The following afternoon, the volcano bubbled a muted conversation far overhead. Birds circled and dove in the water to claim easy meals from the aftermath of the eruption. The thick black layer of ash had thinned to a light film which rolled along with the waves and the armada of belly-up fish.

Tobias sat in the water with one suffocated serving of unsliced sashimi, too exhausted to move, and too sickened. The slippery creature trembled in his hands, which were unable to hold still. He touched his dry tongue against the moistureless roof of his mouth and brought it closer. The scales flaked on his lips and clung at every surface and before his teeth could even break the thin skin, Tobias was spitting and spewing the thin hexagonal discs. He thrust his head under the water to cleanse, and when he rose, a screeing seagull was upon him. The feathered beast snatched his fish and made off, while he thrashed in the water, more startled than anything.

Tobias shook his fist and splashed water in the bird's general direction, frustrated. Its white wings beat the air obliviously, and Tobias wearily watched it grow smaller, shoulders sagging as he sighed and slouched. In the corner of his eye, a greyish speck appeared through a distant cloud to the right of the retreating seabird, growing steadily larger. Tobias raised his hand to his brow, blocking out the afternoon rays, and squinted.

It was too large to be another gull and much too fast. The sound of it's purring engine became clearer as it neared, puttering towards the island.

But, Tobias frowned. It couldn't be coming to the island. And yet, if he ignored the unlikely chances of the metal bird spiraling into the bay, getting hit by a grenade deflected from a fight in East Benediction, or getting pummeled by a nearby flock of birds, the chances of the plane landing on his lonely landmass were relatively high. Even weary, Tobias could see that it was on its way, advancing the distance.

For a while, his jaw hung open and he dumbly stared, losing his sense of reality. His eyes followed the grey blob in his sky while the rest of his body was limp. He licked his lips.

His message, he reluctantly realized, could not have reached its target so soon.

His message, though it was a hardship to write and an act of blind faith to throw it to sea, did not reach anyone. According to my research, the bottled message was shuddering over the roads of the East at this time, on its way to the dump, where only myself would ever find it. Tobias was right to feel his heart sink and right to acknowledge that whatever business the seaplane had, it was not in response to his signal.

He abruptly jolted to action, scrambling to get out of the water. His shield ploughed the sand as he heaved himself up and out in overzealous and off-balanced one-legged vaults. Too exposed, he thought. Too exposed.

In his little basalt shelter on the beach, he curled up and cowered, eyes wide as they blankly stared out. His ears strained to hear where the engine was, where the plane would land. Perhaps he would ask whoever it was to take him to the hospital. Perhaps there was no point in waiting for a different outcome.

But, then he would have to suffer some publicity stunt where he would most certainly be made a victim in a most unfair way. He could already see the headlines: DEFIANCE REUNITES: MR. MIGHT WEEPS. Benjamin Jones would be all over it. He slapped his bad cheek and the blinding agony of it snapped his thoughts back into place.

No. His jaw clenched. I won't be an accessory again.

Nearby, a loud splash indicated the landing of the plane. Sand scraped against its hulls as it glided up the beach, out his sight. The rotors swished the air, slowing and slowing until they eventually stilled to silence and a heavy door chinked open. Footsteps and voices spilled out from the place, all at once, all loud and inappropriate. Why would someone where stilettos to a volcanic island? Tobias could hear the distinct click of the sharp heels against the plane's hull as the inappropriately dressed woman stepped down, then heard it again on the basalt as she clicked away from the beach. Heavy and wide heels clunked behind her. Multiple heavy and wide heels.

Tobias frowned and raised his head to look, just lifting his eyes enough over his shelter to catch a glimpse of his company. A woman in a pencil skirt and bad shoes led three men; one clutched a camera, one hauled a jackhammer, among other extreme demolition tools, and one hugged a cluttered clipboard and had perfect hair. A superhero trailed silently at his own pace behind them. Another frost hero, dressed in the signature blue and white. Tobias recognized him as Koolant, a retired older hero who offered his services for cash only.

The strange group marched over the treacherous terrain purposefully, headed for the entrance of the volcano. A lava stream had run over it the last time that Tobias had looked, but they seemed equipped to manage it.

Their plane was left unmanned. One of their group must have been the pilot. Its side was labeled with a gaudy palm tree decal and the words POWERFUL REAL ESTATE. Tobias threw up a little in his mouth. The company was known for exclusively selling properties to non-typicals, which was not only discriminatory, but awfully dangerous—especially considering how they dealt with villains with the same regard as heroes.

Tobias shook his head in disgust and squinted back at the group. Koolant was the last in his eyeline and after a moment spent inspecting something on the ground, he, too, disappeared around the volcano's rubble-strewn base.

Tobias looked back at the plane. A bolt from the blue struck and his eyes widened and a grin tore the partially healed scars of his cheek, and in moments he was haphazardly stumbling over the sand towards the metal bird with a plan. He lifted his shield onto one hull and used it to haul himself up, getting a footing. He did the same to step into the cabin, then barged into the cockpit.

Through the window he watched for the realty group, squinting over the heat-warped land. The steam from the magma vents melted the air, turning the near horizon to a sea of swirls. His hand fell on the VHF radio and he started to fumble with the frequencies. There was one place his line of work had trained him contact, one channel that he knew by heart; Peregrine's Flight Services, channel fourteen. One particular pilot's identification code was burned into his memory and as he landed on the channel, he brought the mouthpiece to his lips.

"Is pilot one-seven-oh-three on duty?"

There was a pause of static noise and hopelessness that stretched on just long enough to bring Tobias to tears, anxiety grating his spine with terrible talons.

"This is one-seven-oh-three," a voice crackled. Tobias collapsed to his knee, holding himself up weakly with his shield, and he laughed to himself, overwhelmed and hopeful. "Channel six is empty, shall we turn over?"

"Yes," he sobbed. "Channel six!"

He dropped the mouthpiece to reach up to the radio and fumbled stupidly with knobs between his uncoordinated fingers. They felt so far away, barely a part of him at all. He reclaimed the mouthpiece and leaned against the wall underneath the radio.

"Purpose, name, location?" asked pilot 2703.

Tobias felt his voice vibrate against his back and couldn't hold back his smiling and tears, and the tears that same because of the smiling. A blister tore on his cheek with the strain and blood began to trickle lightly from the distressed scars.

"S.O.S," Tobias breathed. "Volcano."

"Which volcano is that, and may I have your name, please?"

"S.O.S," Tobias repeated dumbly. His heart fluttered and his head pounded and he couldn't think over the loud ideas in his head of seeing familiar faces, of eating substantial food, of collapsing into Viola Mae's arms, and suffocating—happily—through her fiancé's bear hugs. "Cent... central volcano... Please."

There was no answer. Tobias pulled at his hair, choking with the torture of the wait. He hugged the mouthpiece to his chest and willed the wall to vibrate again, his shoulders beginning to quake. His nose burned red and he became painfully aware of the puffiness of his eyes as the force of his misery made him feel swollen all over.

Then finally, just before he could let out a wail, his felt the tingle up his spine.

"Tobias? Is that..." The crackling stopped. Tobias was still, as if movement would frighten the device from sounding again. It was a different voice, a woman's voice. "Tobias, is that you? Tobias?"

Tears rolled down his chin and dripped down to his chest. Lip quivering, he sucked in a long breath and pressed the button to speak, but all that came out was a choke. He released the button and collapsed forward to sob loudly and pathetically into the crook of his elbow.

"Are you there?" the VHF continued. "Tobias? Tobias?"

Tobias raised the mouthpiece, smudging the tears and blood from its surface with a weak and trembly thumb. "I'm here," he croaked.

"We're coming."

Tobias toppled to the floor with another thick wave of emotion, pounding his good fist to the boards. He grabbed at his hair and tugged it and wept and cradled the VHF mouthpiece close. "Thank you. Thank you."

"Are you okay? Are you safe? Tobias?"

He pressed his hand to the wall, feeling each word reverberate through it. He was going to be safe, he thought dazedly, a faint smile gradually lifting his raw cheek. Something about the thought lifted the pain away and as he lay there, he felt only bliss. Overwhelming, warm, and much-needed bliss.

"Tobias?"

He purred and drowsily murmured, "Viola Mae." But, he hadn't pressed the button.

"Tobias! Please, respond," Viola Mae crackled. "Teddy's starting the plane, now. We're half-an-hour away, at most. Are you okay? Tobias? Tobias, I have Berry Belts with your name on them. Tobias? Pajama Boy!"

"Don't call me that," Tobias groaned, smacking the mouthpiece abruptly. He brought his shield up again to help lug his body up the wall, then pressed the ball of his hand to his forehead. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Tell anyone what?"

"That—" His head jolted at the sound of voices in the distance and he slammed the mouthpiece in its place with one last, "I have to go!" Without so much as a glance out the window, he smacked the dial of the radio to leave the channel and darted from the plane. Crumpling painfully onto the beach, he hastily rolled to his leg and made for a hiding place.

Minutes after he curled into a rocky crevice, the rotors of the Powerful Real Estate sea plane thrummed into rotation. Tobias covered his ears against the growl of its engines and braced against the vibrations in the ground from its departure. As its grumbling dwindled in its wake, Tobias searched the horizon. Another plane would be there, soon.

And soon enough, he thought, he'd never have to set foot on this island again.

And on that account, he was wrong.