Blackout stood at the table several grueling moments before any of the queens even noticed him. Raptor was gushing about her run in with Flash Bang a few months earlier. Everyone else was listening, until Emerald Lightning broke in, speculating where he’d been for the last month and a half. That opened the floodgates for the rest of the girls to start throwing wild theories at the wall. Heroes dropped off the map all the time, only to come back soon after. The only notable difference in this case was that Flash Bang was devastatingly sexy. The conversation quickly devolved into talk about how hot he was.

This was exactly the kind of girl talk Blackout was terrified of. He stood stupidly on wobbly legs, failing to summon some noise from his dry throat. Then, he was spotted. Gruella was sitting closest to Blackout. She stared up at him quizzically. There was no turning back now. Blackout had only a moment to act before curiosity turned to ridicule.

“Uh…Fuega,” Blackout’s voice cracked like it was his bar mitzvah. “Can I t-talk to you for a minute?”

Fuega lifted her head to look at Blackout. Whereas Blackout struggled to muster the courage to even look at Fuega’s face, her eyes locked on his as an automatic response.

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?” Fuega’s voice was casual, but her eyes were intense.

“I-I- j-just” Blackout did what he could to steady his stutter. “Can I talk to you alone?”

Fuega’s expression suddenly turned to a mix of suspicion and scorn. The girls at the table ranged from pity, to stifled laughter. Each set of eyes was a dagger in Blackout’s self esteem.

“You know I have a boyfriend, right?” Fuega asserted forcefully.

Blackout’s cheeks burned. He’d endured a lot of beatings in his life. This was the worst one, without competition.

“I’m not-It's is about a crime thing!”

“Oh…” Fuega’s tone softened into something more apologetic. “Yeah, of course.”

It took some considerable seat shifting and lap maneuvering for Fuega to squeeze free of the booth. She led the way to the far wall of the Caf, out of earshot of anyone else. Blackout followed. Once he was a few steps away, he heard the entire queens’ table burst into laughter behind him. He’d rather have been shot.

Fuega was one of the three unofficial queens of the queens, along with Wildheart and Bright Star. However, her reputation as a powerful pyromancer far outstripped even her considerable social standing. Along with her fire powers, she’d been gifted with the super gene. The gene bestowed her with super strength, super resistance, and hyper quick reflexes. It also meant she never had to exercise to stay in shape, and she’d look like she was in her mid twenties well beyond her nineties. On top of all that, she also had natural flight, which only manifested in a minority of true supers. That flight was greatly enhanced by the combustion of her flame powers, allowing her to fly far faster and with greater force than most airborne heroes. As opposed to most with the gene, Fuega had a petite stature. Still, the acute muscular definition of a true super was obvious under her suit, even if she wasn’t as broad and bulky as was most typical. According to those that fought beside her, even if she didn’t have her devastating fire power, she’d still be the top hero in the chapter on her super abilities alone.

When Blackout first joined the chapter, Fuega was a member of Dominican Justice. It wasn’t long before she outgrew them and went solo. The split was less than amicable. Everything was civil between her and her former team, if not a bit tense. In particular, she was frosty with her former best friend, Tigra. That didn’t stop them both from being in the queens, occupying the same booth, though you’d never catch them speaking to each other directly. It was common consensus in the clubhouse that Fuega was headed for big things. In the past year, though, her career had really started gaining traction. There was a rumor going around that she’d already been told that she'd be jumping up a tier when the next ranking update came out. Everything pointed to her not being long for the clubhouse. Always an unimpeachably hard worker, she’d been coasting the past few months. Whereas she always seemed to be out tangling villains in the street, lately she was spending most of her time in the queens’ booth with her friends.

Blackout had never been in Fuega’s immediate proximity before. Their social circles did not overlap. Up close, it was obvious the disparity in quality between their super suits. Thanks to his sponsorship, Blackout’s was not an amateur suit, but it didn’t compare to Fuega’s. It was an indicator of just how popular she was locally. If she’d won the Phan sponsorship, it wouldn’t even break her top ten. Her suit was red, yellow, and orange, made of a specialized material that could withstand extreme heat. It was striking to Blackout how much taller he was than her. Yet, she was still the more imposing one.

“Sorry about that.” By her eyes, Fuega meant it.

“It’s ok-totally fine,” Blackout lied badly.

“What’s going on?”

“Did you hear that Phone Phixers-congratulations on the sponsorship, by the way-did you hear they got robbed?”

“Thanks. Yeah they called me about it.”

“You’re not going to be able to actually chase that down, right? You fight real villains.” Blackout was all but admitting that he did not.

“No. I don’t really go in for that kind of thing anymore.”

Blackout felt a spark of excitement in his chest.

“Can we take it for you?”

“No, sorry,” Fuega answered, extinguishing that spark.

“What? Why not?? You already hit quota like two weeks ago. You said it yourself, you don’t even do petty crime anymore!”

“They’re my sponsors.”

“And you’re not even going to try to solve it!”

“They don’t pay me to solve break ins. They pay me to put my picture in their window.”

“Well, now they need help.”

“They have insurance. They’ll be fine.”

“Please, Fuega,” Blackout dropped all pretension and begged. “We’re not even halfway to quota. We need this. Please.”

“I’m sorry; seriously. I’m not just blowing you off. If I don’t solve a crime for a sponsor, that’s fine by them. They can just tell themselves I tried, and couldn’t catch the guy. It’s way worse if I send-no offense-a B Team instead. It tells them I don’t care.”

“You literally told me you don’t care.”

Fuega shook her head in frustration.

“I mean, I don’t care-I do, but I don’t, you know? I care about them, but I can’t care about their personal, petty crime. If I was still at that level, they never would’ve sponsored me in the first place. I make the news. That’s why they pay me. If I spend my time on crimes that don’t get me on the news, there’s no reason to sponsor me. Making the news gets them more for their sponsorship money than tracking down lost merchandise.”

Blackout accepted defeat.

“I get it. Sorry for wasting your time.”

Fuega reached out and grabbed Blackout’s shoulder and squeezed. It took him completely by surprise. Whenever the last time someone intentionally, affectionately touched him, it was too far back to remember. Every other time he'd been touched, whether as Kevin or Blackout, it was for the expressed purpose of harming him. The warmth in Fuega’s simple gesture broke through Blackout’s defenses.

“You didn’t waste my time. Don’t talk about yourself like you’re a loser or something. You’re a hero just like the rest of us. You can come talk to me whenever you want.”

Fuega smiled. Blackout couldn’t help himself but grin back.

“If I hear about anything going down, I’ll tell you first.”

With that, Fuega released Blackout’s shoulder and returned to her booth. Blackout stood there, basking in the glory of a pleasant interaction with someone he’d always viewed as some godlike being. It wasn’t long, however, that the reality set in that he was in exactly the same place as he was before. No amount of warm fuzzies brought him closer to making quota.

“Hey, Blackout; are you ok, my dude?”

Blackout was roused out of his despondent stupor by the voice of Lancelot. Lancelot was Fuega’s boyfriend, and the only rival she had in the clubhouse for most promising career. He was the prototypical hero. Tall, strapping, blonde haired, blue eyed, square jawed; he was everything Blackout wasn’t. Blackout had heard from people who had met top supers that it was immediately apparent that they had a charisma that set them apart from anyone else in the world. He had never understood what that meant until he met Lancelot. Worst of all, Blackout didn’t even get to be bitter about it, because Lancelot was the nicest guy in the whole clubhouse. He took a special interest in every single person in the chapter, keeping abreast of the latest in their lives and careers. Before the knights were formed, when no one would give Blackout a chance, Lancelot would team up with him practically every week to ensure he made quota. Lancelot was in another class in terms of power. Blackout rarely had anything to do during their team ups. Nevertheless, every week, he’d ask for another team up, and even act like Blackout would be doing him a favor. Despite how welcoming he was to everyone, it seemed that Lancelot never truly let anyone in. That was why Blackout never felt their friendship was close, despite spending a substantial amount of time together in those early days. Whatever had built up all but dissolved entirely once Blackout joined the Knights, and they didn’t have any reason to be around each other as much. Even still, Lancelot would make sure he’d get in at least one conversation a month touching base with Blackout.

“Yeah, I’m doing ok.”

“You don’t seem ok, you want to talk about it?”

“It’s really nothing. Just quota stuff.”

“I hear, I hear. Everyone’s going through it right now.”

Blackout laughed.

“You hit quota three days in.”

“I got lucky.”

“You do it every month!”

Lancelot shrugged.

“I get lucky a lot. So what was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“I saw you talking to Fuega.”

Blackout was worried he’d somehow angered the unflappable Lancelot. Lancelot however, remained unflapped.

“Oh that…It was nothing.”

“Should I be worried? Are you moving in on my girl?”

Blackout searched for any hint of malice in Lancelot’s voice, but there was none to detect. Still, it was best to be prudent in case it was some sort of trap.

“No, really! It’s not like that!”

“Relax, dude. I’m just kidding.”

Lancelot’s good natured grin returned to his face. The most likely read on the joke was that Lancelot was secure in his relationship beyond threat from anyone. The added layer that Blackout inferred as a subconscious admission on Lancelot’s part, was that the joke truly lay in just how absurd the notion would be that Blackout could be under any delusion that he ever could be Lancelot’s worthy competitor for Fuega’s affections. Not that Blackout was interested. He only had eyes for Grace, after all. Still, what stung was that it was true, whether he was inventing that extra layer or not.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you guys talk before. What was it about?”

Blackout sighed and explained the whole story. At the end of it, Lancelot chuckled.

“Oh, that’s no big deal. Let me talk to her,” Lancelot offered.

“No, it’s ok, we’ll find another way to hit quota.”

“Seriously, I’ll just go talk to her.”

“Seriously, please don’t. She sounded pretty firm.”

“No worries; I’ll go butter her up,” Lancelot turned away and beelined for his girlfriend.

“Please, dude!” Blackout pleaded after Lancelot.

Blackout watched on helplessly as Lancelot pulled Fuega out of the booth. Deep inside, Blackout allowed himself the small sliver of hope that Lancelot’s plan would work. The exchange started smoothly with a little peck on the lips. The way Fuega looked at Lancelot killed Blackout with jealousy. It was like Eve staring at Adam. Blackout couldn’t help but swap both places with himself and Grace giving him those same eyes and smile. Then Lancelot started talking. That smile fell off completely. Things derailed quickly from there. Fuega began yelling at Lancelot. Blackout couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he was sure it was about him. Then, Fuega locked onto Blackout. Terror stuck him to the floor, totally unable to move. Smoke billowed from her nose like a dragon.

Fuega began storming Blackout’s way, with Lancelot trying in vain to soothe her. Blackout wanted more than anything to turn and book it. His legs, however wouldn’t comply.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

The entire room fell silent. All eyes were on the two of them.

“Babe!” Lancelot tried. “Babe, count to ten!”

“Stay out of it, Lance!” Fuega trained her ire back onto Blackout. “You don’t like my answer so you tell on me to my BOYFRIEND?!”

“N-N-No-“ was all Blackout could get out.

“I told you NO! NO! That’s it! That’s the answer! I don’t give a shit if you and your team of losers don’t make quota! That’s not my fucking problem! GOD! I tried to be nice to you!”

“It’s-It’s not-”

“Babe! He didn’t-”

“SHUT UP! Why doesn’t anyone just listen to me??! I said no! That should be enough for you assholes!”

The smoke Fuega had puffed up had polluted the air around Blackout. He coughed and waved the smoke away from his mouth.

“Can’t take the smoke?! Tough shit! Maybe you’ll like fire better!”

Fuega’s arm ignited down to the elbow. The smoke was so thick now, that Blackout was fighting to breath. His vision was cloudy. The sight of fire cut through it all. On instinct, Blackout activated his power and snuffed out Fuega’s flame. A gasp spread around the room.

“You’re fucking dead.” Fuega’s voice was quiet, but infinitely more threatening than her prior screams.

“ENOUGH!” A new voice burst into the fray.

Silverfist, the Executive Director of the chapter wedged himself between the combatants. The director was a grizzled vet who’d wracked up plenty of bona fides in his time. In his prime, he’d almost reached the League, but not quite. He was every stat geek’s first example of a criminally underrated hero in a time before advanced stats. Eventually he reached a point where he couldn’t work the street any longer, and unhappily accepted a desk job. No one in the clubhouse dared question his authority.

“Are you two nuts?!!” Silverfist howled. “No powers in the clubhouse! Both of you in my office! NOW!”

Silverfist marched Blackout and Fuega down the hallway in silence. Fuega’s nose was still expelling smoke. Blackout followed behind her, failing to choke down his coughs and wheezes. Every hero they passed gawked as they walked by.

In Silverfist’s office, Fuega and Blackout each dropped into a chair. Blackout was trying his best not to look at Fuega. Fuega was staring so hard at Blackout’s head, it was like she was trying to learn heat vision. If she had Glimmer’s eyes, his head would be a melted stump at this point. Silverfist sat in his chair, so furious that he was exasperated. Blackout knew better than to plead his case.

“What were you thinking Fuega??”

“He-” Fuega started.

“I didn’t ask what he did. I know what he did. What were you planning?? Were you going to burn another hero alive?”

“No! I was just trying to scare him!”

“And after he put out your fire, what then?? Don’t tell me that threat wasn’t real. You were going to splatter someone hopelessly underpowered! You have super strength, Fuega! He’s a walking light switch!”

Blackout wasn’t about to speak up, but he was definitely wounded. The director was always nice to him whenever they spoke.

“You have so much to lose,” Silverfist’s tone lowered in intensity, but remained serious. “If you'd used your powers on another Guild member in a clubhouse, you wouldn’t just lose your membership, they’d put you in Roosevelt.”

Roosevelt Station was a prison that orbited Mars. It exclusively housed high powered, serious offenders. It was often a boogeyman shouted at villains. However, Blackout had no doubt Silverfist was not bluffing.

“I just-I work so hard. I proved myself so many times. Still, nobody listens to me. I said no. They didn’t listen,” Fuega had brought her tone down to match Silverfist.

“Grow up, Fuega. You’re the most powerful hero that’s walked in, the entire time I’ve been here. I knew from the first time I saw you in action that you had what it takes to reach the top. I also knew that your temper was the only thing that could screw it up. Are you really going to let some nobody snaking a sponsor derail your whole career?”

Another painful jab. It wasn’t the words that hurt, so much as the casual dispatching of the insult. It was worse than just knowing that this was how Silverfist, someone Blackout respected and admired, truly felt about him. It was that Silverfist held so little respect for Blackout that he would say all that right in front of him, without a hint of consideration for how wounding it was. Blackout simply did not matter. He was the nobody Silverfist said he was. Fuega turned to Blackout, face now devoid of emotion.

“Just take the case, and don’t ever talk to me again,” Fuega said flatly.

“I-”

“I said, don’t fucking talk to me,” Fuega asserted.

Blackout complied, and shut his mouth.

“I’m giving you both warnings. You can go, Fuega.”

“Sorry, sir…” Fuega said to Silverfist, as she got up from her chair.

“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fuega shut the door behind her. Silverfist finally set his attention on Blackout.

“You have a clean record, Blackout. Don’t ruin it.” Silverfist’s tone made it clear that he simply did not want to deal with Blackout.

“Yes, sir.”

“If you can’t make quota, you shouldn’t be here. Don’t snake sponsors.”

“Sir, that’s not how it happened…”

“Tell it to someone who cares.”

“Yes, sir,” Blackout did not want to prolong the reprimand with dumb, ineffectual protests of innocence.

“Get out of my office.”

“Yes, sir.”