. But of course, that's when I find the second crater.

It is smaller than the first, but it has the same shape. I take a picture to study it later, not wanting to idle longer than I need. The fact that I've run into both craters means my luck is taking another turn for the worse, and I don't want to test how bad it can get. I call the police and continue on my way.

By the time I reach work, the news of the second crater has already surfaced. "I guess your 'ceiling collapse' theory is a bust, Ruby," Aaron crows. Funny how he sounds happy about that when yesterday he was all for accepting it. "Two collapses in two days is unusual." I stick by my initial guess though. My gut tells me that appearances and physics are more important than logic in this scenario. 

"Ay!" It's Jina. "Guess what?"

"What?" I pause work and turn to look up at her.

"M and K got the job! I saw them patrolling Futurescape on my way to work today!"

"Weren't they wearing masks before? How could you tell?"

"They wear the same masks for work."

"Oh."

"Who's M and K?" Aaron asks. 

"Nobody," I snipe back as Jina replies, "Friends of ours." 

Aaron gives us a strange look. "Right." He disappears into his cubicle.

Jina giggles a little. It's contagious, so I smile too. Maybe my luck isn't going as bad as I thought it was. 

After work, Jina comes with me again to get food. Again under the pretense that the food is good. I retort that the food is moderate at best, and she needs higher standards. "What is your other job?" She asks as we browse for food.

I shift uncomfortably. I consider lying to stop the questions. I decide not to. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not tell you."

"Oh. Ok." I am surprised by her willingness to drop the topic.

"You're not going to ask why?"

"No. We have talked for less than a week. You look uncomfortable, so I will not press."

I feel touched and tell her as much. She brushes off my thanks with, "Common courtesy, yeah?"

I head to the public bathrooms near the park near Scriptor's when I split ways with Jina. I change my clothes, put on loads of makeup and the green lenses, put on heels to change my height, and tuck my hair under the Zoe black wig. I change out my handlebars and add the basket. If Lucifugus questions my similar backpack, I'll respond that all employees are required to have it for work. Like the mask.

I arrive at Scriptor's with my hoodie tied around my waist and chewing some gum I found at the store. I don't usually like to chew gum because I clench my teeth when I sleep, and chewing gum makes it worse. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

I unlock the door, every bit of me tensing with "I don't care" vibes. Thank goodness for that acting class I took in college. And Mom said it would be a waste.

Only after I unlock my desk, put on my mask, walk to flip the sign, and sit back down again does Lucifugus enter.

I stare at my computer screen with one arm draped behind the chair and the other lazily clicking the mouse. "Hello, welcome to Scriptor's, where every rule is yours. How may I help you?" I make my voice sound as nasally as Ruby's but deeper and bored. Crazy how a subtle change in tone and speech can deceive people not looking for similarities.

"Hi. I was wondering what happened to Samantha?" So now he says the right name.

"Samantha Williams? The old employee?" I heave a sigh as if everyone had been asking about Samantha today. "She, like, turned in her resignation yesterday. Something about a weird customer stalking her." I chew my gum loudly.

"Damn. She actually quit."

By this point, I had purposely not been looking at Lucifugus, and the mask had prevented me from seeing his face. When I hear this, I lazily turn my head up to look at him. I freeze up as if time had just stopped for me. Then, I burst into action. I sit up straighter, comb my hair with my fingers, and change my voice to a husky purr. "OMG. You're Lucifugus, right? Can I like get your autograph? Wait, no. You were totally the one following Sam, weren't you? I'm free for stalking, you know." I smile at him despite the nauseating pit in my stomach. I'm glad he thinks I'm someone else. This would be mortifying otherwise.

Lucifugus backs away with disgust written on his face. "Uh... no thanks. If Samantha's not here, I think I'll just... go."

He hurries out the door as I screech, "Come back anytime!" The door clicks shut, and I sigh in relief. Spots of color line my cheeks. I hope I never have to do that again.

Halfway into my shift, a familiar face comes into the store. I don't notice at first, preoccupied with keeping up my "Hello, welcome to Scriptor's, where every rule is yours. How may I help you?" Then, I see Jina looking shy and nervous. It's a side of her I hadn't seen before, and it causes my cheeks to turn all kinds of red. I try my best to keep my bored body posture from tensing up. At least I don't need to worry about what my face is screaming anymore.

I notice Jina has my copy of the guide in her hands. "Is Scriptor here? She asks.

What a strange question. "No. He's like never here. Super paranoid and all that." I try to pivot naturally. "What reason do you have to talk to him?" Maybe that is too confrontational. I feel my palms sweat. 

"He gives advice, yeah?"

"He does that on his blog. Attack Help or something dumb. Us employees are paid to 'impart our wisdom' on it or some shit."

"Oh. Ok. I can ask you for advice?"

"Might as well. Nothing else for me to do."

"Is it dangerous to get close to people in this city?"

I pause. This isn't the kind of question I was expecting. Figuring Zoe Blackson would think it was weird as well, I ask, "Why do you ask?"

"My friend bought a rulebook and wrote notes. She sounds lonely in the notes. I think she is too paranoid to get close to people. I am afraid I am bothering her by hanging out with her." Heat rises to my face. "I think she does not trust people because her past was bad. It made me wonder if it is strange to trust anyone?"

"Man, this is a bit past my paygrade," I say, meaning it. "But I'll try to help you out. Does she seem to enjoy hanging out with you?"

"Yeah. She does."

The two words make me feel strangely relieved. "Well, this is like a two-headed snake. On the one hand, you could like end up mistrusting someone who is like a normal citizen. On the other hand, you could end up trusting someone who has or will have powers that make them supes power-hungry." I pause. "Like a scarier form of the internet."

"Can I trust my friend? Can she trust me?"

I shrug. "Take it case-by-case. Ask them what they would do with super powers. If they have an uncool answer, like totes don't trust them. Also, like trust your instincts. If your friend is dodgy or constantly lies to you, totes be careful. But, like, don't pry in case their grandma just died or something."

"It sounds hard to tell."

"That's life. A big success or failure can bring out the best or worst in people. But, like, don't let that keep you from making friends. Maybe just get to know them better and make sure they stay groovy. Like, everyone is different in different scenarios, so experience a lot with your friend before you judge them 'good' or 'bad.'"

"Wow. For a goth, you have good advice." Yeah. If only said goth could keep her own advice.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Should I give you money?"

"My advice comes free. You can always pay for a book though."

Jina buys her own brand-new copy of my guide. She leaves looking more confident than when she arrived.

I decide I can give her the benefit of the doubt and open up more.

But he was a good person too Before.

Was.

I finish up for the day. I decide I might as well wash off my makeup at home. I put on my hoodie this time so that it obscures my face. I had checked earlier on both the news and out my window (finally useful for something) to confirm that Lucifugus had left. I am still surprised at how well my deception paid off.

I roll my bike outdoors and start locking up the door. I am riding high on success. I forget to check the shadows in the corner of my vision.

"Hello, Zoe Blackson." I freeze. My nametag says my fake first name but not my last name. My danger warnings are screaming in my brain.

"Like, can I help you?" I ask. I finish unlocking my bike. Just in case I need to make a quick retreat.

"Sorry, would you prefer I call you Samantha Williams?" This time, I freeze and stay that way. I hate it when I'm right. I must not have been as careful as I thought changing identities... "Or maybe July Liam?" Well, shit. "Or Alan Smith? Or do you like your Security Saver name Ruby Davis better?" Well double shit. My muscles are so locked up that they vibrate with repressed shivering. No one should know all these people are me. I've been too careful. "Ah right. I should be referring to you by your pen name. The person I really need to talk to. Scriptor Heroson."

A rush of cold air comes from nowhere and releases the shivers in my muscles all at once. I should've figured it out sooner. This may not be the shadow figure in my dreams, but they come a close second in cameos in my nightmares. I should've remembered I have the worst luck out of anyone I know.

Vocal.

I wrack my brain for the limited information about his ability. Can he only read minds when looking into his victims' eyes? Only the surface thoughts, not the memories? Or does he already have access to everything? Is that how he knew my names? Does he already know all my hopes and fears?

I ever so slowly put the bike lock into my bag. Maybe if I move slowly, time will slow, and I can escape.

"Well? What name would you prefer? Surely you can at least turn around and tell me." Exactly what I don't want to do. But he probably knows that already.

Much like my rule about listening to the person with the gun, I figure I should apply it to listening to the bad guy with powers. I turn to face Vocal.

He looks similar to what I imagined he would. He wears a black trench coat, black gloves, black boots... black everything. Frankly, that's cliche of him. His head is covered by a surprisingly thin (you guessed it) black mask that covers everything but his mouth and eyes. It has silver markings that look like veins. The eye slots are obscured by a black film. All I can think of is how hot that outfit would be in the sun. My brain will short-circuit if it doesn't have that information to hold on to.

"Wh- why would you think I'm a-all of those p-people?" I stutter. "I can wr-wr-write a message to Scriptor if you like w-want to talk to him?"

Vocal sighs dramatically. "Come now, really. You know I wouldn't approach you unless I was positive." He tilts his head. "You want to know how I figured it out? It's not by reading your mind like you think. I was trying to figure out who Scriptor might be anyway. I narrowed it down to someone who lives or frequently visits the North quadrant since your store is here. I admit, using a male pen name was clever. We certainly have a sexist society, don't we? Once I realized the employees at Scriptor's are all the same person, it didn't take long to figure out the rest." His pearly white grin is too perfect for a villain. "Now, aren't you going to invite me inside? I believe we have a lot to discuss, and it's quite cold out."

I don't have much choice in the matter. Not now that he knows I'm Scriptor. I go through the laborious process of unlocking the door. Then, I let him walk inside.

"Keep the lights off, please. I can see well enough, and we wouldn't want someone to stumble in here by mistake." He rotates in a circle, studying the room. "Your security really is impressive. I don't think I could have broken in here." His eyes land on the poster. "Is that a secret room? Marvelous. Why don't we talk in there?"

I reluctantly open the door and lead him inside my secret room. I guess it's not so secret anymore. Imagine, the first person I bring in here is my nightmare incarnate.

Vocal plops on my couch and says, "Why don't you sit down?" As if there are more places beyond the floor to sit on. I sit down on the floor.

He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. His grin is chilling. "Now then. Business. I know you are wondering why I'm here." No duh. "Now, no need to be rude." Out of habit, I think that this situation perfectly merits my being rude. Then, I wish I hadn't thought that. "I don't think you properly realize the astounding impact your books have on this city." He makes a strange gesture, and one of my guides appears in his hands. Good to know that the news underestimated his powers. "Before your books, citizens feared supervillains. They were awestruck by our power. Some were even convinced to join us." He waves the book around as he talks, and I wince each time his hand comes near me.

"Heroes say they protect people. Before your guide, it was easy enough to distract them by plucking a person from the crowd and toy with them by threatening that person's mind. Harmless stuff, really, but the heroes were horrified by it." I'm horrified just listening. "Then, your little rulebook was published.

"I admit, I didn't think too much of it at the time. How could one book transcend any situation? But—somehow—you did it. You made a book that gave people hope. Worse than that, you made your blog to further advise people about what to do. Suddenly, citizens stopped being afraid. They knew what to do in any situation and stopped wanting to join us!" I stoop lower in the face of such emotion. This is by far the most terrifying villain monologue I've ever been given. And I've been witness to my fair share.

Vocal tilts his head and grins at me. "I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? You still don't know why I'm here. No, it's not to make your mind mush. I've only done that a few times. Well, only done it permanently a few times." I've decided I don't like people reading my mind. "And it's not to torture you either. Goodness, I'm not that evil. No, I need you to do something for me."

He clearly wants me to ask or think, "What? What is it?" But I don't want to know what he wants me to do. I'm not some fool who thinks they are at the main character in their life.

"I can see how you've survived so long with that mindset," Vocal says. "Very well, I'll just tell you. Since you brought on this era of annoyingly little fear, you are the perfect person to reverse it. No, you shouldn't tell people to reject your book. Too many people would see through it. Instead, we should take down their beacons of hope." I hate how he says "we" as if I had already agreed. But that's not the thing I want to say.

"You mean take down the heroes, right? I won't help you." It sounds braver in my head.

"Most things do." Again with the mind-reading! "You won't have to do anything drastic. Just write a book about the Gladiator's flaws. Add a catchy title like the last one. Maybe another 'How to'? I bet you can find lots of wronged individuals to interview."

"I won't... I can't." Sure, I'm concerned about the length of my life right now, but this is more important. "People need to be able to trust the Gladiators."

"Are they really worth everyone's trust?"

"Of course!" But my mind treacherously remembers Lucifugus's recent actions. "It doesn't matter," I say before he can reply. "They're the best we have."

"The best we have, huh?" Vocal heaves a deep sigh. "Really, I was hoping you would just agree with me." He flips the book, and it transforms into a knife. "What do you fear?" His voice seems like a command this time. All of my worst memories are thrust to the surface of my mind. The knife changes into a lock, then a police car, then a fire, then a faceless head, then a picture of Jina. "Ah. You fear getting too close to anyone. Trusting anyone." I stare at the picture of Jina in his hands. My nails dig into my palms. He shouldn't know. He shouldn't know.

Vocal studies me carefully. "If you don't help me, I will take this little box over here--" he points to the box with all my identities in it, "-- And submit it to the news. I'm sure they will be very interested to find out who Scriptor really is." Vocal smiles. "And, before you make your decision, I would like to point out that I'm not the only villain looking for you. I just happened to be the first to find you. Some of the others don't understand that killing is not always the solution." With Jina's face still floating in his hands, I can hear the threat loud and clear.

I'm shaking. Some unbridled emotion churns in my gut, yelling at me to let it out. "When do you want the book published by?" I whisper.

Vocal claps his hands. "I knew you would side with me!" His joy deepens the sick feeling in my stomach. "I was thinking the one year anniversary of your book would be a perfect time to publish it. In about a week, I believe."

I pale. "I can't write a whole book in a week!"

"First time for everything!" He stands up and picks up my box. By some twisted magic, he manages to stow it in his trench coat. "Happy writing!" I blink, and he's gone.

There's no way I can bike home in my current condition. My hand has started to throb with pain again, I feel like I'm going to throw up, and I'm terrified out of my mind. The couch would look appealing if Vocal-- the Vocal-- hadn't sat there not two minutes ago.

I shakily get up and lock my shop, this time from the inside. After setting an alarm on my phone (I don't want a repeat of Thursday morning's scare), I grab a blanket and lie on the carpeted floor in my secret room. I lie awake for at least an hour before I can finally sleep.