"Let's go over this one more time," Panzer said. The sideways glare she leveled at Sorli said it all; she didn't think he'd been listening. She was half right.

Sorli turned to look at Panzer, it was his first "assignment" with the more senior hero. He wanted her to know that she had his attention.

Panzer was maybe half a head shorter than Sorli, the sides and back of her head were shaved, leaving an ample tuft of rust-colored hair hanging over the right side of her face, and hiding one of her hazel eyes. He had a hard time gleaning anything else from her by looks alone; the heavy fatigues she was wearing and the impressive amount of firearms she brought along occupied most of his attention.

"Go ahead," Sorli answered.

Panzer's intense gaze seemed to punch straight through the lenses of his mask. The intent of it was familiar to him.

According to Panzer's file, she was former military and was recruited to GSO after The 2050 Conflict. Panzer’s civilian name was Verna Riggs. As a soldier, she’d been awarded for Valor in battle and credited for the success of the Western Federation's hail-mary operation that marked the beginning of the end to the conflict. Before taking on the role of “superhero” at GSO, she’d been a Drill Sergeant for the Western Federation; she was probably used to people addressing her as "ma'am."

"The council wants your abilities measured in real-time. Street-level heroes with superhuman speed, reflexes, and perception are a dime-a-dozen, but, for some reason, the council sent you out here for a practical exam. My role in this exercise is to observe and document your competence and response to crimes in progress committed by superhuman entities. I have been instructed not to intervene unless there is a significant threat to the public or GSO assets. You're on your own, savvy?" The slang caught Sorli off-guard, but it made sense considering the barely detectable Australian twang to her words.

"Got it," Sorli answered. He shifted in the "super" suit. It was the only selection available from the quartermaster that wasn't garish or obvious, but in exchange, he was given a sort of "urban-ninja" look. The kevlar nano-weave mesh felt like it adhered to his skin with how much effort he had to put into moving, the kevlar plates that covered his vital and striking areas were lighter than he expected, and the matte black finish over the whole suit would help him move through the shadows unseen. The only piece of "equipment" of his own that he'd been permitted was his domino mask.

His supplier had been right about one thing so far, the GSO lacked the tech to detect and analyze magic. Wearing the mask had concealed his true face from the GSO and Panzer and so long as he remembered to put it on, that wouldn't change.

"A GSO informant submitted a tip that the World Bank would be hit by Xande Brandão's gang tonight. You've got ten minutes to prep. Since this is a practical extension of your Global Superhero Organization Entrance Exams, three conditions will result in automatic failure: Death of a Civilian is an automatic fail, Brandão's gang escaping without gaining significant intel is an automatic fail, killing any of Brandão's gang is an automatic fail. You represent the GSO from this point forward, act like it.”

Sorli’s teeth ground as he set his jaw.

You represent the GSO, so no killing, no allowing death, no one gets away. What a load of shit. Sorli struggled to keep the words in his head. He’d witnessed GSO’s protocol in action long before being on the inside, but if he was going to fulfill his mission, he needed to play ball.

At least, for now.

“I understand,” Sorli growled.

“Really? You don’t sound like you understand, you sound angry,” Panzer said.

“I’m about to drop into a bank and fight an unknown number of hostiles, no intel regarding their abilities or equipment, and the burden of safety for the night staff of the bank is all on me. Getting angry is how I get ready,” Sorli answered.

He realized there was no lying to Panzer. She’d been the proctor of dozens of street-level cohorts of superhero applicants, many of them, without a doubt, just like him. Another half-truth would have to do.

“Fighting angry is just going to get you killed, rookie” Panzer snapped, “Brandão himself isn’t expected to be at the heist, but if he is and you go in there mad, he’ll pick you apart before you can blink twice… even with your reflexes.”

“Okay, fine. If I’m going to get down there before it starts, I gotta go now.” Sorli muttered before he vaulted over the ledge of the building. Heroes or villains, it didn’t matter, they always staked out their ops from above. He’d have to remember to look up in the future.

A slide down the brick face of the office building he’d been perched on and some maneuvering through a fire escape or two, Sorli was crouched on top of the bank. Brandão’s gang operated in four-man teams at all times, usually backed up by two more. Where his alias was “Debonair,” his crew would be easy to spot: well-dressed and well equipped.

At most he’d be looking at fighting twelve of Brandão’s lackeys, they could be enhanced or average citizens who turned to crime for warm clothes, money, and a place to rest their heads at night.

Or they could be scum.

He peeked through the bank skylight and frowned. There were a pair of hired security guards with small-caliber pistols, meager body armor, and piss poor awareness. Sure, it was late at and any reasonable person could expect that the night would pass without incident, but when three percent of the total world population had some sort of superpower or mutation that could give them a smattering of abilities, reasonable went out the window.

He stood and looked out into the rumbling city. King’s Gough had been a nice city, once. With the rise of heroes like Atreyu, Arclight, and Psycher things had only gotten worse. Escalation was a very real thing, the more powerful the heroes, the more the villains compensated to deal with them.

A black SUV with a plow mounted to the back screeched to a halt outside of the bank, ripping Sorli from his contemplations. Tires squealed as the SUV accelerated in reverse straight at the front door of the bank.

One of the guards was running for a switch on the wall. Sorli’s superhuman perception kicked in as adrenaline flooded him. The switch would bring down the bullet-proof barriers in front of the doors and windows, sealing the guards inside, assuming the thugs weren’t super-powered or packing some serious hardware.

The guard wasn’t going to make it to the switch before the SUV got there.

Sorli reached into the hip pouch he brought along and pulled out one of the gadgets he swiped from the quartermaster. A sonic emitter that had a glob of adhesive on one side. He primed it with the press of a button and stuck it to the skylight. The detonator was gesture activated, if he guessed right, he’d be able to throw the switch right as the gangsters entered the bank.

With a crunch, the metal wedge slammed through the glass and flimsy metal of the bank entrance. Four men in perfectly tailored suits poured out through the rear door of the SUV, automatic weapons trained on the two guards and searching the corners of the bank lobby with their muzzles. While they appeared to be rather well-trained, their equipment indicated that none of them were enhanced.

“Perfect,” Sorli muttered with a smug grin.

He crouched and rapped on the glass with his knuckles, causing the thieves and guards to look up.

“Hey, are you the asset?” one of the would-be crooks piped up. Another slapped him on the shoulder.

Sorli extended his arm, and then his middle finger. In the instant that the guns pointed in direction, the charge let out a high-pitched whine and shattered the glass.

Sorli dropped into the lobby with the falling shards of what used to be the skylight. Time seemed to slow as he landed and the barrels of the guns turned to follow him. Sorli’s right hand snapped out and latched onto the first barrel that moved as his left foot shot out low to his side. His heel made contact with one thug’s leg just above the knee, forcing the limb to bend in the opposite direction and forcing out a scream of pain.

With a twist and pivot to the right, Sorli wrenched the rifle out of the hands of the first thug and slammed the stock into the side of another’s neck, slung it back into his own grip, fired a shot through the hands of the yet untouched thug, then came to a halt with the barrel pointed at the face of the disarmed criminal.

“Don’t shoot!” the man begged.

“Tell the other crews to back off. Pack it in and call it a night.” Sorli growled.

“The other-”

Sorli cracked off a shot barely an inch from the man’s ear and waited.

“What the fuck?” he shouted.

“I hate repeating myself. Tell them to leave.” Sorli menaced, leveling the barrel of the rifle at the man’s knee.

“There are no other crews!”

“What?”

“Boss said that tonight was special, we would have an asset, that’s all I know!” the crook confessed.

“Fuck,” Sorli answered as he tossed the rifle back.

In the moment that the unsuspecting man fumbled with the weapon to point it at his assailant, Sorli acquainted the man’s head with his fist, intimately.

“Wow, man, hooooo!” one of the guards cheered, “you are something else, shoot, I don’t think Arclight could take out a crew that quick and he’s worldwide! You some sorta Ace Rookie?”

The sound of a hard-soled shoe scraping against pavement and rapid suction perked Sorli’s ears up, the same shoe scraping against shattered glass and a popping sound behind him kicked his instincts into overdrive.

Sorli weaved to the right as a baton soared past his head, crackling with electricity. He rounded and threw a jab only to meet empty air. His eyes flicked back and forth under his domino mask. There were no additional scuffs in the glass that was left on the floor, and he heard nothing besides the groans and whimpers of the fallen criminals.

Nothing.

He whirled to see both of the guards out cold and a hint of movement around the corner headed toward the vault.

“Fuck,” he repeated as he took off in an all-out sprint.

Sorli pressed two of his fingers against the side of his mask and pushed his intent into it, shaping the magic in the left lens to show him what he had missed in the moment.

The fingers wrapped around the baton were slim and eloquent, the sleeve that the hand and arm ran into was three-quarter length purple leather with a Union Jack on the shoulder, and a flash of brown hair told him what he needed to know and just how outclassed he was.

Leap.

Catherine Knight of London, England was an exceptional thief and had earned her moniker through her ability to leapfrog through space. From the few reports that had come in, her abilities functioned mostly by starting her jump in one spot and finishing it in another. Sorli’s very recent experience proved that and more was true.

The replay winked out just as Sorli slid around the corner. Leap mirrored his slide, jumping out from the wall itself. There was no time to react.

The baton cracked across Sorli’s jaw, sending sparks across his vision and the surface of his mask as it discharged. He twisted involuntarily, the electricity spasming his muscles. Sorli caught himself before colliding face-first into the floor and threw a back kick toward his opponent.

More empty air.

Sorli’s vision snapped back into focus just as a boot rushed toward his face. He lurched to the left, scrambling on the floor. Leap’s shin crashed into his collarbone and sent him sprawling across the floor.

“Right, love, we can either stop here or I can keep kicking the shite out of you. Your choice.” Leap said.

He wouldn’t be able to take too many more shots like that. Leap’s abilities far surpassed his own. It made sense, to handle leaping through solid matter, she would have to have tremendous reflexes and awareness.

Sorli groaned as he got to his feet. “You know us hero types, never give up, never say die,” he said flatly.

Leap arched an eyebrow at him, “If I didn’t know better, I’d wager you don’t believe that at all.”

Sorli took advantage of her curiosity and shifted. He slipped the vial he got from his Supplier into his hand. She told him that injecting it was the only way to get the boost he was looking for. Unfortunately, he left the syringe in his other non-existent super suit.

He peeled off the nano-weave mask and tossed it to the floor, “Do I look like I do?” Sorli asked. He would only have a second, less than that, to pull off the stunt he was planning.

“You look like shit, honestly. I didn’t know GSO was sending interns out to do their dirty work,” she scoffed.

Sorli grunted, spit some blood onto the floor, and made his move. When he went to brush the blood off his cheek with his sleeve, he popped the top off of the vial and swigged its contents. The taste was awful, like bourbon that was left out overnight that someone had ashed an entire cigar into. Sorli hacked and coughed on the mixture, Leap capitalized on the moment and vanished, reappearing mid-air in a soaring sidekick.

Whatever the concoction was kicked in immediately. Sorli’s reflexes fired off and he weaved to the side. The infusion stirred more in Sorli than he’d thought. He’d known about the heightened reflexes, dexterity, and senses, but super speed and strength? He didn’t know he had that in him.

He paid the price for it.

His dodge not only cleared him from the potential follow-up attack but the potential to do anything else as he soared through the sheetrock wall in the hallway and the front counter. Sorli didn’t feel a thing.

He shot up to his feet and was very suddenly back where he’d jumped from. The tile where he’s been standing had been torn up by his sudden departure. The vault was still sealed and Leap was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t know the limits of her powers if she needed to see where she was leaping to or not.

He heard nothing coming from the vault, nothing in the bank other than the breathing of the unconscious people all the way back in the lobby. Sorli breathed and focused, pushing out his awareness beyond the walls of the bank.

His hearing was too good... there was too much noise. The humming of electricity in the building, the car alarm going off down the street, hard boot soles slamming onto pavement and fire escapes, the chambering of rounds in Panzer’s hand cannon, all of the sounds fed into an overwhelming spiral that shattered into a million pixels as Panzer fired.

Sorli’s vision went white and his body went limp. His senses were overloaded… he couldn’t keep up and his brain shut down. Just before his consciousness faded entirely, he heard The Supplier. Her voice was barely above a whisper. It sounded… no… it felt like she was right next to him… he could smell her- smoke and briar roses, feel the warmth of her presence next to his head, but he couldn’t see anything.

“You finally did it, you finally gave in. Just you wait, little Raven… there is so much more to come.”