What a beautiful day. The early morning light reflects off the windows in a stunning sunrise array, birds dare to venture into the human-less cities, chirping their delight at the new day... and once again, I find myself face-to-face with another hero-villain face-off. As I back away from the explosions, I consider petitioning for a medal for running into so many.

Stay educated about villain activity near you. If you can avoid the fight before it happens, you're in the clear.

Of all the rules I had written for myself, this one is the least effective, though likely a good bit of advice. I just happen to have the worst luck of anyone I know. This last week, for example, I knew the final showdown between the latest supervillain and our heroes was bound to happen soon. Since the heroes had typically been fighting this villain in the afternoon, I had been leaving early for work and making excuses to stay long after my shift. But, of course, the one fight they don't do in the afternoon is the very one I'm trying to avoid.

Some would be awed by the dazzling display of powers and the chance to see the fight for themselves. They might stand just out of range of the attacks and gawk at the spectacle, feeling honored to be close to such power. Not only have I seen this same sort of fight a hundred times, but I also learned long ago it isn't worth staring at. I even wrote a rule for it.

When you see a fight, danger, and/or a surplus of police cars, walk/run (depending on the level of danger) in the opposite direction. You won't miss the action (the news gets everything) and, anyway, your life is more important.

I love our heroes just as much as the next person, but I'd prefer to see them through a TV screen thank-you-very-much. Besides, I already know every nitty-gritty detail about them.

No one's sure if the heroes knew each other before they got their powers or if one freak accident bonded them together. They first were caught on camera helping citizens from a sunken cruise boat to shore. People speculate they were on the ship themselves when it sunk, but all attempts to find the ship's roster have been met with failure. I suspect whoever did have all the names destroyed the evidence.

I bet you can't guess who else was on that boat. Yep, I am one of the heroes' first fans. And I owe my life to them many times over.

On the beach, as ambulances started taking us survivors to shore, one of the news reporters asked our heroes who they were. They didn't have much in the way of costumes at the time, but no one could doubt they had great potential.

"The Gladiators." I don't remember which one said it, and the video didn't catch anyone's mouth moving. But the name stuck.

(Yes, I've watched that video hundreds of times. No, that doesn't mean I'm obsessed.)

From then on, the heroes started adopting their own names. Their leader, the Hacker Electronica, controls technology within a few kilometers of where she is. Her dark brown gladiator-style suit has streaks of electric blue and purple across it. Little robots of her design often hover around her. She always wears a black braid, and her brown mask hides all her features but her bright blue eyes.

Electronica's second-in-command is the Scout Lucifugus. He has the power of teleportation. Except he doesn't have to teleport all of himself. He can teleport just a hand or an eye to any place he chooses without experiencing any physical harm. His suit is pitch black. Added to his dark skin, hair, and eyes, he blends into any shadow. Or sticks out like a sore thumb in broad daylight.

The Tank Autocurrus is their heavy hitter. Not only is she impervious to most physical damage, but she can also emit molten metal from her hands that encases any warm-blooded creature she touches. Scary if she wasn't the sweetest one among them. Her gladiator suit is silver and grey, the helm on her head serving both as a mask and a method of intimidation. The only thing her suit doesn't cover is her big, dark hands and her gleaming, hazel brown eyes.

The Protector Tutrix used to be thought of as the weakest Gladiator. They can produce solar-flaring shields that burn to the touch. But, they soon proved the world wrong after defeating the Gladiator's rival Mega single-handedly (Surprisingly, I was not there to witness it. Unsurprisingly, I was running away from a gunfight between some criminals and the police instead.). Their suit is pink, orange, and grey, and their mask is a beautiful fire design. A thin, orange-colored filament over their eyes makes it hard to tell what their eye color is. Their red hair is in a pixie cut.

The final Gladiator is arguably my favorite. The Animator Animus-Dator or-- as he is more commonly called-- Ani has the power to bring objects to life around him. It was he, with his animated swimming scraps of metal, who saved me from the sinking cruise ship so long ago. I've never been able to discern what colors he wears on his outfit (it seems to be all the colors mashed together), but his sparkling green-yellow eyes are clear behind his mask. His skin is pale like he spends countless hours indoors, and even his superhero work doesn't seem to have added any color to his cheeks.

In the beginning, it was common to see the heroes fighting together. Now, they have shifted to protecting their own "quadrants." Electronica's is the biggest and right in the middle of crime-ridden areas. The outer four, more rural quadrants are categorized by their position. Lucifugus controls the second-most urban North quadrant, Ani controls the East quadrant, Autocurrus controls the South quadrant, and Tutrix controls the West quadrant. I live in the East quadrant (usually) because it is the most rural, and I work in the North quadrant because I have to. I try to avoid the Central quadrant as much as possible, but life always finds a way to force me into it.

I can no longer hear the sounds of fighting. Hopefully, that fight is the only one I will have to deal with today, but I don't hold my breath. My record for encounters in one day is nine, and I don't want to break that any time soon.

Moving from quadrant to quadrant every day, I had gifted myself a lovely bike to travel on.

Walking is usually safer than driving/taking a bus/taking a taxi. Biking is an underrated speedy mode of travel that keeps you away from car-smashing villains (and is easier to escape if it breaks).

I can't count the number of times a hero has chosen to save a pedestrian rather than someone in a car. Therefore, my bike.

I treasure my bike more than anything else I own. Its silver handles are always polished to perfection, and I never go anywhere without my backpack that contains tools to fix it. I could take it apart and put it back together in my sleep.

The ride from my current house to my work is around ten minutes. Adding around three minutes for every encounter, of course. Paranoid for the worst-case scenario, I typically leave thirty minutes earlier than I need to. During boss fight weeks, I leave up to three hours earlier. Like today.

I arrive at work without further incident. The office is stone solid with minimal windows.

If you live in supervillain-rich territory, move. Try not to be on the streets in these areas too often and avoid buildings with large glass windows.

If not for my jobs, I would have moved out of the city long ago. As it is, I am constantly monitoring which quadrant is the safest. I haven't had a permanent home since college. And that was one of the worst experiences of my life, so I'm not eager to repeat that.

My two jobs are the reason I get up every morning. The first is nice and quiet with no particular attention on me among hundreds of others who do the same thing. Each person works on monitoring and developing new technology to improve protection for different companies. I had studied engineering and computer engineering in college, but I hadn't even thought of working in security until our heroes inspired me to. Plus, my job conveniently follows one of my rules:

If you invent a world-changing device, put lots of security on it and ensure you are not publicly hailed as its inventor.

My second job is an unusual self-employed one. As an experienced victim, I published the list of rules I had lived by for so long in a guidebook. I figured I could help people living through the same difficulties. I got so enraptured in writing the book that I even interviewed others and put their stories in (some anonymously, some with fake names). When I finished, I published it under the pseudo name Scriptor Heroson (Latin like the hero's names) despite the array of other false names I could've easily used (by that point, I had created six new identities for myself due to another of my rules:

If you have come face-to-face with a villain who is likely to remember your face, acquire a new name and identity ASAP. Or cut/dye your hair, add extreme make-up to your face, wear a hoodie, and/or never be alone.

I am currently at twenty-seven identities. My originally red hair has been cut to shambles and is stiff with dye.)

I didn't sell my book to any publishing company for fear of revealing my true identity. Instead, I bought a shop near my work and set it up to sell my guide.

The guide became insanely popular. With everyone assuming Scriptor was a guy, it was easy for me to act as an employee, rotating through my many identities every month or so to prevent suspicion. And, with no actual employees to pay and my store being the only store that sold an increasingly popular book, I got rich fast.

In my first job, I am invisible. Good old Ruby Davis always comes to work on time, works well but not well enough for a promotion, and is generally a boring person. I prefer it that way. I have plenty of friends in the East quadrant anyway. Not close friends, of course. But I have my family for that. The family that I seldom see because they live hundreds of miles away from the city. (No, I'm not lonely, why do you ask?)

I know I've made it sound otherwise, but life here isn't so bad. At least this city has heroes. Living in a crime-infested area is ten times worse when there's no one to protect you but yourself. I know from experience. If it weren't for my dream college being in this city, I never would've even considered moving here.

I enter my safe little cubicle with a sigh of relief. So far, I have only had two encounters in my cubicle. And one of them was an armed man who profusely apologized for entering the wrong building. If only I could stay here all day, every day.

I log into my computer with practiced ease. Username: ScriptorLover (Not as weird of a username as you might think. Girls are hooked by the mysterious man who wrote their favorite best-selling book). Password: Setw1naspcu! (aka "the world 1s not a safe place" with the first four letters of Security sandwiching the phrase with an exclamation point at the end) (the company encourages using safe passwords and, honestly, so do I).

I imagine the tone that would occur if I was wearing my headphones as blue words appear on the screen: "Welcome to Security Saver."

And thus, my workday begins.

My client for the last few days has been the biotech company Futurescape, a place that frequently suffers from villain attacks due to their rapidly expanding technology. Their most recent complaint is that supers with powers similar to Electronica's could easily hack into their system. They want a solution to the problem before they release their next major invention. Which, going off of their current pace, could easily be in a few weeks.

The only people who have mastered the art of preventing Electronica access to their electronics are villains. Everyone else either hasn't considered her powers a problem or hasn't cracked the solution. And, with Electronica too busy to test the new inventions, these last few days have been... difficult.

The main problem with the project is that our team doesn't know how Electronica's powers work. Attempting to measure unusual wavelengths of light emanating from Electronica (Yes, I was the one who got close enough to do that. She wasn't fighting anyone too dangerous. And I took lots of precautions.) resulted in failure. She can use her powers even if she is off the ground and/or separated from the technology she is trying to influence by an insulating material. She's even been unconscious and still influencing the tech around her.

If the villains hadn't already managed to achieve success, I would've thought the task impossible. As it is, I'm glad I'm not the only one working on the project.

"Hey, Ruby!" As if in response to the thought, a face pokes over the cubicle, more monkey than man. Brown tufts of hair cover every part of his face as if his head is a wild bush. "How's it going?"

I smile despite myself. Aaron Berkley is one of those people who accepted my guide with arms open wide. He lives by the rule:

Be kind to people. You never know which everyday person could be the hero you admire or the next villain/supervillain.

In fact, I'm pretty sure he has a banner of it above his laptop. It's a little weird, to be honest.

No matter how early I arrive, Aaron always gets to work first. He's told me it's to present himself as a proper leader to our team. I suspect he waits outside until the first of our members comes walking down the street before heading inside. He's always there to greet every person, every day.

"Oh, you know. As well as it can be." I don't know when I adopted the nasally voice I now use for Ruby, but it's stuck with me. It seems to fit her.

"Great, great. Listen, I have an idea on our little project." He says it as if the company doesn't know about it, and we're on a secret quest for the government or something.

"You've figured it out?" I can't help sounding excited. I'm a nerd that way.

"Well... not exactly. I've found out where Vocal's old hideout is." Just hearing the supervillain's name sends shivers down my spine. One of the only "big bads" that I hadn't encountered, Vocal is known for working in the shadows; I don't even think the news knows what his powers are. At the very least, people know he can read minds. And that he was smart enough to figure out how to block Electronica's powers.

"No. No-no-no. That's like breaking at least five of Scriptor's rules. He could still be alive." Vocal had disappeared four months ago, and no one knows if the Gladiators defeated him or if he's in another one of his elusive hideouts, plotting his next move.

"I checked the rules. We're fine. And, plus, the place is abandoned. Electronica's been patrolling the place for months. No way is Vocal coming back." All I can think about is how flawed his logic is.

"What about 'Don't attract unnecessary attention to yourself. (i.e. separating from the crowd, screaming, yelling, and/or "helping" the heroes.)?'"

"That only applies in a fight."

"Does it??"

"Of course. The book is called 'How to Survive a Supervillain Attack' after all," he says as if he weren't talking to the very person who wrote the book. Not that I'll ever tell him that. But I still consider the irony.

I feel panic rising in my chest. I have nightmares about Vocal. They say he can make your worst fears a reality. And I already feel like I'm living in a nightmare.

"So, I have to get approval first, but, after that, you, me, and the gang can go explore the place. Bring back some tech. Just think of the possibilities!" His head disappears again, and I hold back a groan: With my luck, we would get there and find Vocal amassing an army. Or step on some explosives he left behind. Or find the place has been recently inhabited by mutant rats (Yes, my luck is that bad).

Bit by bit, the rest of the staff trickles in. A year ago, before my book, their faces were vacant, and they didn't care if they bumped into someone. Now, the place is full of smiling chatter. I still can't fully believe it.

I pass the more unproductive hours of my research watching the news. The boss battle has continued to ramp up. More of the supervillain's minions emerge every minute, hoards crowding the streets near the fight. The Gladiators are fighting bravely, but they already look weary.

Some older villains use the supervillain's distraction to accomplish petty crimes. Others decide to join with the supervillain to fight our heroes.

I should note that I would refer to the supervillain by name if I knew their name. They haven't announced any official name, and the different news outlets haven't decided on one yet. One person had jokingly dubbed them the Supervillain. Now, it seems the most likely to stick.

After hours of hard work and accomplishing nothing, the lunch hour finally hits. Another nice thing about this job: it ends at lunch. I say goodbye to my teammates and head out the door. I grab a chicken noodle soup from my favorite little convenience store. Then, I head for my shop.

The store is a small thing made of brick and smashed between two neglected buildings I had bought up as well. On the top of the store's door in big, bold letters is the name "Scriptor's". To my disappointment, the law requires at least one window bigger than 0.5m by 1m to be present in every building. Something about natural light saving the environment. So I begrudgingly kept the small window to the right of the door and left a copy of my book on a pedestal behind it.

The door has three locks, all of which I open from my three different keyrings. (Yes, we've established that I'm paranoid already. Get over it.)

Inside smells like freshly printed books. The light hums faintly as I turn it on.

Three lengthy shelves sit in the middle of the room. Each one is packed with my guides. Boxes at each end of the shelves are filled with used guides. At one point, one of the heroes annotated a book and put it in one of the boxes. I had to have an auction for the thing to prevent bloodshed. I donated the one million dollars I earned to charity.

On the left is my desk. My beautiful, custom-made desk, outfitted with almost every single security project I have ever worked on (the rest are around the accursed window). I go through five layers of identification before I can even sit down. Then another two to log into my computer. And one final one that ensures the laser I have pointed at the chair doesn't go off.

I put my noodles into the microwave built into the bottom right corner of my desk and sign into my blog, Attack Help. The microwave whirs to life as I scroll through the questions posted today. I made Attack Help as a way to elaborate on my guide and to talk through specific situations with worried citizens. I don't dare access the blog from my house in case there's a way to trace it, even with the endless encryption I have on my computer. I type with one hand and put my "Samantha Williams" blond wig and blue-tinted lenses on with the other. The microwave dings to announce that my noodles are ready.

A month after I opened Scriptor's, the place was jam-packed with customers. Now, I only get around twenty customers a day (which is still decent, mind you). Maybe one day, I will put the rest of my books up for five dollars instead of ten and stop printing new ones. That will let me work full-time at Security Saver at least. I would have to burn the store to remove any evidence, but I could use something to decrease my stress levels.

But... I also enjoy being someone that people go to when they need help; someone who, as both an employee of Scriptor's and creator of Attack Help, can help people through their worst-case scenarios; someone who can bring a smile to other's faces; someone who can make the world a little brighter of a place.

And to imagine this is probably how the heroes feel.

Most of the questions today fret about the new boss battle (no, I'm not the only one who calls them boss battles). I remind people to frequently check the news and tell them I will post hourly updates about where the fight is and the level of threat it poses.

The second update brings bad news: two other supervillains are seen joining the fight against the Gladiators.

The third update shows the fight has moved dangerously close to the prisons.

The fourth update reassures everyone that the prisons are still intact, and the fight has moved away.

As I write the fifth update, my first customers of the day come inside. It's a mother and her child.

"Excuse me?" The mother comes straight up to my desk. "Do you know the fastest way to Mountainway Park?" I exhale through my teeth. Mountainway Park is in the West quadrant. To get there, one would have to pass directly through the boss battle.

"Listen, you've heard about the fight, right?"

The mother looks over at her child, who is cheerfully looking through the used books. Oh, to be a child again. She nods slowly. "I want to get home before it gets dark." Her voice cracks a little, and my heart breaks.

"Do you mind watching my shop for a bit? I have something that might help." She nods her head, looking relieved not to have to go outside.

I hurry through my security and race out of the store with a wad of cash. A block down, I enter Marty's Bike Shop and come out with a glistening new tandem bike.

When I reenter the shop, the mother looks close to tears. "Thank you, thank you. You didn't have to do this for us. I thought me and Wenda would have to walk. Here, let me pay you for this..."

I shake my head. "Repay me by staying alive. If I were you, I'd stay in the shop for another thirty minutes. By then, the route will likely be safer." She nods quickly, tears glistening in her eyes.

Fortunately, the fight veers way off course from both the North and East quadrants, and I send the mother and daughter away, confident of their safety.

The sixth update is hopeful. Police had managed to contain a good portion of the opposition. The three supervillains had yet to be caught, but they and the heroes are now on more even grounds.

By the time the seventh update hits, I'm exhausted from worry and getting up so early. I dully realize my noodles have long since gone cold.

Try not to freak out (If you find yourself continually stressed, meditation/therapy/talking to a friend can really help.).

Too bad right now everyone needs me as a friend.

The eighth update arrives, and most people on my blog are calm enough to start thinking about sleep.

The ninth update comes around, and more people leave. I look at the clock. It's 9:00 pm. Just ten more minutes, and I'll head home.

The tenth update is here. I start to wonder if I can safely sleep in my shop.

Ten minutes to the eleventh update. I am exhausted and starving. I reheat the noodles and eat them slowly to savor the feeling of food entering my stomach. I consider getting up from my paralyzed spot behind my desk to switch the sign on the door from Open to Closed.

But I am too late. At that moment, the second group of customers of the day walk inside.