REND

I tightly hugged my backpack in an attempt to mask the sound of my rumbling stomach. Did the taxi driver notice it? Would Deen have some food later? I was about to buy a Cesar’s salad wrap in my favorite store, ‘Salad-To-Go’, a block away from my condo, when I realized it would entail a receipt, which wasn’t ideal if I wanted to keep my whereabouts as vague as possible.

It was also the reason I took a cab.

There were security cams at the train station, tickets would show where I went, plenty of people to see me. With a cab, there was only the driver. And anyone trying to investigate me in the future would need to find this specific taxi first to trace my route. I didn’t even use those ride-hailing apps.

My only paper trail today was the receipt from the ATM where I withdrew $500, the daily atm withdrawal limit of my bank. The ATM was inside my condo building so I wasn’t too worried about it. I patted the hidden pocket of my bag to check if the wad of cash was still there. Money would help big time if I was forced to flee.

If possible, I didn’t want it to come to that. That'd be such a pain. If nothing happened, I could use this money to buy another foldable bike instead. Yay.

“Where was it again, miss?” the taxi driver said.

“Green Meadows Park,” I said. I kept my head turned away from him, looking out the window, my face covered by the side of my hoodie. Suspicious? Heck yeah. But it was better than him seeing my face. He probably thought I run away from home. “The northern gate, please. The one along McDouglas Street.”

“Right you are, miss.”

When we arrived at the park entrance, I thrust the fare into the hands of the driver and quickly hopped out of the taxi, almost tumbling on the pavement. I thought my bag was going to be heavy, so I overestimated the strength of my jump. I quickly thrust out my hand to stop my fall.

I stood up and smoothened my clothes. My eyes went wide upon seeing my handprint on the ground. Handprint, yes. On the cracked…concrete ground. I didn’t expect to be this strong.

“Ow,” I said, checking my stinging hand. My palm was slightly bruised. Wait…the bruise…disappeared. “Fuck,” I whispered watching the reddish skin returning to normal. Remember not to get injured in front of people. My hand was smooth again, without any blemish other than the tiny crystal sitting innocently on my palm.

“Are you okay, miss?”

“Yes! I’m okay,” I said with my back to him. “No problem here!” I took out my phone then pretended to call someone. Take the cue.

“Be careful then, miss.” The fading sounds of the engine told me he left.

I wonder how many times I’ve been told to be careful today, I thought while looking at the crystal on my palm. A pimple patch would do an awesome job of covering this, but I didn’t have any because I rarely get zits. If I used a band-aid from my first aid kit, I’d only draw more attention to it. Best just to inconspicuously hide it for now.

With my foot, I raked a pile of dust on top of my handprint on the ground but it was still noticeable. Would this print be traceable to me? There was no one around, and the taxi had left.

I stomped on it, breaking the pavement more, distorting it. The concrete made a satisfying crack with each step; more satisfying than crunching dried leaves. It wasn’t that recognizable as a handprint anymore. Unfortunately, I also ruined my sneakers by squishing their sole a bit. And I think some of the threads became undone. Oh well, these were old shoes anyway that I used to fit my casual appearance.

I shrugged and went on my way. Someone finding it would just think the city was behind in its maintenance activities.

The sun sailed merrily high in the sky, but plenty of clouds and the green crowns of the trees shielded me from its harsh gaze. The bears in the tale of Goldilocks came to mind—the temperature was just right. Speaking of fairy tales, I only lacked a basket of food and this could be little red riding hood’s story, with sweet little me going into a house where there might be a wolf…or wolves.

Or am I the wolf?

After having gone through a lot today, and I mean A LOT, I was having a great time jogging through the park. I felt like a different person—fine, I’m not human—as if I suffered a bad bout of flu for a week then awoke refreshed on the morning of the first day I was fully recovered. There was a springiness in my step, a certain level of fitness that reminded me of my days when I was a cheerleader back in high school.

If I closed my eyes so I couldn’t see I was zipping past the trees, I wouldn’t be able to tell how fast I was actually going with just the effort I put into my steps. Jogging? More like full-on running. Yet my breathing was for a leisurely stroll.

And my heavy bag. What bag? There was barely any weight on my shoulders. I had to check my bag a few times if it didn’t burst open and spilled out all its contents.

I decided it was better not to ride the taxi straight to Deen’s house at Poblacion Verde Hills. The north gate of this park was a little distance from the edge of Verde Hills. But this way, the taxi driver wouldn’t know where I went after entering the park.

With my speed, I made it to Verde Hills in no time at all.

It was a high-end neighborhood, posh houses flaunting eccentric architectural designs with yards about twice or even thrice the size you could find in an average American suburbia. Amber Deen’s family must be loaded for her and her sister to afford renting a whole house here.

My family was…hmmm…I guess I could say a little well-off, with Mom being a consultant of Greaves BioAugmentronics Corp., but I wasn’t even dreaming of renting a mini luxury house for myself.

I enjoyed my walk to Deen’s house, admiring the unique designs of the houses along the way. Appreciate the small things

. This might be my last day to be able to walk without fear out in the open.

It was amusing only a few hours ago I was having a relaxing tea while studying for my classes, and now I was a hundred percent ready to murder everyone inside Deen’s house if they posed a threat to me.

“That must be it,” I said, stopping across the street from a marble grey house with a minimalist geometric theme. Sleek wood panels accented the walls, contrasting nicely with the modern style. I followed Deen’s directions, and this house was as she described. “I wonder how much their rent costs.”

Was she able to get her car out of the fire? It wasn’t in her driveway. Probably not. There was a big motorcycle in her driveway, a model I had seen biker gangs use. A weathered blue sedan I didn’t recognize was parked in front of her house.

Everything appearing safe, I crossed the street, passing by the suspicious car to examine it before going up to Deen’s door. The car’s front right side was dented, its headlights busted. This must be the car that collided with the spiky Adumbrae cunt that tried to kill me. There were also a few holes dotting the car. Traces where the spikes hit?

I pressed the doorbell and waited. If someone other than Deen answered, I was going to run.

The speaker to the right of the door beeped alive.

“Erind, there you are,” Deen said from the speaker. There was a camera hanging above the door staring down at me. Figured there would be cameras in this expensive house. I shouldn’t forget about its recording if I did kill them. “Just a sec, I’m coming now.”

The possibility that Deen was held hostage lowered. But if someone was with her, I might still run away. Especially if it seemed like someone was holding a gun to her back.

Deen opened the door. She was alone.

I exhaled, relaxing my tensed body that was ready to bolt. This was the first time I saw her in casual clothes, but I could easily tell she was wearing designer-brand clothing. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and she didn’t have any makeup on, like legit no make-up on not the “no makeup” makeup look…ok that was confusing—a girl thing.

“Hiya, Erind.” She stuck her head outside to peek if anyone else was there. “You weren’t followed?”

“Don’t think so.”

“You didn’t text me where you were. I was worried.”

“Sorry, I forgot.” I didn’t. I just didn’t want them preparing an ambush if they were my enemies. “I was preoccupied thinking about….thinking about everything.”

“I see…Come on in,” she said. “I’d like you to meet the others. They’ll explain everything to you.”

The interior of the house mirrored its façade, the same clash of geometric style with intricate woodwork. It was the sort of place that was too fancy you’d barely make any movements for fear of breaking something expensive.

Deen led me to the living room, and wow they had a pool in their backyard, separated by sliding glass doors. Two guys were watching TV and drinking juice Deen prepared for them. Another guy was outside by the pool.

“Where’s Myra? You said she’s here.” I gripped Deen’s arm like I was nervous.

The blonde guy lying on the sofa was flipping through the channels when he saw me. “Oh, you’re here,” he said, switching the TV off then standing up. He appeared a bit under the weather, cradling a bandaged arm. He had an immovable serious face he unsuccessfully tried to mold into a friendlier one, his steel-blue eyes piercing mine. Was he the leader of their group? “Myra’s here. She, uh…” He looked around.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Deen explained, “fixing something, or so she said.”

“Ah, her injury. She’ll be here in a bit, don’t worry.” He adjusted the sling over his shoulder, trying to offer me his right hand, the bandaged one, to shake, decided against it then offered his left instead. “You must be Erind. Nice to meet you.”

Left hand? Phew. “Um, hello,” I said, feigning a hesitant tone, warily looking at his offered hand. Remember, Deen was the dominant personality here, so I should keep up my timid face. An unthreatening appearance was to my advantage. I went for an awkward shake, just holding his fingers. “Such a weird circumstance to meet,” I added a nervous chuckle for good measure.

“Too much forwardness, oh great leader,” a different voice loudly said. It belonged to the guy with a ponytail smoking by the pool. He crushed his cig beneath his boot and went inside the living room, closing the glass door behind him.

“Don’t litter here, Obe,” said the guy sitting on the right armchair. “Sorry for that, Amber.” There was something in the way he stared at Deen. The shape of his muscles was visible under his tight black shirt, and his olive skin helped emphasize his sculpted forearms. Was this guy intentionally flexing his muscles so Deen would notice him? A normal day in the life of Deen.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, sorry.” Ponytail guy, who was apparently Obe, sat on the couch. “Just a habit, I forgot myself. I was getting entertained here by our leader putting moves on the cute lady newcomer.”

Blue-eyes looked at his hand and put it in his pocket. “I wasn’t making moves on her. Get serious, Obe.” My cue here should be to blush, but that was a skill I hadn’t practiced yet. I could cry on cue, but not blush. He said to me. “I apologize, I should’ve introduced ourselves first. I’m Dario.”

“Everett,” said the muscled Mediterranean guy.

“Reo, at your service,” ponytail said, twirling his hand as a greeting.

“Um, hello. Oh, I already said ‘hello’, right? I’m Erind, but I guess you already knew that,” I stammered. “I thought your name was Obe?” I asked Reo.

“My real name’s Reo. Obe is short for Oberon. My codename.”

“Codename?”

“Yeah, we got codenames,” Reo said. “We all do…except for one guy in our group who didn’t want to pick one. To hide our identities, you know? Feeling like we’re in a superhero story, woohoo.”

“How about you take a sit before I explain?” Dario said. “You must be tired from traveling.”

I vigorously shook my head and stubbornly stood behind Deen. She waved for them to continue.

“I’ll remain standing too,” Dario said. “Superhero names are supposed to be famous even if the public doesn’t know who they are behind the mask. That doesn’t translate well in real life. For our continued survival, we’d prefer to hide both our codenames and real names from the public.”

Reo snorted. “It’s a lame type of codename. We also have lame masks. Black ski masks from a thrift store. Are we robbing a QualityMart?”

“Our codenames are primarily so we’d have something to call each other during missions and not use our actual names. When we plan or discuss something that’s not so legal, we use our codenames as a matter of practice even if there’s no chance anyone can overhear us. It’s a good habit to cultivate. I think we’re going to make an exception for now so you won’t get confused with us. So, we’re going to call Obe his real name, Reo.”

“Everett is particularly anal about that,” Reo said. “But I see the point. Who knows if someone inserted a bug up your ass?”

“Really mature, Obe,” Everett dryly said. “Uh, Reo. Right, we’re not using codenames.”

Dario added, “Picking a codename for ourselves also fosters a sense of belongingness and a connection to our powers. My codename is Blank, for example.”

“Very well-thought-of codename, Oh Great Leader! It’s like you spent five minutes on that,” Reo said, chuckling. “Give me some credit here. Oberon! King of the fairies. Well, four fairies for now. I even grew my hair long to build the motif. Would really help a lot in theming if I was a white guy, like a Scandinavian or something. Take Dario over here. Just grow his hair long and he could sell this whole fairy king thing. Unlike me. I don't think the Japanese have fairies like the Western ones. More like spirit creatures."

“What’s wrong with my codename?” Dario said. “You spent five minutes on the internet searching for cool fairy names. Everett’s codename’s the one with some thought put into it.”

“Codename Emcee,” Everett said.

“Tell them how you came up with it. It’s really cool.”

“Uh, it’s short of e=mc². Einstein’s equation? E-equals-m-c-squared. Emcee. Something like that. Do you guys kind of see it? My power has something to do with mass-energy equivalence.”

“That is pretty clever,” Deen said, making Everett’s face brighten.

I frowned. “This is getting too confusing. Codenames? Powers? Back up a bit. You said you guys have powers? Did I hear that correctly?” Because I got powers too, bitches. Not that I would tell them that. And that wasn’t the important thing now. “Is that how you are able to fight Adumbrae? Deen mentioned something about it.”

“Yes, with our abilities we can fight—”

“Just to be clear…by powers, you mean superhuman abilities because of performance-enhancing drugs.” I looked them over from head to toe. “Or do you have like augs, bioaugmentronics attached to you?”

“No, nothing of the sort,” Everett said.

“What we have,” Reo said, “are powers that can’t be explained by science.”

I faked a gasp. “Are you guys the same as the one who attacked Deen and me at the mall?” I was already thinking about what to do next. Do I say, hey guys I’m actually one of you? “Are you…Adumbrae?”

“No!” Everett and Reo protested, in varying degrees of agitation.

“Everyone relax,” Dario said, putting his hands on their shoulders. They subtly tried to lean their bodies away from his hands. “She didn’t mean anything bad with that. Isn’t that right, Erind?” I nodded my head. Dario removed his hands from his friends and they seemed to sigh in relief. “Saying we have powers that can’t be explained by science would naturally lead to such an assumption, Reo. We’re either Corebring or Adumbrae. At least, that’s what would people think. And we aren’t Corebrings—”

“Obviously,” Reo interjected.

“Technically not,” said Everett.

Dario finished his sentence, “So, it’s understandable that Erind will assume we’re Adumbrae.”

What were they supposed to be if they weren’t Adumbrae? Some product of a science experiment? A government project? That wouldn’t be the first time the government tried fiddling with things beyond our comprehension.

I shifted behind Deen, wary. Give me a suspicious expression, girl. I stuttered, “Yo-you’re not Adumbrae? You do-don’t want to kill us?”

“No. A hundred percent, we’re not Adumbrae. And we also don’t want to kill you. We want to protect you.”

“What are you then?” I asked. I needed more intel. “What is all of this about? Maybe you can show me your powers?”

Dario looked at his friends and nodded. “I’ll be glad to—”

“Before that,” a female voice interrupted him. A woman with shoulder-length hair dyed metallic blue, wearing a baggy Melchor sweatshirt. Myra Fletcher. A severely serious expression, almost aggressive, was on her face; very different from the concerned and sad Myra we met at Melchor. “Before any explanations and stuff about our powers, let’s hear first about what happened at the mall from Erind’s perspective.”

Wait a goddamn minute. Did she say ‘our powers’? She has powers too?

“And here comes Myra,” Reo said. “Codename Barb.”

My ears pricked up. Barb?