The City of Zhuridge

Andrea hovered over her city. The lights twinkle below her like a billion fireflies, and the noise of the evening traffic wafted up to her. Evening patrol was not particularly interesting, but there was something about the calm lull of the city falling asleep that always made it worthwhile.

"Slider!" a voice shouted.

Not recognizing it, Andrea flew down from her spot among the clouds.

"Yes?" she called. "Is someone hurt here?"

"Slider!?" The voice was closer now, and significantly more panicked.

Andrea didn't answer this time. She landed and crept toward the source of the sound, her suit's boots muffling the sound of her approach.

Once she had found the approximate location it had originated from, Andrea planted herself and spoke.

"Yes?"

There was a shout and a young teen materialized in front of her.

"Do you need something?" she asked them.

The teen spun around to face her, their face flushed red.

"Well I, you see, um, well, I just, you're Slider, right? I, um, I was wondering if you could help me?" At the end of the sentence, the teen's voice cracked and they hurried into their sweatshirt.

"That's what I do," Andrea responded.

"Okay!" The teen sounded squeaky. "Um, yeah, that's great, I, um, well, h-here, follow me."

They turned and nearly sprinted away from her.

Andrea lifted slightly off the ground to trail behind them, watching the way their eyes flirted around constantly, soaking in everything.

Andrea has been a hero for nearly twenty years. She was very good at her job, and a major part of her everyday life was sensing trouble before it reared it's ugly head. That was a fact of the job she had long since accepted, but observing the behavior of the teen rubbed her the wrong way. She didn't think they were a threat, that wasn't it, it was the way they flinched away from the smallest things, the way they reflexively rubbed a spot on their collarbone every time they saw a cigarette tossed on the ground.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" she asked. She never could do subtlety.

The teen ducked their head and gestured to the door of the apartment they had led her to.

"I know you don't specialize in medicine," they led her inside, "but my friend told me you know some, and I, um, my sister, please, you gotta help her."

Andrea saw the sister in question. A girl no older than eight was laid up on a pulled out futon, her face flushed and breathing shallow. She took no time going over and getting a closer look.

"She's burning up," Andrea said. It's wasn't exactly an exclamation, it hadn't been a surprise. It wasn't an accusation either, she knew it wasn't the teen's fault. "Could you not get her to a hospital?"

It wasn't the question she wanted to ask, but she compromised. It was close enough.

The teen's eyes went wide and they shook their head frantically, that nervous tick coming back.

"No, I, um, no. That, I, well, she, and I, and it just, and our father-" they clapped a hand over their mouth, eyes wide.

Andrea gave a curt nod.

"Well, you were right in that I'm no medical expert, but I should be able to at least help her temperature go down, then I can take her to a hospital or call someone here. Whichever would be better."

She briefly met the teen's gaze, before turning back to the little girl.

"Do you have any aspirin?"

"A little, but the medicine cabinet is locked."

Andrea stood.

"Show me."

The teen scurried over to a high cabinet that was indeed locked. It only took a minor yank from the heroine to completely break the lock and she quickly identifies the pain meds and ordered the teen to prepare a glass of water.

A damp cloth was placed on the girl's forehead and wrists, and Andrea instructed the teen to keep their sister hydrated.

"This is all I can do." Andrea pulled back with finality.

"Would you, please, take her to the hospital?" The teen's eyes squeezed shut as they spoke, and Andrea knelt before them.

"Of course. Will you be safe here?" she said.

The teen nodded, their jaw set.

Andrea was possessed with the urge to pat their shoulder and ruffle their hair like she would with her little brothers, but did not. Instead, she gave them a smile and held out a small card.

"This is my personal line. You can text or call me if anything happens."

The teen cracked a smile. The expression looking foreign on a face marked with dark eye bags and sallow skin.

Andrea collected the girl into her arms and carefully glided out and away, hoping the teen would be safe.