Chapter 10.

20 advance chapters on P@treon.com/Rentakun.

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Once I was safely home and had caught my breath, I removed the amulet from around my neck. I'd worn it for a little over an hour without any immediate issues, but I wasn't in the mood to push my luck or tempt fate after the chaotic night.

I stripped off my clothes, noticing the severe damage they had sustained after being shot through. I'd have to get rid of them; I couldn't exactly pass it off as wear and tear to my cop father.

As I inspected my reflection in the mirror, I saw the intense dark blue, purple, and black bruises covering my chest, legs, buttocks, arms, and the back of my neck. Worse still, there were markings where the pellets had indented into my skin, drawing blood. They weren't gunshot wounds, but they hurt like hell. I was thankful I hadn't been hit in the face or groin; I might not have made it out alive.

I took the tiger amulet and held it against the darkest bruises.

"Please, pretty please work," I muttered.

A faint golden glow radiated from the amulet as it touched my skin. Slowly, my skin returned to its normal color, and the pain subsided. I moved the amulet around my body, stretching to find any remaining discomfort.

When I could no longer see any bruises, I moved closer to the mirror to inspect my face. I grinned. I held the amulet up to my forehead, and as promised, no more acne! I laughed, feeling pleased with my appearance.

I tucked the amulet back into my coat pocket and went to bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out cold.

The next morning, I stifled a yawn at the breakfast table. Advanced healing magic didn't replace the need for sleep.

Dad came into the kitchen looking grumpy.

"I can't find my police vest. I was supposed to have it in the back of the car for patrol in case it's needed."

I shrugged. "Maybe it's at the office?"

"I'm sure I had it here," he said, rubbing tiredness from his eyes. "This damn case must be taking its toll on me. No progress of late."

He grabbed a piece of Nutella-covered toast from my plate as he passed by.

"Hey!" I protested.

"And there I was, about to thank you for your generous donation!" he joked before checking his watch. "I'd best leave now to get to the precinct and check my locker there before I start. See you later, kiddo."

I finished my breakfast and took the bus to school. I joked around with a few friends between classes as I trudged through the day.

The previous night had been harrowing, to say the least. My superhero debut had almost been my last. What started as a simple takedown of two car thieves had escalated into being blasted to bits and fleeing from cops.

Why had that third guy even been there? He was obviously with them. Was he their lookout? And he mentioned Hammerheard. I knew that name—it belonged to a Marvel New York crime boss. That was the extent of my knowledge, though. He was a bad guy who'd undergone partial adamantium reconstructive surgery.

I'd be lying if I said doubt wasn't creeping in. I'd been treating this whole superhero business like a game. I'd seen my favorite fictional heroes survive against all odds and continue fighting, but they had one thing I didn't: plot armor. They always won by the narrowest of margins and the luckiest of odds. I was, at the end of the day, just me, trying to carve my own path.

If there was one clear takeaway from last night, it was that I'd been overly excited and hadn't considered the possibility of getting my ass handed to me. Before I fought crime again, I needed to understand my exact capabilities.

The day dragged on, and in the evening, I went to Krav Maga, where I met a rather impatient Lana.

"You! You've not been around for days! Where have you been? I helped you out with that THING," she seethed, glancing around to make sure no one was paying us any attention before continuing her rant. "Hoping to get some juicy gossip about your family and then you bugger off!" She pointed at my chest, furrowing her brows.

Ah, shit. I had forgotten, what with everything that had happened recently. I looked at her with what I hoped was guilt and remorse on my face.

"Sorry, sorry, I got caught up with some stuff. Anyway, can we skip the part where you're mad at me so I can tell you what I learned?" I said with a sly grin.

I knew she wasn't really mad; she was just frustrated that I'd disappeared from her radar. Unfortunately for her, her curiosity took over.

"Well, spit it out then!" she demanded, pretending to huff, which only made me chuckle.

I told her about accessing the records, how easy it was to perform the search, and the scary result. The possibility that my little espionage might have been discovered.

"Jesus, Jordan. No wonder you've not been around. Your dad must have been furious," concern laced her voice.

"Well, that's the thing. As far as I'm aware, my dad doesn't know yet. He's not the type to hide something from me if he did, so I'm at a bit of a loss," I shrugged, genuinely unsure.

We chatted some more as the class went on. I sparred with the students, performing worse than usual due to my preoccupation with new problems.

Afterward, Dad picked me up, and we drove home in relative silence. This was unusual; he was usually cheerful. I didn't know how to broach the subject, so I kept quiet.

The evening progressed, and while my parents appeared tired and weary, I tried to hide my excitement about hitting the streets again. They excused themselves after dinner, telling me not to stay up too late on a school night.

I might be a bit dense at times, but it would take a blind and deaf person to overlook that something was amiss. I went to my room, shut the door behind me, and fished the tiger head amulet out of my coat pocket.

Suddenly, my senses expanded outward. The world exploded around me in crystal-clear sensations. I took a moment to tune out the distractions and focus on my parents in their room directly below mine.

"-If it was just one thing, I'd think it's a coincidence. But both within a week? I think he's back, Christie."

"How sure are you?" I could hear the worry in Mum's voice.

"You might really have just lost your vest?" she asked, almost hopeful.

Sterling scoffed. "I've hung up my vest in that closet every night for as long as I can remember being an officer. It hasn't just gone missing. He took it. I know him, I grew up with him. He took it from our home in the middle of the night to send a message: that we are at his mercy. That he's in control."

I blanched. Damn, what had I gotten myself into? On one hand, I was relieved my dad didn't suspect me, but who did he think was responsible? It sounded like he suspected his brother, the one I had searched for.

"So what, Sterling? Even if he did break into our house and take your vest without us knowing, how did he access your terminal at work? What was it the FBI told you? That they'd received an information request regarding him from your terminal? How could he have managed that?"

Sterling sighed, defeat clear in his voice. "I have no idea, but he was always a step ahead of everyone around him. I believe it was him."

Their conversation ended, leaving them to sit in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

I looked out my window at the bustling city below. Even here in Queens, you knew you were in a city that never sleeps. I stared at the rooftops wistfully, eager to get back out there, but I couldn't risk my parents checking up on me before bed.

I removed the necklace, feeling its power slowly leave me. I looked around for something to pass the time. In my past life, I'd have watched something or played a game, but aside from waking as Jordan in the Marvel universe, I'd also traveled back in time—though not very far.

That meant my viewing options were limited, and our home Wi-Fi wasn't up to scratch. I went over to the pile of DVDs on my bookshelf and picked a film I'd seen many times in both lives. It was about a guy trying to create a theme park with revived dinosaurs.

Time crawled by, and eventually, I was sure my parents were asleep. I placed the amulet around my neck, greeted by the sound of Dad's grizzly bear snoring and Mum's light "shut up" kick in response. I was ready to go out.

Just like the previous night, I slipped out and onto the roof, this time in another set of dark sportswear, minus a bulletproof vest. Tonight was about learning my strength. I couldn't just go around hitting people forever.

I traveled east towards the local council dump for household goods. Deciding where to test myself had been surprisingly difficult. I didn't want to be seen by others or caught on security cameras and end up on YouTube.

After 20 minutes of building hopping, I arrived. The entrance was floodlit, guarded by a bored-looking security guard who was lounging in a cabin with a heater and a television. He seemed to expect nothing more exciting than the occasional car taking a wrong turn. After all, useful materials and metals were regularly collected by the council, leaving only waste for landfill at night.

There were security cameras at the guard's booth and along the road leading into the dump, but that was all. I dropped to the main street away from the entrance and sprinted towards the 10-foot (3-meter) barbed wire fence marking the perimeter.

With the finesse of a model on a Paris runway, I flipped over the fence and landed in a crouch, one hand on the ground for balance. I waited, head up, for any sign of detection. Satisfied I was clear, I jogged into the dump.

The dump was organized into piles: furniture in one area, plant materials in another. As I ventured further, I found what I was looking for—old, broken, and unusable washing machines, dishwashers, and other appliances. Away from the entrance, there was no lighting, allowing my dark vision to function fully away from the streetlights.

Here, I could truly test my strength without worry. The constant hum of the busy streets masked any noise I might make.

Rolling up my sleeves, I approached a battered tumble dryer perched atop a washing machine, its height ideal for a test punch. Smirking, I prepared for the first test.

I balled my fist, recalling my practice on the punching bags at Krav Maga. Channeling my full force, I struck the center of the machine.

It flew backward with a resounding crash.

Staring in disbelief at the spot where the machine had been, I looked down at my hands. A feral grin spread across my face.

Yes.

This was power—what it truly meant to be super.

I inspected the machine I'd hit. It had crumpled inward, my fist's shape clearly imprinted on its side.

I might not be bulletproof, but I could hit with the force of a wrecking ball. The gears in my mind were turning as I barely contained my excitement. Cracking my knuckles, I prepared for more testing.

Now, I needed to gauge how much force to use when hitting people.