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He rolls his eyes and glances out the window, his face looking remarkably serene despite the information corralling itself in my own mind. I take a step forward and place my hands on his shoulders. “Evan,” I say. He lifts his eyebrows. “You said Felix is smart enough to hack into the KAPOW?”
He nods. The power in his veins shift from a dormant energy into a vibrant p
ulse of energy. Angry energy. His eyes meet mine and he finally realizes the point I’m trying to make.
I tap my finger on his collarbone. “And he mysteriously left a few weeks ago?” He nods again and his face pales. It doesn’t need to be said, but I say it anyway. “About twenty-nine days ago?”
Evan grabs a laptop and a set of tools to break into the door on the opposite side of his apartment. “Felix never allowed me in here,” he says, kneeling next to the door and arranging his stuff like an expert locksmith. “You might want to stay back when this opens. I have no idea what we’ll find.”
“What, like dead bodies?” I snort. “I highly doubt it. We would have smelled it by now.”
Evan types stuff into his computer in what’s probably a high-tech decryption device or something. A low budget jingle plays through the speakers. I glance over his shoulder—he’s watching a YouTube video on how to pick locks.
“Ev-an,” I laugh. “You humble me with your lock-picking genius.”
He shrugs and turns up the volume. I place my hand on Felix’s doorknob and turn. The door swings open. “You’re welcome,” I say.
Evan jumps to his feet, sliding the laptop out of the way as some old human guy babbles on about the fundamentals of picking locks. He flips on the light and we both gasp at what we find inside.
A big old empty room of nothingness. Evan mutters something under his breath as we venture through the apartment. It is nothing like Evan’s apartment except for being shaped like a semi-circle. The kitchen is quaint and dreary, the living room has no windows overlooking the beach, and all the walls are insane-asylum white.
“How well did you know your coworker?” I ask, drawing my finger down a countertop with a thick layer dust.
Evan frowns. “I guess not as well as I thought.”
In an effort to help me pass the time, Evan teaches me how to play Assassin’s Quest, a repetitive first-person shooter game on his Xbox. He claims all the hand-eye coordination and raw, futile efforts to repeatedly kill off the bad guys will keep me entertained while he researches the Felix thing.
I don’t know how much time I spend furiously pressing buttons and annihilating enemy soldiers on screen. Two or three days maybe. I only stop playing to eat the stuff Evan brings me, to go to the bathroom and to sleep. I’ve given him back his bed. I sleep on the couch, whenever I happen to fall asleep after a marathon of gameplay. Things are going well … for the most part.
One time, after forcing a gallon of water down my throat and babbling on about how water is good for you and blah blah, Evan said something along the lines of, “I can’t believe you’re still playing this game. Something is wrong with you.”
I slammed him across the room, breaking an end table with his head. He hasn’t commented on my sanity, or lack thereof, again.
I’m checking my rankings when the elevator door opens. I barely have time to marvel at how I currently rank ten thousand out of the forty million players worldwide, when Evan collides into me on the couch, knocking the controller out of my hand.
“What the hell?” I groan, pushing at his hands in an effort to retrieve my controller. He swats me away and summons the MOD screen from its retracted place in the ceiling. Only now do I notice his rapid breathing, racing heart, and the accelerated hum of his power.
“What’s going on?”
His mouth opens and closes, but he’s so frantic he can’t say anything. He just swings his arms wildly at the screen and motions for me to watch. It reminds me of a cartoon character who tries to run but their feet spin without going anywhere. The MOD descends and lights up. It lights up. My heart leaps into my throat. I grab Evan’s arm.
The King City purple crown logo fills the entire screen. And then the best thing ever happens.
My dad’s face appears.
“Citizens of King City, this is your president.” The room blurs around me as I focus on only the screen, not daring to take my eyes off him for an instant out of fear that I will miss an important detail.
Fine creases line his eyes and his jaw is a little more rigid than usual, but overall, my dad looks normal. Normal and definitely not dead.
“Look what he’s wearing,” Evan says, nudging my ribs. Dad isn’t dressed in his Hero suit, or even his more official President attire, he’s just wearing a basic black button-up long-sleeve shirt. A shirt like that says—There isn’t a thing to see here people, move along. I didn’t even know he owned a shirt like that.
“I would like to thank everyone for one hundred percent cooperation in the lockdown for these difficult seven days,” Dad says. He keeps talking, but I can’t hear it because I’m trying to add up the days spent with Evan on my fingers. I thought it was three, maybe four days? But seven? I only remember showering once. Ew.
“I will now tell you the circumstance of the lockdown. First of all, this lockdown only affects us and the humans are in no harm. Those of you with Heroes in the family may be wondering why your Hero wasn’t called to duty. Heroes, don’t worry, you haven’t been demoted.” He smiles. A genuine smile to anyone who may be looking, but I know he forced that smile. His teeth didn’t even separate and my dad’s real smile is wide and open-mouthed. Maybe he realizes that making a joke during a time like this isn’t very smart. I bet all Heroes who were stuck at home acted like Crimson did—like an insane person better suited for a padded room instead of facing a villain.
Dad continues, “Central was infiltrated with four villains. Only two of which were known villains. The other two were active members of Super society and only decided to show their true colors after the senseless murder of Pepper Locke. Their credentials have been wiped from the system and security is back in full force.”
With Dad’s last few words I notice something odd, and Evan does too apparently, by the way he says, “What the …” under his breath. Dad’s eyes are moving ever so slightly to the left and right as he speaks.
