Superhero Brash McCockay, aka The Mayor, loved the perks of working as the head of the world-renowned Heroic League. TV appearances, hindering evil schemes, stopping explosions—he had everything a hero could dream of. But, alas, not a single latte machine.

"Celena!" he called.

Brash was sitting at a crammed desk covered by the message chips that composed his correspondence of the past two years. He was a vision of the bucolic old man trapped far away from his roots and whose soul was linked to his offspring alone. His shirt, of a thin, cheap linen, was wrinkled and stained, his trousers were old and shabby, and his disheveled white hair fell over his light eyes.

No, his hair was not white. It was gris.

He was always given to euphemisms. Sort of.

Brash scratched his beard, taking a deep breath. It was near the end of his shift, and the streetlights invaded the room in thin stripes of yellow clipped by the window blinds. Along with the lights outside, the bluish luminescence of an eighty-gallon aquarium helped him read the scribbled notes on his notepad. With a huff, he batted the notepad on the table, hitting a pile of chips in the process. When Brash tried to collect them, he bumped on a second and scrambled both piles on his lap.

"Damn it!"

He paused and stared at his desk. Furrowing his brow, he shoved the thousands of message chips to the floor, creating a silver-and-blue cascade of chips over the other side of the table. He only stopped when he could see the old mahogany tabletop again.

"So much garbage." He shouted again, "Celena!"

Brash couldn't understand why some people insisted on sending him physical copies of his mail. He had always thought technology would solve the waste of natural resources and deforestation—but no. Since that stupid Helgach guy had come up with his plastipaper or whatever that crap was called, Mother Nature once again found herself in the middle of baboons who knew nothing about the protection of the Environment.

Because maybe, just maybe, they could let some of the trees be used for what they were designed for: purifying air. But they wouldn't understand... few people really understood that nowadays. He missed his druids...

It was a pity he had to neutralize most of them.

Brash shook his head. "Celena!" he called again, this time stretching that last A until his office door opened.

"Yes, Mayor?" she said, panting. The woman swallowed the last of her coffee and threw her disposable cup away. While she was at it, she gave the second coffee to the old man and switched the office lights on.

"Thank you." Eyes shut, Brash groped to find his cup lid. He sniffed the jet-black liquid inside and grimaced. "Ugh, smells like sewage. Why can't we have a latte machine, again?"

Celena clasped her hands behind her back. "Because you refuse to buy yet another Invidia low-quality product that will stop working after three darn months of use. Your words, not mine... and for the record, I quite like the taste of our soy coffee."

Brash massaged his chin, a bitter expression on his face.

Celena relaxed. "How's your wound, Pops? Doctor Brinn said you'd be fully recovered in a few weeks, but—"

"Nah." The man brushed the thought away. "I'm fine, cub." He raised his sleeves, showing his burns were almost gone. "Your Pops' as good as new." Celena smiled and opened her lips to answer, but Brash had zero patience for his daughter today. "Let's review my tasks for tomorrow." He took a swig of his coffee and grimaced.

"Oh, I can't believe it." Celena hung her hands on her waist. "What happened here?" She gestured to the chips scattered on the floor. "C'mon, Pops, I had organized everything. By date!"

Brash massaged his temples. Zero patience. Celena's mood was way too much like her mother's. The tall woman squatted and pulled a plastipaper box to stash the message chips. As she did it, Celena brushed her short blond hair behind her ear, and for a moment, it was almost as if looking at an old photograph of his dead wife.

He tried to soften his voice. "Those imbeciles in City Hall don't need to send me chip after chip of our meetings. It's not only a waste but also a breach of security. What if someone gets a hold of them, huh?" He stopped for a new sip while Celena chuckled. Brash grimaced again. "You know what? Burn everything, cub. These permithings are useless. And take this away from me!" He handed her his coffee.

"They're called Personal message and impression recorder chip, Pops. Permir chip. And they store not only your messages but your impressions too. If you thought someone was trying to fool you, for instance, it adds a small neural note. It helps you remember every aspect of your meetings." Celena moved her brown eyes to her father. "And they're encrypted multiple times. There's no way anyone else can access them."

"Tsk. Whatever."

Celena shook her head. "They would've been very handy today, during that interview with The Sheriff. You could've recorded how much of a bad idea it was to talk about Robbie on the news."

"Oh, Celena. Stop pestering me and think. It makes no difference! Robbie is working undercover in a continent that doesn't have access to our newscast."

Celena gazed at her father. When their eyes met, Brash felt it... he was so much older now. So much bitter. And Celena's eyes, they... they looked harder every time they talked.

Brash massaged his neck. "Eh. Did you get a hold of Robbie? I wish he would come back in time for the party." His face lit up. "How are the preparations, by the way? I want to celebrate your brother's birthday with style this year!"

Celena hesitated. She half-opened her lips, then closed them again. Her gaze moved to the side when she said, "Yes, everything's in order." She glanced at Brash, then rolled her eyes down. "You already know my feelings about this, but..."

"Pup, don't."

"I don't think we should celebrate Antônio's birthday. Instead..."

The Mayor's eyebrows twitched. "Celena, don't you dare."

"We should have a memorial. If we did, maybe you—"

A loud bang interrupted her. The Mayor got up with such impetuosity his chair fell back. He had both hands spread on the tabletop. The tattoos under his shirt flicked, starting to wake up. "I asked you to never say that again. It's an induced coma, and Dr.Brinn said that—"

"No, father. You paid Dr.Brinn to say that." Celena tightened her jaw and controlled her voice. "Toni is dead. Dead! Nothing you do can bring him back."

Something twisted and tugged at the depths of his stomach, and anger boiled under his skin. Brash's tattoos shone brighter. "Your brother is alive!" He shouted. Brash pummeled a fist against the mahogany, again and again. "Alive, Celena. Alive. Alive!"

When he stopped, panting, his bloodied fist was halfway through the now-broken tabletop, splinters of wood stuck in his flesh.

Outside, through the opened blinds separating his office and the rest of the Heroic League's headquarters, other heroes and part of the staff stared at him. Brash pursed his lips and blinked several times. Never before had he snapped like that outside his home.

Shite.

He shouldn't do that in front of others... They wouldn't understand.

He flicked his gaze to his daughter. For a long moment, Brash chewed on the silence, swallowing his anger until his red tattoos dimmed back to normal. He breathed in and out and tugged at his fist, releasing it from the broken wood. Brash moved his hands behind his back and raised his chin. His voice was filled with regret when he said, "I'm sorry, pup."

Celena nodded, her expression unchanged. Perhaps, The Mayor thought, she was used to it already.

What a bloody grim notion.

"Should I call Dr. Brinn?"

"That won't be necessary. If you have anything else to say, please do. Then go home; you need some rest." He picked up his chair and let out a deep sigh. His hand was starting to hurt now.

Celena nodded and adjusted the blue tie in her yellow pantsuit. "We can't contact Robbie."

Brash frowned. "What?" When his tattoos threatened to light up again, he forced a gush of air in, then out. "Explain," he said in a stern tone.

"It's weird, actually. His phone is dead, but Toni's bugs still work. We can't pinpoint his location, but we're sure he's in New Continent."

He growled. Brash scanned the room, walked towards a digital frame, and brought it closer to his eyes. He brushed his thumb over the smiling face of Roberto Tapir sitting beside Antônio at their engagement party.

Rob was good and wanted to protect the people of New Continent—that's why he and Brash were always so close when he was a boy. But... he had been acting weird since their last conversation.

No. No, he would never betray him. Rob understood his reasons. He was his son-in-law!

They were family.

Brash swallowed hard and clenched the frame with such force, the digital photo warped and blurred until the thin glass finally broke.

"Someone captured my boy." He raised his eyes and growled. "Prepare a team, Celena. Find him. I want him back."