Chapter 9.

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"Mr. Davis?"

I looked up from my textbook to find my geography teacher, Mr. Jones, and the rest of the class staring at me.

"Alex, could you please repeat the question for Jordan? Clearly, he wasn't paying attention and I'm not keen on spending my lunch break monitoring him in detention."

"Ah, yes, sir. You asked which stage of the demographic transition model the United States is in and which social indicators support that," a shy girl from the front of the class answered.

I took a deep breath before delivering the answer. Mr. Jones blinked in surprise at my response.

"Very good, Jordan. Please try to stay attentive," he said before turning his focus to other students with a flurry of questions.

I slouched in my chair and stared at the ceiling, wishing for time to pass more quickly. My mind drifted to my next steps.

Having superpowers from the amulet was one thing, but powers alone didn't make me a hero. To truly be a superhero, I needed to use my abilities for good—saving the day and fighting villains. But where would I find them? If locating their bases were that easy, they wouldn't remain hidden.

Growing up in a good household in Queens, I didn't have any underground connections. I considered waiting for my dad to pick up one of their cases, but who knew how long it would take before he dropped the Sons of the Tiger case, realizing it was a dead end?

What did superheroes in the fictions I knew do? Most didn't seek out trouble—it found them. Like Iron Man, for example. Others had agencies that called them when needed, like Captain America. Then there were the local neighborhood heroes, like Spider-Man, who went on self-appointed patrols.

Spider-Man would climb buildings and use his senses to detect crimes, relying on his advanced hearing as he swung through the city. I might not be able to swing, but I could move gracefully along rooftops.

I wondered if visiting some of the seedier areas and listening carefully might reveal some criminal activity for me to investigate with my new abilities.

The rest of the school day dragged by, and I attended my athletics training instead of skipping it. The coach scolded me for wasting my "god-given" talents after I hadn't shown up for several days. I apologized and hurried off.

My evening was routine: taking the bus home, having family dinner, and watching TV with my parents before heading to my room.

Once in my room, I sat in front of my laptop, trying to contain my excitement about finally going out and using my powers. Around 11:30 p.m., when I was sure my parents were asleep, I went to my desk chair, where my baseball jacket hung, and reached into its pocket.

I pulled out the amulet and quickly put it around my neck, feeling the power surge through me. Almost instinctively, I flexed my arms, reveling in the newfound strength. I glanced at the window, preparing to leave.

Oh no! I realized I'd been careless.

A disguise! In my excitement, I'd forgotten to cover my bases. I rummaged through the bottom drawer of my wardrobe, where I kept winter clothing, and found a cold-weather balaclava.

I pulled it over my head and checked the mirror. I was dressed in a sports tracksuit and hoodie, with my face concealed by the balaclava. I'd also slipped $20 into my shoe, just in case. Admittedly, I looked more like I was preparing to commit a crime than to fight one.

As I was about to leave, I hesitated. I still felt exposed. Despite my increased durability, I wasn't invulnerable. I had an idea. I sneaked out of my room and down the stairs to the study, where my dad kept his work folders and equipment.

With my amulet-enhanced abilities, I moved silently down the stairs and into the room. The cabinet contained his police-issued shotgun, locked behind a wire cage, but on the other side was what I needed—a ballistic vest.

I took the vest off the hook, closed the cabinet, and returned to my room. I donned the vest inside out to avoid displaying "POLICE" on the front and checked myself in the mirror. I felt more confident with the thick padding. While it didn't offer much more protection than my amulet, having a physical barrier gave me a sense of security.

I climbed up to the roof and headed south towards the rougher areas. As I parkoured across the city, I focused on my hearing, trying to pick out specific voices and sounds.

It was challenging. The cacophony of cars, birds, dogs, and trains was overwhelming. Whenever I concentrated too much on a single noise, a truck's horn would blare, throwing me off track.

After about half an hour, having crossed various commercial and residential areas, I finally spotted something interesting. I stopped at the edge of a dimly lit street.

Two men, with wires and a crowbar, were crouched next to a luxury car. Jackpot. I leaped across a few rooftops and silently descended onto the street behind them. When I spoke, I startled them.

"Put down the tools—"

"Ah, fuck!" the first one exclaimed, startled.

"Who the fuck are you?" the other sneered, regaining composure.

"If I wanted you to know who I am, I wouldn't be wearing a mask. Now stop what you're doing and wait for the police. They're on their way," I lied. Heroes were supposed to alert the authorities, right?

The thieves looked at each other incredulously before laughing. The one with the crowbar set it aside and drew a large knife.

"Alright, kid, you've had your fun. Beat it and we'll forget you were here," he tried to intimidate me, his friend revealing a revolver tucked into his pants.

"I was hoping you'd say that," I smiled beneath my mask.

I charged at them, sidestepping to position the man with the knife between me and the gunman. The maneuver was unnecessary as they were clearly taken aback by my swift attack.

Before the knifeman could react, I knocked the weapon from his hand with a heavy swipe. He was left vulnerable as I stepped inside his guard and delivered a quick, controlled strike to his head, knocking him unconscious. I aimed not to cause permanent damage.

His criminal buddy stared at me in shock, panic evident on his face. He fumbled with his gun, trying to draw it from his pants, but I was already in motion. I leaped toward him and slapped him hard enough to knock him unconscious.

Standing over the two downed men, I released a sigh of relief. For a first-time effort, that had gone well. I told myself everyone had to start somewhere, but I knew I needed to control my strength. I couldn't go around slapping every bad guy I encountered.

I pulled out my phone to call the police when I heard a cocking noise followed by a blast. The impact threw me forward, and I landed face-first on the pavement, my hands stretched out. Ouch.

Lost in my victory, I'd made a rookie mistake. I had stopped paying attention to my surroundings. Despite my advanced hearing, neglecting my awareness had its consequences.

I rolled over and saw a third man walking toward me, holding a shotgun. He glanced at the two unconscious men and frowned. Damn it.

He cocked the gun again. "Nobody messes with Hammerhead's men."

Aches spread across my back, but it didn't seem too severe. I wiggled my toes and managed to climb to my feet. It felt more like being hit by something heavy and blunt rather than piercing pellets.

The gangster—if he was indeed connected to Hammerhead—looked surprised as I got up again. I had just been shot from six feet away, after all.

"Not had enough, huh?" he readjusted his aim and fired once more.

This time, I was thrown back, landing on my rear with my head whipping back to crash against the pavement. Pain exploded in my head, and the wind was knocked out of me. Darkness crept around my vision.

I wanted to play dead, but I was heaving, gasping for air. I turned onto my side, lifting the bottom of my balaclava to vomit. The bile dripped down my chin. So, I'm not bulletproof after all, I thought ruefully.

"How the fuck are you still breathing?" The man's voice was a mix of disgust and curiosity. He was about to cock his gun again, but I heard sirens approaching. Judging by his expression, he had heard them too.

Some neighbors must have called after hearing the shots.

He pumped the shotgun once more and fired at my prone body. The world went black.

When I came to, I lifted my head off the pavement. The man and his goons had fled. The only sound louder than my throbbing headache was the approaching sirens. I flipped myself onto my front, crawling and rolling into an adjacent alley while grabbing my phone.

I hid behind a large bin as the sirens arrived at the crime scene, where the saloon car was riddled with buckshot pellets, and the crowbar and mechanism wires lay discarded.

I patted my body down, searching for any blood or wounds. When I held my hands up to the streetlight, I sighed in relief. My body felt as if it had been hit by a freight train, bruised and battered, but that was the extent of it.

I wheezed as I sat up and checked my phone. Luckily, it had escaped any stray pellets. The same couldn't be said for the ballistic vest, which was peppered with holes. Damn it, I couldn't just hang it back up in Dad's closet and hope he wouldn't notice.

I had about 20 minutes left before it was unwise to continue wearing the amulet. I listened intently to the activity on the street, hoping no one would come down the alley.

"Alright, I want this immediate area locked down, tape off the street, call in more officers, and check these side streets."

Can't a guy catch a break? I got onto all fours and pushed myself up. I scanned the building walls on either side and spotted a slanted roof a little further down that I could climb.

Clutching my sore ribs, I hobbled to the wall. With considerable effort and painful grunting, I pulled myself up and rolled onto the low roof.

"Oi, you! Stop where you are and raise your hands!"

I glanced back to see a cop entering the alley, reaching for his gun. Not now, damn it. This was going to hurt. I sprang up, ignoring the protests from my aching body, and grabbed a water pipe on the side of the building to climb up.

I jumped from the pipe to a third-floor window ledge just as the cop fired, the round hitting the wall where I had been moments before.

I grimaced. I wasn't sure if my body could take much more, and comic book logic wasn't providing me with much reassurance.

From the window ledge, I hopped to a fire escape and bounded up the stairs. The metal railing provided enough cover to keep the cop from getting a clear shot at me.

I reached the building's roof and trudged along, biting my tongue to keep from crying out in pain. The gap to the next building was significant. I winced. It seemed insurmountable, like the edge of an abyss.

I took a few steps back and ran, launching myself with all my might.

I came up just short, landing with my upper body on the roof while my lower body dangled over the edge. The wind was knocked out of me again.

I struggled but managed to pull myself up and roll onto my back. I stared at the sky, catching my breath. This was some serious hero bullshit. Why would anyone willingly put themselves through this?

I got back to my feet. My advanced hearing picked up that the cop below had called for backup. Thankfully, my dark vision helped me avoid tripping over air vents and other rooftop debris.

I reached the end of the roof and faced the next gap. This distance wasn't as great. With a final push, I leaped to the other side.

A few blocks from the crime scene, I descended to street level, tossing my balaclava into a bin. I found an empty plastic bag among the trash and stuffed my hoodie and ballistic vest into it.

There were still bullet holes in my t-shirt, but I hoped the darkness would conceal them.

Then, I did what any superhero does when the going gets tough. I hailed a taxi. The driver gave me a strange look, seeing a kid out alone in the middle of the night, but he didn't ask questions.

I had him drop me off a few blocks from home and paid him, making him frown as I fished for the note in my shoe. But money is money, right?

I found a secluded alley and checked to make sure I was alone before tossing away my mask. I slowly made my way to the rooftops. My body was feeling a little better—still sore, but less stiff.

I made the final jumps to home and slid into my bedroom window, letting out a sigh of relief. What a fucking night.