Killing Olympia

Getting my attention was always pretty easy, but waving around a cardboard cutout of me was thinking outside the box. Standing on the flat, trash-filled roof of a, you guessed it, run-down community housing unit, was a girl with bright red hair wearing nothing except shorts and a crop top. No shoes, no hat, just left to bake underneath a hot sun as she waved the cutout from side-to-side. I'll admit, I kinda had to fight back a smile as I landed on the building's ledge, but now wasn't the time to start asking if she'd made that thing herself, or if someone was making money off me…again. Really should've copyrighted the name a while ago. Whatever. That was a problem for some other time.

"You actually came," she said, panting a little and using the cutout as shade. She swallowed and looked me up and down, and if you're wondering, yes, I washed the blood out of my costume. I'm trying to look a lot more presentable to the people who need me. Mom might complain that her blouses are now the color of the American flag, but that was a situation for later. "Wow. You're a lot shorter than I thought you'd be. You look bigger online."

I blinked, then said, "Your dad is missing, which is why I'm here, not for you to kinda insult me."

She grinned. Her nose piercing glinted in the sunlight. "You're a New Olympian through and through, huh? A lot of people say you're just rude, but that's how we grow up, right? You just never take things personally around here or else you'll hurt your own feelings. That's what my dad always says, anyway." She offered me her hand. I shook it, because she had a point. Even just standing here, I could hear people talking about things several blocks away that made my skin crawl. Lower Olympus for you, in all its rubble-filled, trash-strewn, murder on the sidewalk glory. "Name's Sam. Short for, well, Sam. Mom wasn't that creative. She's dead now but you didn't come down here to hear my sob story." No, sure, keep unpacking on me. "Anyway, so, uh, how does this work? Do I just tell you what happened and you work out the case? Or do I have to, like, pay you every hour you're on the clock?"

I snorted a little and stepped off the ledge. "If I got paid by the hour I'd be on a beach sipping smoothies all day long." I sat on an old a/c unit and leaned back on my palms. "Just tell me what happened and I'll sort it out."

She tucked the cutout under her arm like it was some kind of surfboard. I couldn't stop staring at the thing, because it didn't actually look like me, but instead someone dressed up just like me. "Ok, well," she said, twisting a silver ring on her thumb. "Last night, dad and I checked in pretty late. We kinda travel a lot. The place we were supposed to move into permanently got burnt down during the fires, so I guess it was another motel, right?" I sat forward, suddenly feeling a little guilty. "So dad leaves the room to get a packet of cigarettes, and sure, cool, he's meant to stop smoking like his doctor said, but dad's stubborn. Anyway, he doesn't come back for five minutes, then thirty, and now I'm worried, right? Because we work with a buddy system. We call each other every ten minutes if we're not together. And when I called him?" She paused, maybe to be dramatic. "Nothing. Not the first time, and not the second. On the third, someone picked up, but the other end of the line was dead. The phone cuts and now I am shitting myself. I run out of the motel looking crazy, and the guy in the lobby just shrugs at me and tells me to call the cops! But I can't call the cops, because the government can't be trusted, so I freak out and—"

"Hold on, hold on," I said. She nodded, still toying with the ring. "You told me you called the cops."

"Oh," she said. "I lied. I got nervous talking to you. You kinda feel like a principal, and everyone online told me that I should say that because it means you'll take me more seriously. Plus, y'know, you're kinda scary."

Jeez, is that what people think of me?

I sighed a little and waved my hand through the air. "Whatever. What did you do afterward?"

"Well, I asked the guy in the lobby if he'd seen my dad, because the vending machine was in the lobby, but the guy goes, Fuck off, kid, you're interrupting my show, then threatens to throw me out of my room." She finally stops to take a breath and puts down the cutout. "I spent the rest of the night trying to find your number."

"Let me guess," I said. "A bunch of people are picking up pretending to be me?"

"A bunch," Sam said, nodding. "And a lot of weirdos either selling drugs or…other stuff."

I put that in the 'deal with it later' box, which was slowly starting to spill over.

"Good thing you've got me now," I said, standing up and stretching a little. "Alright. I'll talk to the guy in the lobby to see if we can get security camera footage. That'll make both our lives pretty easy. Anything else?"

She sucked air through her teeth, rocked on her heels, then said, "My dad was…strange. Special. That's a better word. My dad was pretty special, and the people who probably snatched him wouldn't be very nice either."

"I'm a superhero," I said, walking toward the ledge. I glanced at her and smiled. "It's what I'm used to."

I stepped off the building and flew a short distance across the parking lot. A busker playing the harmonica eyed me as I walked past him. I patted my thighs, showing him I didn't have pockets for spare change in the first place, and pushed open the glass door. Standard-looking place. Smelt like bleach and body odor. Sweat and old water stuck in the rotting ceiling. The guy at the front desk glanced up from his magazine, then slowly put it down.

"Hey, there," I said, leaning against his desk. He paused the music coming from his computer. "I'm—"

He pointed over my shoulder. I frowned, then looked at what he was gesturing at.

"No Capes, no cops, and no money," I quietly read, which was right above an arrow that pointed toward the door. I turned back around and smiled thinly. "I get it. Funny. But listen, I don't do well with people telling me what to do, and c'mon, a sign? Really? Like that's gonna stop me from being here. All I want are a few answers, and then I'll let you get back to staring at whichever superhuman model is getting your heartbeat so fast." He quickly folded up the magazine and put a hand to his chest, as if that would stop me from hearing it. "I need camera footage from last night, from around nine to midnight, maybe a few hours later. Or answers, if you were on duty last night."

He shifted in his seat and tugged his sweat-stained collar. "Management says we can't speak to you."

"Yeah, dude, I read the sign, but let's skip this part so we can get back to our own routines."

"No, like, you," he said quietly. He glanced at the security camera right above him, red light blinking. He leaned in a little more, his coffee-stained breath hitting me like a right hook. "You're a no-go zone around here."

"Why?" I said. "I've never even been here before. Besides, I'm a superhero. I'm not gonna hurt anyone."

"The boss, the guy who runs this place?" he said, eyes darting down the hallway. "You killed his dad."

I made a face, because he had to be joking, right? What're the chances of that actually being true?

"Look," I said, dropping my voice a little. "Just do me a solid here, alright? I just need the footage."

"I'd lose this job if I do," he whined. "And do you know how hard it is to find work right now? This city's a mess, and I am not going back to some street corner. I tried the red light districts and that's not the kind of work that actually feeds me." He pointed at the door. "I respect you, and I am very afraid of you, but my boss? Everyone is afraid of him, and he pays me, and you… Well, you don't. So just do me a favor and leave? Please? It'll help a lot."

I groaned a little and drummed my fingers against the desk. I glanced outside, where Sam was waiting beside the busker, twisting her ring and standing next to that cardboard cutout. She looks so hopeful. It was the face and the eyes, the way she was trying not to smile and the way her heartbeat was doing its best to keep getting faster.

I couldn't even remember the last time someone had looked at me with so much…hope.

I usually either got rage, hate, a mix of both, or outright bloodlust.

"How about this," I said, turning back to him. "I talk to your boss and figure things out between me and him. You keep your job, I leave the building, and I come through his window. That way everyone is happy, cool?"

"Wouldn't you usually do that, anyway?" he asked. "Punch a hole through the wall and walk in?"

"That would only make this a lot harder," I said. "Well, gonna tell me where his office is?"

He hesitated, then quietly said, "At the very end. Tony's pretty…big. You'll spot him through his window. He always leaves it open so he can smoke beside it. And he's got a cat. Spooky thing. You didn't hear it from me."

And for once in my life, I didn't have to threaten someone with violence and or dismemberment to get what I wanted. Maybe this was how dad felt getting around, I thought, smiling at him and heading out of the front door. Sam's face dropped when she saw me, but I gave her a thumbs up and flew into the sky and rounded the motel. The dumpsters were full and some homeless guy was sorting his way through what he could find and dumping them inside of a rusted shopping cart. He barely noticed me as I flew over him, and the bright yellow Camaro parked out back in a manager only parking space told me I was looking at the right office. Look, a part of me figured I should piss him off even more from the jump, just for old time's sake, but I decided to land beside his car instead of on it.

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He was on the phone near his window, smoking a cigarette and arguing with a woman who wasn't happy that he'd been out so late last night, and then he spotted me. I was leaning against the fender, arms folded, and gave him a short wave. It was like something changed in a split second. Something deep down and innate that left him cutting the call, stomping out the cigarette, and charging out of his office. A minute later, and a guy with a beer gut, a poorly placed toupe, and a gold chain hanging around his throat came huffing and puffing toward me. His heart was sluggish, probably wrapped up in oils and fats. But he didn't give me the chance to tell him to chill out a little.

He stopped right in front of me and grabbed my wrist, spit flying from his mouth as he shouted, "Who the hell do you think you are, touching my car, coming into my prestigious establishment? I outta wring your fuckin' neck myself and dump your body in the gutter." He tried to shove me away, but we all know how that usually goes. And that only reddened his pudgy face even more. "Think you're tough? What, came back here to finish the job?"

I could break his heart and tell him I didn't remember his dad, but I was trying to be a better person here, so I took a deep breath, sighed, and put up my hands. "I'm not here to fight," I said. "All I need is some information."

He paused, then barked out so much laughter he doubled over and started spewing phlegm and spit onto the ground. He grunted, wheezed, and lit another cigarette he could jam between his lips. "Get out," he growled.

"I'm not 'in' anywhere, dude. And I'll let you have a heart attack in peace if you just—"

"OUT!" he bellowed, throwing his arm to the side. "And if I see you here again, you're dead, you hear?"

"I'm sorry about killing your dad, alright?" I said. "Now will you just please do me a solid and—"

He spat his cigarette at me. The saliva made sure it slowly dragged itself down my crest.

I tensed my jaw and forced my teeth to unclamp. Chill out. Deep breaths. Think about Bianca. She'd want you to talk this through, right? She wouldn't want you to drop him on his head from sixty stories in the air, Rylee.

I flicked the cigarette away, then looked at him. "Camera footage from last night, then I'll go."

"You're not getting a single thing out of me," he snarled.

"Is there something I can do to change your mind then?"

"Yeah," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Fuck off."

"Look, Tony—"

"You ain't got the right to even think about my name."

I spread my arms. "I already apologized. Jeez, what do you want me to do, bring him back to life?"

Tony grabbed my costume and towered over me, looking me dead in the eyes as his shoulders rose and fell and his gut shook every time he spoke. "The pigs might be afraid of you, but old Tony ain't afraid of nobody. You killed a good man in cold blood and you don't even know his name, do you?" He held my tongue. His veiny red eyes narrowed. "Thought so, now make like the rest of you teenage punks, and scram, before I break you in half."

"Would that make you feel better?" I asked, looking up at him. "A clean shot, and you show me the tapes."

Tony's bushy unibrow furrowed, then he let go of me and jerked his head. "Run."

I tried. I really, really tried.

"Fine," I said, moving past him and walking away. He glanced over his shoulder at me, then I broke into a sprint that was faster than he'd ever be able to move. I leapt through the gap in his office window and slammed it shut behind me, twisting the handle and locking it. I watched him waddle and stumble and bellow from across the parking lot, stopping every once in a while to double over and cough up his guts. Did I feel bad? Meh. Maybe some other time when I wasn't trapped inside an office that reeked of feet, old drugs, what might be blood in the shag carpet, and an unwashed cat that was hissing at me from his desk. His computer was on, but so were the several computers on the far wall. The only thing separating me from them was the snarling black feline with its arched spine and flaring fur. I had a thing about cats. Never liked me, and I never liked them. Animals in general had a problem with me, and even when I popped open a bag of treats and dumped half of them on the floor, it still snarled.

"Your loss," I muttered, walking around the desk. Red walls. Large paintings of himself and the Camaro. A picture frame of him, a lady, and three kids was turned down, and the leather chairs in front of his desk looked so— I swore. Swore so loudly it cracked the window pane. The cat scrambled down my back and over my shoulder, its claws so painfully sharp they sank through my costume and pinched my skin. I grabbed it by the ruff of the neck and threw it off me. It hit the opposite wall and fell to the floor, and usually, that would mean it died on the spot, but the freaking thing picked itself back up again and made a sound so hellish I couldn't even begin to describe it.

"Jesus Christ," I said, touching the back of my neck. My fingers came back bloody. "What the hell?"

The cat wasn't done yet. It scrambled onto the desk and lunged for me, claws extended. And if you're wondering, I felt as silly as I was in pain when I darted away and the cat bounded off the bookshelf behind me and sank its teeth into my forearm. I tried to shake the damned thing off of me. And when I tried to grab it, its arms and legs wildly darted out and tried to gouge the back of my hand wide open. I flew hard against a wall, trying to slam the thing off of me, but the cat darted up my arm and went for my face, and that left me in the air, spinning wildly, swearing and shouting and fighting a cat that suddenly felt like it was stronger than Adam had ever been. It went for my cheeks. Tried to get at my eyes. All I could hear was screeching and mewling and hissing as it tried to get at me.

I briefly thought about filling the thing with electricity and calling it a day.

But Sam came in and saved the day with a book to my face that swatted the cat off of me. I startled and reared back as it hissed and rolled onto its feet. I didn't give it a second chance, and kicked the thing out of the window. I hated fighting Kaiju. I've never had to fight an animal before, because I usually just flew away if a pissed off guard dog wanted a piece of me. But watching the cat land nearly on the opposite side of the street, perfectly fine and still hissing as it darted off into an alleyway left me feeling…weird. Did I just lose to a cat? Whatever. I gingerly touched the burning scratch marks on my cheeks and winced. I'd been hit hard before, but this felt different. More painful. Like the sting went straight through to the meat under my skin. And no, that wasn't the embarrassment of having a Normal come and save me, and nor was it because a cat nearly took one of my eyes.

"Oh my God," Sam breathed, still clutching the thick file. Not a book. Sorry, it was hard to pay attention to what she used to hit me with when I was getting my face fucked. "Was that a cat? I thought you were invincible."

I gestured at the wall of screens. "Go and find your footage before Tony gets back here."

"Right. Sorry." She headed for the computer and figured out how to scroll backward after several seconds. I looked around the room and found the pile of kibble on the carpet, because if my gut was right, then the sickly sweet smell coming from the room came from the orange cat food. And when I crouched, picked one up, and looked the fish-shaped biscuit over. I sniffed it. My nose scrunched up as I flicked it away and dusted off my fingers. The tin of cat food was on the floor and reeked of Ambrosia. Not a lot. Barely enough to make my throat hurt when I swallowed saliva. A guy feeding his cat Ambrosia was something entirely new to me. I didn't know how long animals could even survive with it in their blood, but that's what Becca and mom said, right? Everything on Earth had at least a trace of the Divergent Virus on it, at least to some degree. I guess it just made animals into feral little creatures that could cut and slash and bite their way through. Should probably add that on the to-do list, Olympia.

Right underneath people using my hotline to sell drugs and probably sex, too.

"How'd you get in here without being dragged back outside?" I asked Sam.

"The guy at the reception ran out, so did the rest of the workers," she muttered, still scrolling eyes still scanning. "They went out back when they heard Tony screaming or whatever. I think they're still out there, too."

And just on cue, somebody outside screamed, "Help! Somebody help!"

Sam had the footage ordeal under control, so that meant I flew over to the window to check out what was going on this time. I half-expected to see the cat trying to kill the homeless guy outside, but instead, Tony was on the ground beside his car, convulsing as the receptionist and several other employees tried to get a hospital or an ambulance on the phone. But not in Lower Olympus. Not with so many roads destroyed and so many hospitals in ruin. Fuck me, I thought, leaping out the window and flying toward him. They backed away but didn't get far as I kneeled beside him. His eyes were cloudy and he was clutching his chest. A stream of white saliva trickled down the side of his face. And once he saw me, he grabbed my wrist and tried to speak, but not through that gasping.

And not with a heart that kept stuttering and stumbling over its own rhythm.

"No, no, no, no!" the scrawny receptionist said. "Help him! You can, right?"

"If he dies this entire place goes under," a greying woman cries. "I can't find anywhere else to work. And we're all Tony's got." She was shaking so badly I was sure she'd have a heart attack too. "Just help him. Please."

I looked down at Tony, who was still staring at me, but not with that same edge of anger.

There was desperation in his eyes. Pure, unfiltered fear of someone terrified to the core.

"Here goes," I muttered. I put my hand on his chest, and sent a shock of electricity through his body. He tensed. One of the bigger guys, maybe security, grabbed my shoulder to yank me away. But then Tony gasped and coughed up so much spit I was sure that this time his lungs would come out right alongside the saliva flying out of his mouth. He groaned and shaded his eyes, then dragged his forearm across his mouth. I stood up, the sun above me, meaning my shadow stopped the light from keeping him squinted. "You're welcome, and I kicked your cat about three hundred yards that way and he ran off into the dark. He'll probably come back, but dude, don't give your cat Ambrosia. That thing's either gonna kill itself or kill someone, and I'm not stooping to fighting animals."

There were a lot of people I was willing to fight, but household pets was a step too far, even for me.

Besides, a few more seconds and that little fur ball would've sunk its teeth into my throat.

"Olympia," he groaned. I stopped walking and turned to look at him. The receptionist had Tony sitting upright, his shirt now unbuttoned and his vest drenched in sweat. Tony swallowed deeply, then gave me a nod.

Small. Barely a movement of his head. Not a thank you. Not a smile.

Just a nod.

And I'll take it.

"Don't mention it," I said, shrugging. "I'm a superhero, it's just what I do."

"Olympia!" Sam yelled from the window. "I got what we needed! We can leave now!"

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. "Gotta run. Life to save. And don't end up like your old man, alright? Do good, be good, and eat a salad once in a while, and for the love of God, give your workers a bit of a raise, dude."

He chuckled, which ended in a pained coughing fit and a hand clutching his chest. "Hero's orders, huh?"

I smiled. "Hero's orders."

"Hell. Fine." He looked at me. "Only if you tell your hero friends to come stay here. Good for business."

"Put my name on the motel, and now we're talking."

"Drive a hard bargain, but fine. Deal's a deal."

Holy shit I was kidding about that, but hey, I'll take that too.

I floated off the hot asphalt. "You guys take it easy. New Olympus is a mess right now, but I'm working on it, trust me. If you need help, I'll leave a number on your desk. And hey, if that cat comes back, call me. Please."

"Got it," Tony muttered, then waved his hand. "Now get out of here, you're blocking the sun."

Already on it.

Time to do some good for a change.