The Cat Is Out

Kade pulled his cap lower as he maneuvered through the bustling streets of L.A, a city pulsing with the grandeur—and tension—of superhero dominion. Towering billboards featured the Valiant 5 striking imposing poses beside bold slogans: "Strength in Order, Order in Strength" and "Aurora's Light Guides Us All."

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of irony—the very idols plastered across every corner were emblems of the power he sought to undermine, the power that cost him so dearly.

"Defend the peace, uproot the chaos!" a street speaker blared, repeating the catchphrases that had become almost religious mantras in this metropolis.

Kade shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, feeling the little vial containing the medication his father needed—medication too expensive for anyone not associated with The Order or its favor. He weaved through clusters of people, devotees adorned in hero-merchandise, their eyes gleaming as they watched a holographic display of The Order's latest triumphant venture.

"You seen the news?" one passerby remarked to his companion, likely about Sledgehammer Sam. "The order's gonna crack down hard this time."

"Serves the perpetrator right," the other spat. "The Order's our shield. We need to trust them heroes."

Kade bit back the acerbic reply that formed at the tip of his tongue. Trust, after all, was a currency that had been debased in his world. Each step took him closer to Oblivion Hospital, a jagged structure among the gleaming city—a stark reminder of the disparity that lay beneath the veneer.

Born out of chaos when superpowers first emerged in the world, The Order was initially a fellowship of heroes dedicated to maintain peace and harmony. But power has a way of corrupting, and over the years, this so-called beacon of hope turned into a monolithic power player with CEOs and politicos in their pockets. They've got their claws in everything from media empires to black ops, pulling strings where it counts. They've got a hold on society tighter than a superpowered chokehold.

The head honcho, the supreme leader of The Order of Aurora is known as The Paragon. This savvy puppeteer stays shrouded in mystery, never stepping into the limelight except to make sweeping declarations. Some say The Paragon was the first of the supers, an icon who's been around since day one.

Under The Paragon are the Valiant 5—heroes so powerful they're practically godlike. They're The Order's enforcers, the faces of justice. Next up, you've got The Sentries, who are the middle managers of the hero world. They ensure the directives of The Paragon and the Valiant 5 are implemented. Ruthless in their own right, power jockeys to the core. They'll take out anyone who poses a risk to the stability The Order tries so hard to pretend they're providing.

Then there's the rank and file—the Field Agents. They're your everyday heroes, the foot soldiers who actually do the grunt work. They're divided into divisions: Public Relations (those who smile for the cameras), Crisis Management (the first responders), Intel (your typical spies), and Enforcement (they're pretty much the cleanup crew) Deep in the bowels of The Order are the Researchers and Developers. These brainiacs are where the tech and the gear come from. Sometimes, they make the Valiant 5 look like kids playing with sticks and stones.

Every second, Kade panics on the inside at how he's supposed to go against that. He doesn't even know what's going to happen if he fails. He always had a feeling he'll be raised from the dead if he loses, or he'll just find someone else to take his place. Why didn't he go to the Valiant 5 for help? Or the Order? Since he's fully believing the world will be destroyed, he didn't tell a soul. And if this figure can destroy planets with ease, then there's no doubt he can destroy this planet alongside the Valiant 5 with the flick of his finger.

An animal. Is this occupation going to turn him into an animal? Kade, a man who's always been wanting to be a hero, despite getting into so many fights at school. Even though his family thinks of him as a monster anyway, would he turn into what they think just by killing one superhero a day? Why exactly did he have to do this? What's the figure's motive? His endgame?

Some people in the area were talking about Sledgehammer Sam's death, and as Kade progressed further, he saw a large billboard screen of a news anchor talking about the death of Sledgehammer Sam.

Kade meandered—a nondescript face among the throngs of pedestrians. No longer shrouded in the anonymity of his hood, now he was just another citizen, dressed in jeans and a faded t-shirt, indistinguishable from the crowd.

The city's heartbeat pounded against Kade's senses, the cacophony of civilization a stark contrast to the silence that had enveloped him during darker deeds. He approached the central square, where a digital display stretched across the side of a building, flickering with the visage of an earnest news anchor. The screen loomed like a modern oracle, the harbinger of fate for all below.

"... and the city mourns the loss of one of its most beloved heroes, Sledgehammer Sam," the anchor's voice boomed, confidently cutting through the ambient din, "struck down in a shocking act that has left our community reeling."

Kade watched, a spectator to his own unseen handiwork, as people gathered below the billboard. A woman clutched her mouth, eyes brimming with disbelief, while a man beside her shook his head, muttering a stream of condolences and prayers for a fallen savior.

"Who would do such a thing?" a young girl asked, her hand gripped by her mother's, who could offer no answers, just a tight squeeze of reassurance.

"Has to be one of those villain types, right? But they say the killer's face—no one knows," babbled an older man, his own face creased with lines of worry and confusion, drawing his cap down as though to shield himself from the uncomfortable truth that heroes, too, could bleed.

Kade moved closer, his presence in the crowd as inconspicuous as a shadow at dusk. He listened as another spoke up, a young man bristling with the energy of someone who takes the world's wrongs as personal affronts.

"This is why we gotta support The Order more than ever," he declared, voice tinged with passion and a hint of anger. "They keep us safe. Whoever did this, The Order will find 'em. They always do."

Kade's gaze lingered on the impassioned young man, observing how easily the seeds of The Order's narrative took root. It was the echo of The Paragon's own sentiments—control through perception, faith through fear—expertly tailored to the cloths of patriotism and unity.

"Fuck man…"

"Who would do such a thing?"

"Some people said he was killed by someone who seemed like he didn't even have powers."

"No way…"

"Medias gonna have a fucking field day with this one."

Kade walked past the crowd, looking down at the ground, thinking, 'Shit. That spread quickly. You hear that, mysterious bastard? Looks like I'm gonna be caught quicker than I can finish my job. Am I dumb?'

On the fringes of the convulsing square, beneath the looming broadcast of the digital obelisk chronicling the city's loss, stood Jesse Andrews. The reporter's smile was a practiced art, able to surface even amidst the gathering clouds of despair and uncertainty. Beside her, camera at the ready, stood her long-time partner—a man whose name rarely graced the lips of the public but whose vision had captured countless moments that defined the era. Together, they were a team, chroniclers of history in the making.

Jesse Andrews was the epitome of vibrant energy, her appearance on screen a calculated dance of approachability and professionalism. Her hair was a cascade of sunlit amber waves that framed her face with meticulous grace, each strand catching the city's light as if woven from the very strands of hope she peddled. Her eyes, a brilliant shade of sky blue, sparkled with an infectious enthusiasm that seemed to contradict the somber stories she often relayed.

For today's report, Jesse wore a tailored blazer in a soft shade of robin's egg blue, paired with a crisp, white blouse—the ensemble carefully chosen to project a sense of calm and assurance. Her skirt, which fell just above the knee, was a deeper navy that spoke to the more solemn nature of the day's events, anchored with a pair of sensible, yet stylish, heels that matched in color. A delicate silver necklace with a pendant rested just below her collar, catching the light and the eye, while her makeup was applied with a light hand, enhancing rather than overshadowing her natural charm.

Her partner, the man behind the camera whose name so rarely rolled off the tongues of the city's viewers, was the antithesis of Jesse in terms of his presence before the lens. Tall and lean, he maintained an aura of quiet competence. His hair was a practical length, its dark chestnut hue often hidden beneath the baseball cap he wore on location; today, it was a neutral gray that bore no emblem.

Dressed in layers that suggested a readiness for the unpredictability of fieldwork, he wore a plain black t-shirt beneath a soft, zip-up fleece jacket the color of slate. His cargo pants were a faded black, pockets bulging with the small tools of his trade—extra batteries, lens cloths, perhaps a backup memory card. Sturdy, well-worn boots in a deep brown graced his feet, the leather scuffed from days spent chasing after the next big story with Jesse. His only concession to style was a pair of understated glasses that framed intelligent eyes, commonly focused on the viewfinder of his trusty camera rather than on those who passed by.

"Okay, we're live in five, four, three..." her partner counted down, ending with a silent gesture as the red light of the camera blinked into life.

Jesse's voice sprang forth, a bubbly fountain of optimism against the backdrop of collective mourning. "Good afternoon! Jesse Andrews here, with a special report from Freedom Plaza, where the heartbeat of our city pulsates with love and solidarity today," she began, beaming into the lens.

The camera panned over the gathered citizens, their faces a mosaic of hope and pain. "Though we've been shaken to our core by the unexpected demise of our cherished hero Sledgehammer Sam, look around—see how neighbors comfort neighbors, strangers unite in shared humanity."

Her cheer never faltered, a beacon of positivity. "In times of trial, it is the spirit of our citizens that shines brightest. Today, we confirm that when faced with darkness, our city stands radiant with the light of camaraderie. People here are already talking about vigils, about community gatherings to honor Sam's memory," she said, her eyes sparkling with unfeigned admiration.

Her partner angled the camera back to her just as a little girl in the crowd released a balloon into the sky, a symbol of hope amidst the skyline of heroes.

"And it's not just about coming together to grieve," Jesse continued, her voice a warm embrace to every viewer through the screen. "It's about looking forward, building upon the legacy of heroes like Sledgehammer Sam. It's an opportunity for everyone, from The Order to small neighborhood watch groups, to reaffirm our commitment to keeping this city a bastion of peace and unity."

She turned to a passing couple, who stopped to share their thoughts. "Sam was a symbol of strength, someone my kids looked up to," the husband said, holding his partner's hand. "We'll step up however we can. Small community groups, neighborhood patrols—we're in this together."

As Jesse wrapped up the interview, her partner captured a final sweep of the crowd—a city undaunted. "Though we may mourn, though we face the unknown," Jesse concluded, "we do so shoulder-to-shoulder, heart-to-heart. This is Jesse Andrews, signing off with a reminder: No shadow can dim the light that shines from the unity of the people. Back to you in the studio."

The red light blinked off, and for a moment, Jesse's smile faded, a hint of melancholy in the expanse between action and repose. Her partner gave her a nod, recognizing the effort it took to be the harvester of hope when the fields around them were clouded with potential despair.

Jesse sighed, "Ugh. I'm beat."

Her partner, named Allen, replied, "We're the first ones here, were definitely bringing in the most views on this story."

"Is that all you care about? How rude."

"Jesse, you know if we don't bring in the good shit, Zilla is gonna kick our assess, and you know what that means? No promo-."

"-No promotion, I get it."

"See? So we're on the same page. Heroes die everyday? But you wanna know what doesn't?"

"And what's that?"

"Money. Bills. Bands or however the kids call it these days."

"Better hope that the cameras are off. And I don't agree with you, AT ALL."

"Yeah you will eventually. Are you headed home?"

"Got a lot of work to do, ya know? Gotta travel on a train in a few minutes. Gonna be sooo..exciting." She said that with a worn out tone.

"What for? You think you're overworking yourself?"

"This is what I always wanted. Living the dream I guess.." Jesse turned her frown into a smile, continuing, "I'm going on that train to follow Maverick Surge and his group of lackeys for a charity event they're gonna host."

"Ohhh? You were personally invited?"

"Yeah, this could be good for us. And maybe get that little PRO-MO-TION you've always been wanting."

"Yes yes, I do love my money. Alright, I'm coming with you."

"Umm.."

"What? They don't like me?"

"NO ONE KNOWS YOU. I'M KNOWN." Jesse laughed.

"Shut it, I only want money, you want attention. We're two different people. Let's head out. What are they gonna do? Is Maverick Surge gonna blast me out of the train?"

"Yep, maybe."

"HA! You've been the same since middle school."

"Shut up, you love me."

As Kade reached the automatic doors of the hospital, sliding open with a hiss to welcome another body into its overburdened bowels, Kade's gaze lifted to the pantheon of heroes etched into the entrance arch. Guardians, saviors, protectors—titles and accolades he had once believed in, naively.

Inside, the sanitized smell of the hospital waged a constant war against the underlying stench of illness and despair. Nurses and doctors moved with both urgency and exhaustion, their uniforms less capes and more like the shackles of duty.

Kade navigated the maze of corridors, straining against the memories of his father—the man he once was, strong and indomitable, now rendered a shell by sickness and the system's neglect.

"Sir, visiting hours will end in thirty minutes," a nurse reminded him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling him from his reverie.

"Got it, thanks," he responded, throat tight, voice barely a whisper.

Finally reaching room 611, Kade's hand hovered over the door handle, taking a moment to gather himself. The sterile number marked his destination and within lay his world, one that was fading, one he fought to keep alight. He exhaled, fortifying his resolve before turning the handle, bracing himself to don the mask of strength his father now required of him.

The door clicked open, and Kade stepped across the threshold into the quiet vigil of vigilance by his father's bedside, a personal sanctum far removed from the world of gods and men outside.

Kade pushed the door open with a gentle creak, stepping into the sterile hospital room. The scene that met his eyes was far from the solemn serenity he'd imagined – instead, it was like walking into the middle of a bizarre comedic play that nobody had bothered to give him the script for.

His father, Harold, was sitting upright in the hospital bed, his face ruddy with exertion as he waved a dismissive hand at the figure standing beside him. This figure was dressed in the unmistakable garb of a clergyman, complete with a stark white collar – though there was something about him that seemed a little off, a bit too polyester, perhaps a bit too... fake.

Harold has gray slick back hair, a gray beard, dark brown eyes, and freckles and a pair of glasses harboring the bridge of his eyes.

"No, no, no! I've told you, Father Fakey, I'm not kicking the bucket yet, so you can take your last rites and your doomsaying and skedaddle!" Harold's voice, though weakened from his illness, still carried the booming authority that had once made him a commanding presence in any room.

The "priest" in question, a rather unconvincing imposter with hair a little too greasy and a bible a little too new, recoiled slightly. "Now, Mr.Riley, the Lord teaches us to be prepared. Accept his embrace and find peace before—"

"Find peace? I'll find peace when you find a real job!" Harold snapped back, causing the faux priest to clasp his bible defensively against his chest.

Kade's presence seemed unnoticed as the absurd exchange continued, his father gesticulating broadly in defiance of his ailment. He couldn't help but crack a smile; even in the face of his mortality, Harold was as irreverent and stubborn as ever.

Kade cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself at last. "You're evangelizing a little early, aren't you, padre? Last I checked, death wasn't knocking just yet."

The priest, caught off guard, turned to face Kade, adopting a look of pious concern that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ah, you must be the son. Your father and I were just discussing the importance of—"

Before he could finish, a rather rotund cat, the hospital therapy animal known for its unerring ability to sense tension (and promptly contribute to it), sauntered in through the still-ajar door and made a beeline for the priest's leg, rubbing against it with an air of feline entitlement.

As the priest awkwardly tried to disentangle himself from the cat's affection, Harold erupted into a fit of belly laughter, the sound rich and contagious.

"That's Jasper, the fat cat with a knack for finding the biggest rat in the room," Harold chuckled, winking conspiratorially at Kade.

"Maybe we should hear him out, Dad," Kade quipped, enjoying the farce. "He might yet teach Jasper here about the seven deadly sins. Gluttony, right, Jasper?"

With a roll of his eyes and a final attempt to shoo the persistent cat, the fake priest gathered his dignity as best he could. "I see my counsel is not required at this time. Good day, Mr. Riley, young sir. I will be back." And with that, he beat a hasty retreat, his exit somewhat hampered by Jasper's decision to lay claim to one of his shiny, faux-leather shoes.

As the door swung shut behind them, Kade moved to his father's side, still chuckling. "You know, Dad, between you and that cat, I think you've got the ward's entertainment covered for the week."

Harold gave a satisfied grunt, his irritation fading into amusement. "I'll charge them for the performance. Now, come here, boy. Tell me about your day and leave out none of the details."

Kade pulled a chair up to the bedside, the flimsy plastic bending slightly under his weight. His father eyed him with that old, hawkish intensity, momentarily putting the ridiculous spectacle they'd just witnessed out of mind.

"So, you slaving away at that greasy pit still?" Harold inquired, a brusque edge to his voice that Kade knew disguised genuine concern.

"Yeah, Dad, fryin' up a storm at Burger Bonanza." Kade's hands animated the words as he described his day-to-day. "But there are some decent folks there. Like Jenny, she's on the register, quick with a smile and never messes up an order. Then there's Big Ron, man can flip a burger to perfection blindfolded."

Harold snorted. "Don't tell me that's the highlight of your day. What about the clowns making life hell?"

Kade sighed, a smile curling the corners of his mouth despite the exhaustion creeping into his bones. "Well, there's this one guy, Larry, thinks he's God's gift to fast food. Keeps sneaking bites of the chicken tenders when he thinks no one's watching. Got sauce on his shirt more often than not. And let me tell ya, he's one customer complaint away from flipping patties out on the fucking sidewalk."

A raspy laugh escaped Harold, a hint of his former boisterousness peering through. "That's my boy, surviving the madness." The old hero paused, his eyes squinting with mischief. "Speaking of surviving, are you still bunking with those roaches at that rundown motel, or have you got some real digs now?"

Kade's grin broadened. "Got myself an apartment, Dad. First month's rent nearly wiped me out, but it's mine." The pride in that statement was unmistakable, like planting a flag on a personal moon.

"An apartment, huh?" Harold's voice peaked, the volume rising despite the hospital setting. "Damn straight! Not bad for a burger jockey. My boy's moving up in the world, even in this shithole of a city." Harold's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, albeit one that could be heard two rooms over. "Well, just remember, that place better have room for a six-pack in the fridge."

"Dad!" Kade chided, trying to maintain some decorum.

Harold waved him off, coughing a bit from the exertion. "Ah, screw decorum. When I was top dog, saving folks left and right, the city was a cesspool. Now? It's a cesspool with a shiny layer of crap on top. But sometimes..." He winked at Kade, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Sometimes, a little bit of beer makes it all bearable, son. Balm for the soul in a world that's gone to hell in a hero's handbasket."

Kade couldn't help but let out a reluctant laugh. "I'll remember that, old man." Then, with a hint of tenderness, "Just take it easy, okay? I need your loud mouth around to annoy me for a good while longer."

"You'll have this magnificent bastard around for years to come, kid. Years to come," Harold said with a stubborn nod, the twinkle in his eyes a reflection of the superhero that once was.

Just as the conversation was hitting a lull, the door nudged open, and in walked Nurse Jenkins, a young woman with an air of no-nonsense professionalism about her. Her hair was up in a tight bun, her scrubs were impeccably clean, and she carried her clipboard like a shield against any nonsense that might come her way. She had black curly long hair, freckles, and blue eyes, with her light brown.

"Well, Harold, I see you're still causing trouble," she said with a hint of a smile, beginning her routine check of the various monitors and notes.

"You betcha, sweetheart," Harold replied with a theatrical wink. "And I must say, you're looking as radiant as ever. Must be that angelic glow about you, or have I finally kicked the bucket and gone to heaven?"

Nurse Jenkins didn't miss a beat, checking his pulse with an expert's indifference. "No such luck, Mr.Riley. You're stuck with us for a bit longer." There was a playful edge in her tone that made Kade think she was used to this banter.

While she charted some numbers down, Kade couldn't help but notice the gentle way she went about her work, the focused concern in her eyes. She caught him looking and gave him a quick, professional smile.

"How are you holding up, Kade?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave to a more compassionate timbre. "Must be hard, juggling work and being here."

His heart skipped unexpectedly. "I'm managing. It helps, knowing he's being taken care of by the best. How..do you know who I am?"

Nurse Jenkins blushed just slightly. "We do our job, Kade. Just make sure you're also taking care of yourself. And uh, your dad keeps talking about you all day."

"Oh really..?"

Kade looked at his father, and Harold nodded slowly with a wink.

'Fucking old man..you're the best.'

Kade hasn't had feelings for a girl in a long time, ever since that once incident.

Kade's response was interrupted by the sudden wail of alarms down the hallway. With a quick look of apology, Nurse Jenkins excused herself, her clinical demeanor snapping back into place as she hurried to the emerging crisis. Kade's eyes trailed after her, a strange sense of connection tugging at him.

Harold didn't miss the exchange. "Well, well, look at you, boy. Like what you see?" he teased, then laughed heartily. "Go on, give it a shot. What's the worst that could happen? You trip over your own feet again like when you asked out Susie what's-her-name?"

The memory hit Kade like a bucket of cold water. It was his final year of high school, he'd finally mustered the courage to approach his crush, Susie Clement, with a bouquet of flowers. He'd planned it out, rehearsed it in his head, but as fate would have it, he'd managed to trip over a wayward basketball and land face-first into the school's freshly planted flower bed. Susie had barely stifled her laughter as he'd fished a daffodil from his hair, pride and petals equally crushed.

"Thanks for bringing that up, Dad. Really boosts the confidence," Kade grumbled, not able to suppress a smile. Harold's raucous laughter filled the room, only fueling his son's reluctant amusement.

"Ah, son, if you can't laugh at the past, what can you laugh at? Besides, you've got Riley blood in you. We fall hard, but we always get back up. Even if it's out of a flower bed. Now, don't let a blooming mishap keep you from chasing a pretty petal when you see one, you hear?"

"Yeah yeah, always with the quotes and shit like that."

"What's the matter? Really? Is it because of what I-."

"Nah, nah, it's not about the nurse or anything."

"Then what's up?"

Kade began to reminisce on the events from earlier, how he had stabbed Sledgehammer Sam in the eye. He didn't wanna tell his father about anything he encountered.

Kade brought up something else that was bothering him, saying, "Alright, alright. It's Kaya. And her shitty aunt Anna. Sorry."

"She's your mothers sister, I never liked her anyway. She's a divorced widow whose husband was killed by a supervillain. Now she's all grumpy, being left alone with a son she hates."

"Who doesn't she hate?"

"Heh, you got me there. You could take her to court, get custody over Kaya."

"I fought too much in school, and apparently I'm a monster because of it. I won't win it, they'll pull my records."

"Might've been my fault. I always made you fight your bullies, then handed you a beer afterwards."

"It wasn't your fault. People started to respect me after, I was so damn cool after I lost that fight."

"I figured If I fought the bullies who were the super villains, you could too. Since you wanted to be a superhero and all."

"Now it has turned into being a hero for Kaya."

"I hope so too, Kade. You both are precious to me, even after your mother went missing years ago, I still had you two. I know you'll do great things, Kade."

Harold put his hand on his son's shoulder, saying, "Now get the fuck out so I can hit on the woman in the other room. She's been staring at me everytime I walk past the room."

"Yeah okay go do that. You need help, old man."

"Nah, YOU DO."

As Kade was walking away, he murmured, "You're damn right I do."