1. It Ain't Me (Patreon)

A/N: Hello, readers! Apologies for a bit of spam. The last few days, I've been working on something a little experimental. It might be a one-off, it might die shortly, but right now, I'm very excited about it. If you don't like it, let me know, and i'll remove it from the shared book tiers. 

In Central City, there’s only one hard rule: everyone dies.

Everything else? Soft, soft rules. Nothing hard about them. Flying? Sure, why not. We’ve got fliers left, right, and center. Build a jetpack if you can’t fly on your own powers. Go nuts. Invulnerability? What kind? You’re going to have to be more specific. Healing factor? Oh, sure. Who doesn’t have that? I mean, dime a dozen, am I right? You aren’t even a classed hero if you don’t have a healing factor. And if we’re talking crime, grime, and bullshit? Central’s got that in spades. Anything’s possible. Except that one thing.

Everyone dies. That’s it. That’s the rule. No true immortals. They don’t exist. Total myth. Sure, you might live a thousand years, but you die eventually. You might be able to recover from a bullet to the brain, but there’s some amount of damage that’ll take you out. There’s no such thing as an immortal hero.

And if there is, well. Figure out a way to kill him, quick. Because if Alpha finds him, we’re all fucked.

Forever.

--

Cruising on a beat-up old scooter, a young man glanced up at the sky. A tattered shirt waved on the breeze, threadbare jeans hung from bony hips, and an ancient helmet topped brown hair. A bundle of paper bags sat snug on the tray behind him, paper delivery order stapled to their tops. Smog reflected in his eyes, not even the pale shadow of the sun visible overhead. Even so, the humidity hinted at rain to come.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and cranked the throttle.

Overhead, a streak of fire burned through the fog, a woman wrapped up in its heart. The raging inferno around her body left her face and features unclear, her body little more than a blur. Spinning around in midair, she threw a ball of fire behind her.

It soared through the smog and burst on the chest of a man with metal for skin. He let out a hearty laugh, audible from where the young man drove, and revved the jet engine that carved a hole through his abdomen. “It’ll take more than that to stop Jet Engine!”

Rather than regaling him with a response, the flaming lady tossed another dozen fireballs. They splashed against him, searing his metal skin red-hot. One landed right on his engine, and he fell back in the air, engine spluttering. He narrowed his eyes and sped up, chasing after the flaming lady. “Watch out. Here comes the Jet Shoulder Charge!”

The flaming lady spun and flew off, but too late. His shoulder slammed into her back. With a shriek, the flaming lady fell out of the sky and tumbled toward the raggedy scooter below.

“Watch out!” Jet Engine yelled.

The rider looked up. He startled, eyes widening, then slammed on the breaks. The scooter skidded, kicking sideways into a drift.

The fiery woman hit the ground right in front of him. She bounced, rolling down the road. Flames chased after her, plasma smearing over the asphalt.

The scooter stopped, drawing up inches before the tires hit the woman. The rider looked down and wiped his brow, relieved.

“Citizen, out of the way!”

Whipping around, the rider stared directly up at shining metal skin. Jet Engine hurtled down at the lady, his eyes set.

The rider revved his engine. The scooter groaned, struggling to respond. It jolted forward, then stopped.

Jet Engine smashed the woman into the ground. Fire burst all around them, spouting up like a volcanic eruption. It loomed up in a wave, towering over the scooter.

The rider grabbed the handlebars tight and cranked the engine to the max. This time, the scooter jumped to life. Wheels spinning, it screeched, then leaped forward. The wave of flame plunged down toward the scooter.

With milimeters to spare, the scooter burst out from under the wave. The rider slammed the brakes, barely avoiding driving into the next lane of traffic, and put his feet down, staring over his shoulder at the battle blocking the road ahead.

Jet Engine bashed the flaming woman into the road. Once. Twice. Her eyes rolled up in her head, and the flames flickered down on her body, fading away. A last whisp of smoke emerged from her body.

A gentle-faced woman in her early twenties laid in the street. Short, fire-red hair settled in waves around her face. Freckles colored her pale skin where her t-shirt and shorts revealed a limber body.

Rising from the ground, Jet Engine dusted himself off, his namesake burning down. He glanced over at the scooter rider. “Still alive?”

“Yeah, I—” Crackling sounded from behind him. Startled, the scooter rider turned. The paper bags burned merrily, blackening under a bright flame.

Jet Engine winced. “Oof.”

“Fuck!” Yanking off his shirt, the young man threw it onto the fire, stifling the flames on the bags. He lifted his shirt to peek. A few small flames jumped back up. Grimacing, he slammed the shirt down again, patting out the last of the fire. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“You alright there?” Jet Engine asked, walking over.

“It’s—this goddam delivery—I’m not going to get any tip, and I’m late on rent, and—” the young man pulled his shirt back, revealing a blackened burn eating the center front of the shirt. His nose twisted in disgust. “Fuck!”

Jet Engine rubbed the back of his head. “Hey, sorry about that. Ability hunting for Alpha, you know how it goes.”

“Yeah. I know,” the driver spat. He shook his head.

“Look, I really feel quite bad about this. Why don’t I buy you a new shirt? And, uh. Whatever your delivery is. I’ll buy a new one of that, too.”

“I’ll still be late and get no tip,” he muttered.

Jet Engine raised his steely brows. He gave the boy a sharp look. “What?”

Turning a bright, smiling face up at the hero, the boy said, “Thank you, sir! Appreciate it, sir!”

“Excellent! What’s your name? I’m, well,” the hero gestured at his chest, “Jet Engine.”

“You can call me Levi, sir,” the boy replied with a sunny grin.

“Come on, then. Let’s get you fixed up.” Jet Engine froze abruptly. He reached out and snatched up Levi’s hands.

Bright red burns stained Levi’s palms and wrists, raw and blistering. Jet Engine looked at the hands, then up at Levi. “You need medical attention. Now.”

Levi retracted his hands. “I’ll be fine, sir.”

“A healing factor?” Jet Engine asked.

“Something like that.”

Jet Engine rubbed his nose. “I know I was just ability hunting, but Alpha’s over healing factors. He’s already absorbed enough. You don’t need to hide a measly skill like that.”

Levi smiled at him.

The steel colossus sighed. “Yeah, I get it. I get it. But it’s the price we pay for peace, you know?”

“I know,” Levi replied, pointing.

Jet Engine followed his finger to a nearby billboard. A muscular man with perfect wavy brown hair shot a perfect smile their way, fitted into a suit that perfectly displayed the shape of his body. Alpha. I’ll pay any price for peace in Central City!

Jet Engine laughed awkwardly. “Yeah. I guess he is up for election.”

“Not like it matters,” Levi muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Jet Engine shook his head. Hoisting the flaming woman over his shoulder, he hoisted Levi onto the other. “Let’s get you a shirt, and replace that delivery of yours. I’ve got to get her to Alpha before she wakes up. He’s been looking for a flame power for weeks now.”

“Uh, are we—”

“Hold on tight!”

The jet engine roared to life. Leaving the scooter abandoned in the middle of the road, they burst off into the sky.

Holding on with his burned hands, face distorted by the vicious wind, Levi muttered, “Damn supers.”

The roaring wind snatched his voice away, and not a sound reached Jet Engine’s ears.