In an unassuming alley behind a meat packing plant, a heavy metal door rusted in the rough city air. No amount of wear made the door any less formidable. Blackout stood before the door, holding his gym bag and his sandwiches. He dug his hand into the folds of his suit, came out with a nondescript coin, and brought it up to door handle. An unseen mechanism within the handle scanned the coin as the coin scanned Blackout’s fingertips.

Without so much as an affirmative beep, the lock clicked away, and the door creaked open. Blackout gave the quick look around that he should have before he ever took out the coin. Fortunately, the alley was clear. Blackout slipped in. No sooner was Blackout through the threshold, than the door slammed itself shut behind him.

Instead of being greeted with a hallway, Blackout was in a solid, sealed metal room, devoid of any features. Electronic noises and gears grinding together could be heard behind the walls. Blackout paid no mind, allowing the hidden sensors to scan his biometrics. As soon as they were apparently satisfied, the platform below Blackout’s feet began descending slowly, shaking all the way. It was not a room he was standing in, it was a long shaft.

At the bottom, Blackout stepped out into a grimy hallway. The platform ascended behind him. Passing numerous scuffs and stains that ornamented the walls, Blackout made his way past the offices that lined the hallway. Yellowed, beveled windows on the doors bore black lettering, such as Executive Director, Chapter Representative, Resource Officer, Community Representative, Sponsorship Coordinator, Chapter Secretary, Chapter Treasurer, among others. Behind each door was a drab office, the only distinguishing feature being their super occupants in garish costumes, consumed by incredibly unsuper busy work.

None of the offices were of any concern to Blackout, though he did have to visit the Sponsorship Coordinator, Zebra Man, at some point to discuss an administrative error that had somehow survived three prior complaints. However, that matter could wait for another day. The door Blackout was targeting was at the end of the hall, plastered with the words, “Members Lounge - Uptown Heights Chapter (A-)- Funk It Up!”. Outside the lounge, two other supers were engaged in lively conversation. Wildheart, a hero with soul magic-whatever that was-was regaling Tigra with some wild tale. Though both were only a little bit older than Blackout, he didn’t have much to do with either. As Blackout passed by, the two interlocutors paused their exchange, picking it back up once he was through the door and out of sight.

The lounge was as crummy as one would expect from a low tiered chapter in a poor area, but not without a homey charm. Each stain and tear in the many couches had some story one of the old heads was eager to retell. Famous heroes who had started their careers in this chapter, had farted in these very seats on their way up the ladder.

The lounge was sectioned off into three parts. The first part was a configuration of as many beat up sofas they could fit around a truly huge, obscenely expensive television. It was an interesting disjunction that embodied a dynamic at play throughout the clubhouse. The television was an example of a collective bargaining requirement to be uniform in every Heroes Guild clubhouse, no matter the tiering. Blackout and the rest of the Uptown Heights Chapter got the same exact TV as the League of Champions. Clubhouse furnishing responsibility was up to each individual chapter. That was why the members of Uptown Heights watched their magnificent TV on mismatched, decades old sofas.

Currently, the sofas were occupied by two teams, and a few solo heroes. Most of the members of the Uptown Upstarts sat across from Dominican Justice. The entire cohort was cheering and shit talking along to a fierce battle of “Clash of Heroes 2K21”, the latest release in the fighting game series featuring the licensed likenesses of the most popular Heroes in the Guild. Between matches, the Upstarts and DJs each passed a controller around their respective members, taking turns matching up against their rival team. At the moment, Glimmer was clobbering Flash Bang on the screen. Zenith was banned; house rules. She was just too overpowered, even in the game.

Beyond the TV area was the caf, where one could exchange Hero Credits-or as they were more commonly called, Atta, a diluted version of the slang term Atta-Boys, the geezers used in the nineties-earned through surpassing quotas, for meals. The basic meal was free, any add ons cost extra. The Knights were fortunate to have their daily allotment of banh mis, as they were in a constant state of barely making quota, and thus were not burdened with an overabundance of atta. Their sponsorship provided them with a small, reliable monthly stipend of atta. Paired with their sandwiches, they were able to better use their meagre funds on other things from the canteen, or provision orders for useful gear. Before the sponsorship, times were lean for the Knights. Thankfully, relying on basic meals was a distant memory for Blackout. He usually grabbed a basic meal to go anyway, as there was always a kid that had their dinner stolen at the home. The victims were young and defenseless, without any ability to feed themselves until breakfast the next morning. Kevin did ok, because he was older, and knew had to fight. Even if he could be taken down if the thief rounded up a posse, there were easier targets.

Along with the car and the canteen, there was a bar for heroes who were of age. After hours, it was a happening place. Heroes would nurse their bruises with booze, and swap war stories of the day’s-often embellished-battle scenes. Though the age restriction was loosely enforced, Blackout never partook. He was a hero, after all; the least he could do was follow the rules. The rest of the Knights followed suit. At this time of day, though, the only ones patronizing were the old heads. As per the CBA, after a certain amount of service time, those heroes that chose to stick around that long, no longer had any quota requirements. They also had their drinks comped. The logic was that by that time, heroes that aged normally proved most valuable mentoring those coming up, rather than working the streets. Blackout had never seen mentoring of any sort. Instead, the old heads kept to themselves, getting drunk all day, sneering at anyone who walked past, talking amongst themselves about how soft the new crop of heroes was and how poorly they’d fair against the villains of yesteryear. It was uncomfortably pathetic seeing geezers squeezed into ill fitting super suits just so they could soak themselves in free drinks as they circled the drain.

At the edge of the caf was a row of three booths. All were bespoke. One could chance sitting in one if there was a vacancy, but it wasn’t worth the awkward standoff in the event that the group that had laid claim to it returned. The old heads took the one closest to the bar. The middle one was where the union officers took their breaks. The furthest booth was the court of the queens. It was the regular dining tables and chairs for everyone else.

Because the chapter was bottom tier-technically called Low A, or annotated as "A-"-the majority of its constituency was on the younger side. It was expected that a placement in a chapter like this one was merely the first stepping stone to a more illustrious career. Those who couldn’t take the next step would drop out, either to join a less competitive independent guild, or to quit the cape game entirely. Other than the geezers, and a few never-will-be’s, it was rare to see anyone older than mid twenties in the clubhouse. The population led to an atmosphere reminiscent of a high school social scene.

The ‘queens’-as they were referred to by everyone else in the chapter with varying degrees of reverence and irony-were made up of the highest performing solo women and the girls of the top teams. For the most part, the queens were totally harmless one on one, but as a giggling, gorgeous group, they were more intimidating than any supervillain. Blackout felt hot fear every time he passed their table, praying that none took notice of him. Luckily, that was not a problem he often encountered.

The last section was perpetually deserted. A recreational area, designed in the nineties; it had become a vestigial relic of a bygone era. None of the arcade cabinets worked. The pool table had been defunct since the last cue stick had snapped, long before Blackout had ever stepped foot in the clubhouse. The only thing that still worked was an old pinball machine, on its last legs. The demand for pinball games plummeted when the first TV had been wheeled in decades earlier. There was no reason for anyone to visit the area. It was the perfect place for the Knights of the Heights to hang out.

The Gecko was hunched over the pinball machine, in a zen state of focus. Chunk stood over the side, watching the game, yelling out advice. He was always the worst backseat gamer. It didn’t matter if you were playing Tetris on your phone, Chunk always knew what to do better than you, and you were going to hear about it. The Gecko was doing his best to block Chunk out.

Chunk was a hero who could inflate his body to give him extra cushion and enhanced strength, at the expense of speed, dexterity, and maneuverability. According to him, his body produced two chemicals that, when combined, foamed up. This reaction could happen at will, or as a reflexive response to a threat. Once activated, it would take a few hours for his body to process the chemicals and sweat them out of his pours. When not imitating a pufferfish, Chunk was tall and lanky, with a head full of tight red curly hair, and so many freckles, his cowl couldn’t hide them. The suit he chose was orange and green, with a bright green cape that looking extremely silly in his swollen form.

The Gecko had had his genes spliced with various lizard species and retained some of their abilities. Pads on his hands allowed him to crawl on most surfaces. Taking after a chameleon, he could shoot a long, sticky tongue out to snare enemies. Most usefully, he could change the color of his skin at will, and regrow severed appendages. The latter was something of a curse, as he was expected to be rather blasé about the loss of his limbs. However, as he put it, it still hurt as much as anyone else to get one chopped off.

Unfortunately, the Gecko also inherited some gnarly reptilian facial features. His head was flat on top, with raised eyes that could each move independently. The bottom of his jaw was squared off, with a wide mouth protruding outwards, and a flap of skin on his neck that filled like a balloon whenever he spoke. Most notably, he had a long prehensile tail. It was undoubtedly useful, but the Gecko still lamented it as a possible reason girls were never interested in him. Neither of the other Knights had the heart to tell him that his abnormal facial features were quite enough of a deterrent on their own. The Gecko didn’t even bother wearing a mask. His costume was a tropical mix of bubblegum pink and baby blue, belying an unexpectedly keen sense of fashion. He’d helped each of his comrades design their super suits when they were upgraded, as they were both clueless as to how to make themselves look cool.

“Tap it lightly-LIGHTLY!” Chunk barked.

“I am tapping,” the Gecko said in a gurgling croak of a voice.

“That’s not tapping! You have to tap it!”

Before Blackout could even get to the machine, he heard the sad song that played when the last ball dropped into the well.

“Ha! I told you to tap it!”

“I did tap it!” Genuine frustration kept into the Gecko’s rumbling voice.

“My turn! I’ll show you what tapping means!”

Chunk edged his way to the head of the table, but the Gecko did not budge from his place.

“Not fair! You distracted me, I’m going again, and you’re going to shut up this time.”

“No you’re not! It’s your own fault you lost. If you just did what I told you, you’d still be playing.”

Blackout plopped the bag of sandwiches down on the pinball table, quieting the bickering pair. The tension was broken, as all attention was pulled to the banh mis.

“Lunch from the Phans,” Blackout said.

“Was Grace there?” Chunk asked.

“Yup.”

“Did she say anything about me?”

“Nope.”

Blackout wasn’t the only one with a crush. In truth, he did feel threatened by Chunk’s competition. Chunk was the de facto leader of the Knights. Even though he was an outcast like the rest of them, Chunk had a natural charisma and lacked the fear of people that afflicted the other two. The Gecko was self conscious about the way his neck pouch produced such an inhuman, frog like voice. Around others, he spoke as little as possible.

Kevin had learned early on that standing out made it more likely to catch a bully’s eye, so he shrank from any attention, bad or good. On top of that, he found it difficult to open up to anyone who he wasn’t already close with. There was an inherent contradiction, in that in order for him to connect with someone on a deeper level, Kevin had to have already have a deep connection with them. This resulted in a scant few close relationships across his life. The only people he really felt at all comfortable opening up to were Chunk, the Gecko, and Grace. Though he secretly craved the adulation at the peak of hero life, he’d always accepted that it was unlikely to ever happen for him. Instead, he was content to be a role player on a team, letting a more natural leader take the reins. It was true too, of his crush on Grace. It was an inevitability in his mind that she’d grow tired of the novelty that kept her friendly to Blackout. Eventually, she’d be wooed by Chunk, who was socially superior in every way. It wasn’t a bitter expectation. Blackout didn’t blame her or Chunk for it, though he did feel unwelcome pangs of jealousy whenever he saw them interact. It was just so effortless for Chunk, in a way that Blackout couldn’t relate to.

“Are there plans for today?” Blackout asked hopefully.

“Pinball,” the Gecko answered.

“I’ve got nothing,” Chunk said.

“Grace told me Phone Phixers got robbed.”

“I heard about that,” Chunk said.

“So let’s check it out…”

“No can do.”

“Why not?”

"You didn't hear?"

"Hear what?"

“They’re sponsoring Fuega.”

“Fuega? Since when??”

“Last month,” croaked the Gecko.

"They put a life sized cardboard cutout of her in their window. It's scary as fuck to walk past at night."

“What are we gonna do?? The month’s almost over, and we’re not even halfway to quota!”

Chunk shrugged. Despite threatening every month, the Knights had never missed a quota. The stress was a frequent point of contention between Chunk and Blackout. It took a repeated pattern of failure to meet quota to actually incur official reprimand. As such, every month, Chunk advocated for letting it drop and doing better next time. However, any missed quota went on a hero's permanent record. Even a single instance could affect career prospects. Blackout still harbored the dream of making rank, or being drafted to an elite team. For those with high power levels or useful niche abilities, it didn’t much matter how steadily they hit their quotas; they’d rise through the rankings no matter what. Unfortunately, Blackout’s ability was neither powerful, nor broadly seen as very useful. Some could get by on personality. It was all politics after all, and good locker room heroes were always in high demand to bolster the intangibles of team chemistry. Blackout couldn’t hope to ever be that guy, either. So, a strict adherence to rules and protocol, along with a clean record, were the only route he could realistically take.

There was always something going on in such a poor neighborhood. Petty crime abounded, and costumed villains viewed it as a soft target to scratch together the dues required by their own org. The past few months, action was slow. The Knights weren’t the only ones having a hard time. There was tension everywhere in the clubhouse. The top heroes made their quotas without much trouble, as always. However, there were heroes who normally would have their quotas filled by the first week of the month that were now scrambling. The struggle only got worse further down the list. The Knights were virtually at the bottom, so they were particularly vulnerable. This month was the farthest behind they’d ever found themselves in the last week of the month. Chunk was more vocal than ever about giving up for the month. Blackout was desperate.

“Fuega has her hands full with the Infernal Circle! She doesn’t have time for petty crimes!” Blackout exclaimed indignantly.

“So what? You want to go solve her sponsor’s crime behind her back? We’ll get censured,” Chunk countered.

“Maybe….maybe she’ll let us take it.”

“That would require talking to her,” Chunk snorted.

“Does anyone else have any better leads??”

Chunk and the Gecko looked at each other and shook their heads.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s shoot for it.”

“Shoot for what?”

“Who’s gonna talk to her.”

Chunk laughed incredulously.

“I’m not doing it! I wanted to play pinball.”

“Not me,” the Gecko said.

“That’s not fair, guys! We all have to make quota.”

“It was your idea,” Chunk said bluntly. “You do it.”

Blackout looked toward the booth at the end of the caf. The queens’ court was in session. The girls were fueling up with caf lasagna before hitting the streets. Just the scene itself was pulled from real nightmares Kevin had jolted awake from. There was Fuega, sitting right in the middle of it, possibly the single most terrifying of them all.

“Fine.”