Damien had never regretted having a car so much as he did now, attempting to navigate around New York City and find a place to park within reasonable walking distance of the Tower of Unity.

The heroes had always been ostentatious when it came to their own righteousness. From their naming conventions—heroes often naming themselves after gods, calling themselves Unity agents—to the way they filled the world, declaring themselves to be right and expecting everyone else to go along. Every hero tower Damien had come across was loud and obtrusive, but this one was the worst of all.

The Tower of Unity stood in the middle of the city, a structure of luminescent glass, glowing even in the light of day. It towered above everything around it, every building on the block as new as the tower and somehow connected to it. Plaques marked the street, telling a story for the groups of passersby, congregating on the sidewalk to gawk at the tower. No one seemed to acknowledge that this area used to be home to hundreds of people and businesses and a whole community, only to be replaced by these heroes.

He finally found a place to park, pulling up parallel to a building across the street. He sat there for a moment, glowering at the tower.

I shouldn't be here.

I'm doing this for Vora, he reminded himself a moment later. His personal feelings on heroes didn't matter; he wasn't trying to become one. He was here to help Vora, and that was all. He'd be able to leave as soon as his job was done, and then he'd never have to pretend again.

Damien reached into the backseat, pulling up his backpack with his acceptance letter and following information inside, then set his prosthetic arm back to neutral. As he watched, the faux skin across the mechanical arm changed to match his tan, hiding away the tools he'd built into it. He would still be able to use the core Vora had added to it, though he shouldn't use it around heroes. The other tools would all remain dormant until he turned off the base settings again.

He sprinted across the street, dodging cars and angry drivers, and made for the front door of the Tower of Unity. His skin revolted as he pressed his shoulder into the door, pushing it open. He'd only stepped foot in a hero tower twice in his life, now three times.

This was the first time it was his own choice.

His footsteps faltered as he laid eyes on the room before him. It was like a hotel lobby, only made out of the same super-created material as the rest of the tower, and full of people. Heroes in costume, talking amiably to the groups of people here to tour the historical tower, walking them through rooms full of artifacts and vaguely-historical half-truths. A desk to the far right of the room had two lines of people extending away from it, people in various states of composure waiting to speak to the two suited agents behind it. As he watched, a hero in a purple and teal costume darted up to the line, pulling a man away to a private room to speak.

Mechanical fingers wrapping around his backpack strap, he stared into the room, trying to figure out where to go.

Before he could move, someone spotted him, and a man who appeared to be in his mid thirties approached, moving through the crowd like a ghost. People parted around him, but no one seemed to acknowledge his passing, simply shifting out of the way almost unconsciously.

The hair on the back of Damien's neck raised as he blinked at the hero, realizing he was the only one in the room who could see him.

His appearance was unobtrusive, wearing a pair of jeans and a long, oversized coat over a T-shirt of some anime Damien hadn't seen. The only thing designating him as a hero, a small domino mask over his eyes, leaving the lower portion of his face and a groomed beard visible.

"Damien Natele?" the man asked, holding out a hand.

He took half a step back, the use of his full name catching him off guard.

The hero laughed, giving Damien what was surely meant to be a reassuring look. "I'm in charge of looking for the stragglers," he said, lowering his gloved hand back to his side. "Come with me, and we'll get you in our system."

The man turned and made his way back through the crowded lobby, clearly expecting Damien to follow. He did, of course, tightening his grip on his backpack, but not without letting out a small noise of annoyance. These heroes expected everyone to just listen to them and follow without explanation or a single other word.

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The hero led the way out of the main lobby, through a door at the back of the room into a smaller, more comfortable space. The noise faded out the moment Damien shut the door, a babble in the distance.

The room was set up more like a private lounge, with low couches and chairs set up at intervals, along with tables of coffee and other refreshments. The few people in the room didn't glance their way as Damien and the hero entered.

The hero led him to a desk, stepping smoothly behind it and logging onto the computer before beginning to ask a series of questions. Despite the growing urge to activate his power and take a peak at what the hero was typing, Damien resisted. He'd been caught once in the tower's computer systems, getting caught again would probably be enough to get him booted from the program before it even began.

Once onboarding him fully into a system, and handing over a bracelet Damien desperately wanted to take apart and dissect, he gave Damien yet another packet of information and directed him back across the street to the apartment building he'd be living in for his time in the hero program.

He crossed the street, retrieving his few belongings from the car before making his way into the apartment building to find his room. It had been a long time since he'd had a space to himself, at least beyond his car and rough lab scraped out in the back of one of LA's abandoned tunnels beneath the city. The last time he'd been in a real home?

That must have been before he ran away from foster care.

The apartment was small, not quite a one bedroom and not quite a studio, with the bedroom space separated off by a single, freestanding wall. It was already furnished, with a bed and a few bookshelves, a dresser, and a few basic tools in the small kitchen. There was also a couch and a TV, but no desk, something he would have to remedy.

Once he'd set everything down, he activated his power. It swelled from his core like an aftershock originating at his body, sweeping the room. It tingled in his mind as a sixth sense, detecting the TV on its stand and the microwave on the counter. The wiring running through the walls, and the lighting above him. No hidden cameras or speakers, unless the heroes had devised a way to hide them even from technosense.

Which shouldn't be possible.

He still didn't put it past them.

There wasn't much he could do if they could, however.

Activating his prosthetic arm once more, he clicked a button and a prompt appeared in the corner of his vision, a blinking red cursor. He quickly typed out a message.

I've arrived at the hero program. Instruction?

He stood there for a moment, a statue in the middle of his new apartment, waiting for a response. In the past, it had taken him hours to get a response from Vora. Now, she had little else to do.

Stay the course.

He let out a little growl. That wasn't the answer he wanted. He needed instruction. He'd applied like she asked, and gotten admitted. Now he was here, and he needed to know what she expected him to do. She didn't expect him to complete this whole program, did she?

He'd go insane.

I will find where they are keeping you and get you out, he promised.

The answer came a few moments later, typing across his vision furiously. Earn their trust first. Find my daughter. I want her back when I'm free.

Yes ma'am.

He blinked, and the cursor vanished from his mind. No more messages came through. Vora was locked up and had nothing but time on her hands, and she couldn't even let him in on the plan.

Damien sucked in a deep breath, releasing his fist before the grip could begin to cause damage to his nerves. Vora had a plan. Right now, his piece in that was staying here, learning the hero trade, and getting close to Vivainne. It wasn't like her daughter had already rejected him once, when he'd tried to get close to her.

Well, now he would at least have a few months to gain her trust, rather than a few hours over the course of their mutual community service.

The locked black bracelet around his wrist vibrated. He looked up, wincing as he noticed the time, and left the apartment. At the same time, dozens of others of the new hero class left their rooms, migrating into the hallway in nervous silence. He fell in with the group as they entered the elevator, descending further than he thought was possible. It was only when the elevator opened up to a wide, well lit tunnel that he realized there was a secret route between the hero living quarters and the tower across the street.

Reaching out tentatively as he walked, he sought out the familiar sense of surveillance material. His power brushed against cameras and microphones as he walked, touching against sensors hidden in the floor beneath them.

Well, that was to be expected, but he couldn't help but be disappointed by it. If he could use the tunnels, they could be a great asset, especially considering there had to be more of them out there. But with this much surveillance, he'd have to do a lot of work to stay hidden.

If only I had that girl's power, he thought, entering a wide hall. Chairs sat in rows in the center of the massive underground cathedral, facing a short stage and podium. His eyes caught on Vivainne as he took a seat in the very back row, her black hair hanging to the small of her back. She was both his largest obstacle, and most important goal.

Maybe I should go and talk to her now.

He pushed halfway out of the seat as a body flew past him, racing toward the girl and throwing her arms around her.

A moment later, a microphone squealed as a woman in a tight, glittering suit stepped up to the podium to speak.

Damien sat back down, crossing his arms over his chest. He would find the right moment to speak to her, once this nonsense was over.

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