Lightening flashed followed by roaring thunder. Crimson clouds spat blood down onto London’s congested streets.

Cadell remained silent, perched on a skyscraper, just like usual. But unlike any other night, there was no hyperactivity or buzzing mind filled with glee and anticipation for the events to come forwards. The sad truth was that he no longer felt like a superhero. In the the title, ‘Psycho the Superhero’ He felt more of the Psycho than anything else. Of course, the knife phobia was the catalyst for this belief but the more he thought about his life as a vigilante the more he questioned the title.

Superhero? Who was he kidding?

Superheroes were symbols of justice, not fugitives with a body count. They were role role models, not possessing mysterious entities urging them to massacre anyone within an five mile radius.

Superhero’s aren’t broken, boy.

“I’m in position,” Hazel said, her voice emitting from the Psycho mask’s interior. “Are you sure you want to start it like this? We could go together.“

“No,” Cadell interjected. “Follow the plan.”

Silence lingered on the other end. Within the short silence, a large part of Cadell wanted to say yes. Minutes earlier, he explained to Hazel in detail how they were going to dispose of the Hustlers hidden manufacturing facility. He gave convincing reasons to why it was the best course for action and why it had the highest success rate with no hiccups. It was logical and reasonable. Sane.

Thud! Thud!

Cadell punched the roof surface twice. Sane. Psycho the Superhero. Sane.

He couldn’t pinpoint the problem but something wasn’t right. He felt off brand. This wasn’t him. Before self proclaiming as a superhero, he had questioned his identity day after day after day. After changing from a normal teenager to a violent young man committing a double homicide, naturally, he questioned who he was as a person.

Was he an evil person? Did he deserve to live? Was he really Cadell anymore? Were those bloodthirsty seizures really him? Was mentally illness just an excuse and was he really just a monster? Who on earth was he really now?

Questions like these haunted him day and night.

Eventually, he had decided on Psycho the Superhero. It accurately encompassed everything that he was. The Voice. The horrific seizures. The obsessive desire to make London’s streets safer.

But now he felt like the identity he had fought so hard to claim was slipping away.

“We’re syncing,” Cadell muttered. On the Psycho mask holographic display, a camera feed displaying Hazel’s point of view popped up. Now he could see everything she was seeing.

The manufacturing facility was shown to the world in plain sight, so much so that it was ridiculous. In a high traffic area, where billboards shown advertisements about a popping artists latest album, a crack den for one of the most dangerous drugs known to man was being produced.

It was a tall building with five floors with the typical boring architecture you would expect. With a bit of research, one would find the building was owned by a mammoth sized corporate, insurance company.

Hazel stood on a building adjacent, zooming in using her mask. “Infrared vision on. It’s time!” If it wasn’t for Cadell’s sour mood, her excited squeals would have made him smile.

“On one,” Cadell whispered.

“On one,” Hazel agreed.

“Three, two, one!”

Hazel sunk through an invisible portal and reappeared only millimetres below the ceiling on the fourth floor. The corridor below was not empty. A dozen plus heavily armed security guards holdings assault rifles patrolled the area, but Cadell watched the camera footage only with a curiosity.

Hazel landed right behind the group. She cleared her throat, before outstretching a single arm. “Hello,” she said in a loud voice.

The guards turned around.

“Do you know where the laboratories are?”

A split second passed, then just like magic, the group of guards sunk through the floor. Hazel immediately punched the air. “It worked, it worked, it worked.”

“Of course it worked.”

The trick was simple. Cadell decided to use invisible portals again. Although they couldn’t be seen by the average human, they could be seen with infrared vision. All Hazel needed to do was point at her victim and Cadell could do the rest from a distance.

Alarms begin blaring, triggered by a security guard who looked at camera footage with bulging eyes most likely.

“Give me a second.” Cadell yawned. “Stay alive while I get the schematics of the place.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. 30 seconds, a minute? Depends. They’ll come in waves so treat it like a video game. Yeah. Treat it like that.”

“You’re weird,” Hazel said.

“Now, how’s it going, my guy?" A guard dangled in the air, then dropped to Cadell’s feet, gasping heavily for air. “Do you like skydiving?”

“No,” the guard replied back quickly.

Cadell put his hand on the guards shoulder who flinched in response. “That sucks. I don’t think they like it either.” He pointed his index finger to the side.

A barrage of screaming bodies plummeted past them. The guard gulped.

Cadell nodded, acknowledging the fear and empathising. “We don’t need to get to that stage. I just need you to answer a question my friend said earlier: Do you know where the laboratories are?”

Not long later, Cadell and Hazel were in the manufacturing facility, located approximately 5000ft underneath the main building. Both of them had questions, questions neither could answer. Who on earth were the Hustlers working with?

Cadell scratched his head while Hazel sped around one of the many huge laboratories. She inspected every nook and cranny of the place, ooing and and ahhing at every piece of equipment, large and small. She seemed to be the familiar with the technology.

The place reminded Cadell of the Dome, another secret facility which was the home of Psycho’s Asylum. Each lab hummed loudly, illuminated with a snowy light. Work benches which had recently been evacuated, filled with racks filled with test tubes and hologram projectors displaying equations, theories and streams of data.

“I’m not a genius,” Cadell said. “But those big oval chambers with the purple stuff. Are they the…”

“Yes.” Hazel whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

“No, it’s not.”

“O-of course not,” Hazel stammered. “I meant the production process.” She lightly tapped another huge machine. “And the toys. Very expensive stuff.”

“I wouldn’t get too attached.”

“I’m not,” Hazel said, though there was a tinge of sadness in her voice. “Destroy it all.”

“I’m efficiently relocating it,” Cadell corrected. “Now listen carefully, Manic.”

“You said my vigilante name. I’m blushing.”

“This will obviously devastate the Hustlers but it won’t stop them.” Cadell paused for dramatic effect. “It’s about sending a message.”

“Sending a message,” Hazel repeated. She clapped but not ironically. “You sound like a mafia boss.”

“Thank you.”

What comes next, boy? The Voice interjected.

It was a simple question with an obvious, simple answer. It was an answer Cadell told himself many times in a variety of circumstances but knowing it this time sent chills down his spine.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

I have to confront the source. I have to face my fears.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

Confront the source. Face my fear.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

Hazel grabbed Cadell’s shoulder. He jolted slightly, breathing heavily. “I’m fine. Make sure everyone’s evacuated.”

“Alrighty. What happens after?”

“Space.” Cadell tensed one of his hands into a claw shape as his eyes glowed purple. “I’m sending everything to bloody space.”

1 hour later

In a nightclub reserved for a special few, the floor rhythmically vibrated, triggered by a booming bass and a catchy grime beat. On the dance floor, smiles shined wide as bodies bopped in time with the music, hands risen in the air. Woman twerked, grinding up against the closest men they could find.

Usually, Zalen would chill in the VIP section but today he was feeling himself. Amidst the chaos, he leaned against a wall, sipping on his drink, hoodie up. The Hustlers didn’t pay admission and the bouncers didn’t check them, not even when the metal detectors beeped. They weren’t expecting any kind of conflict but, in their line of work, it was insanity to move around without being armed. Rival gangs, who were jealous of their sharp rise to the top, were eager to compete and could easily be lurking about.

Zalen checked his watch. His sister would be waiting for him.

Before he could make a signal in the air for his friends to leave, a look caught his eye. It was his close friend Luke. The man stood out like a sore thumb on the dance floor as he dashed towards him. Similar to Zalen, his height equalled the average basketball player, a freak of nature for his age.

Instantly, Zalen had a good idea on what the problem because it was the only reason he could think of that would explain his friend’s expression filled with rage.

Luke slapped Zalen’s drink out of his hand with such force it flew into a small group of people.

“What the fuck were you thinking? We should have killed him!”

Zalen stared at the colourful tinted ceiling, seemingly unfazed. He knew the risk and there was no valid excuse to give. Instead, he told his friend the truth.

“When I saw him so terrified, I didn’t want him to die. I wanted him to suffer.”