Loud, rowdy and jubilant, Zalen and his friends feasted in their favourite fast food chain less than a mile away from their school. The eight boys surrounded a large circular table with enough food to feed a small army: fizzy drinks, chips -- or fries if you’re an American-- and a dozen buckets filled to the brim with chicken drumsticks. They laughed and grinned as they talked about the things you would expect teenagers to talk about. You know. The usual. Girls, sports, movies, school, games.

Simultaneously, however, they all stopped twenty minutes into their meal when an old man entered the shop. There was nothing particularly intimidating about the guy. He was about 5ft4, had glasses and a wrinkly pale complexion. More skin and bone than muscle. All the boys turned around to look at him. No one was smiling anymore. There were mostly blank stares but a few looked pissed off.

BURP! Zalen broke the silence. “Ay, boss man?”

The shop owner suddenly appeared by the counter. Like he’d teleported from the kitchen. His eyes widened upon seeing the new customer. He slowly shook his head. “We’re not open tonight. Sorry.”

Confused, the old man scratched the back of his head. As soon as he left, smiles and laughter returned. When they weren’t slicing faces off, drug dealing or [insert criminal activity here], the Hustlers hung out at their local chicken shop.

“Let’s start with the obvious,” Zalen cleaned his hands with some wet wipes as chatter died down. “Some of us got our asses whooped. Luke?”

A tall, skinny boy with a black eye sucked on a chicken bone before sighing. “We killed the snake. But then this crazy bitch showed up. She was wearing a mask similar to Psycho’s. Knocked us all out and then just left. Bro, she wasn’t even armed.”

“So I heard. This for real?”

“Yes. For real.

“Like, for real for real? This isn’t a prank?”

“My left eye doesn’t think it’s a prank.”

Zalen chuckled. “Alright, let’s move on. As you know, the first shipment is ready. We’ll roll it out in a few days. Get your squads ready.”

“Wait. That’s it?” Luke asked. “Shouldn’t we... do something?”

Zalen pinched the bridge of his nose, laughing louder now. “Yes of course. Next time, put bullets through her skull. As long as Psycho’s not operating, we’ll be fine. What we’re dealing with here is a copycat, someone clearly skilled but not a superhero. She’ll be dead before your eye heals up. Let’s get this new product on the streets.”

“Where is he anyway?” Rick asked, a tall muscular dude wearing a durag. “You think he’s gone for good?”

Zalen shrugged as he thought of Ejiro’s words. “He better be.”

24/03/2055 Cadell’s journal.

As I was drawing yesterday, I overheard a talk show concerning my absence. During the discussion, with a wide smirk on his face, the host called me a quitter. This couldn’t be further from the truth yet the words stuck with me.

Quitting has recently crossed my mind. For five years, I’ve put the city first and my well being second, fighting for the safety of others and looking to cleanse a curse that I honestly don’t know how to cleanse.

Despite the obsession keeping me on this Earth, sometimes I want to float away from everything. Above the screams and cries for help. Away from the voice in my head.

I wish I wasn’t a murderer. I wish I didn’t have superpowers. I wish the city was safe.

I wish I could be a butterfly.

I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m...