Arrogance: Volume One of Ebb & Flow

My eyes open blearily, and it takes me several minutes before I’m awake enough to move. I laid on my back while sleeping so I wouldn’t open up my stitches. My plan worked because I feel much better today than I did yesterday. My side is stiffer due to the bandages, but at the very least, it isn’t in constant pain. Taking a deep breath, I scoot my way out of bed and reach for my cell phone. It’s no longer a struggle to breathe. There are a few notifications but none from Aubrey or her mother. Aubrey can’t be dead, or I would have heard about it by now. I’m guessing she’s been visited by either BNA or a Heroes’ Union rep. I can still feel her with my power sense. I have a ton of missed calls and texts from Maria and a single message from an unknown number. That must be Vivienne reaching out. After Maria’s tantrum at the diner, I have no interest in responding right now. Before I do anything, I need to fill the void that is my stomach.

I make my way down to the kitchen, careful not to fall due to my groggy daze. I’m a

morning person, and I thrive on routine. Staying out late night after night and waking up in the afternoon isn’t ideal. I down several glasses of water back to back before I start making breakfast. My go-to morning meal is two fried eggs and a slice of whole wheat toast with margarine spread. It’s tasty, easy to cook and clean, and not too heavy to slow me down. My routine is being thrown out of whack by everything that Nobody is getting up to. Somehow, I have to find an equilibrium between Cowl and civilian. My health can’t suffer in my pursuit of my goals, or I’m no better than an addict chasing their fix. I take my time to enjoy my food and savor the simplistic flavors. An irresistible urge to smile and a pleasant glow from within; that is what joy feels like. It’s one thing to read about the so-called “good” emotions but a whole different thing to have them.

By the time I finish eating, it’s now three thirty in the afternoon. I can’t do my regular workout until the stitches heal, which will take at least two to three weeks. I need people, foot soldiers, to be boots on the ground and get things done for me. My power doesn’t grant me any protection against harm. I need competent, loyal subordinates who can accomplish my goals so I have time for other things. A sturdy base to build off of is paramount to my aspirations. Vivienne is a candidate if she can prove her usefulness. I respond to Vivienne’s text and plan to have her pick me up at five. Daniel must not be home. I would’ve heard or seen him by now if he was here. My dishes and silverware go into the dishwasher. It doesn’t see much use with only two people living here. Once I hear the hum of the machine turning on, I return to my room to clean myself up. As I step into my bathroom, I remember I can’t shower yet. The bandages are too fresh, and there’s a chance I’ll get soap inside the wound.

My attempt to bend at a ninety-degree angle is awkward. I’m trying to get my head under the sink to wash my hair. My head keeps hitting the faucet, and the shampoo is getting everywhere. This isn’t working. I’m glad that I no longer have Davis’ rage, or I’d be fuming. How do people keep their emotions under control? After fifteen minutes of failed attempts, I just scoop and pour the water over my head. My feet are getting wet from all the liquid on the floor. Grabbing a cloth from my bathroom cabinet, I carefully wipe down my body. I’ll have to do this for the next few days until I’m sure my stitches won’t tear. Even before my extracurricular activities, I hated the recovery time after injuries. In the mirror, I can see that the doctor did a good job with the bandages. He better have for what it costs. I’m going to end up having scars on both sides of my torso.

As I rummage through my closet and dresser, I realize just how many black, gray, and darker-toned clothes I own. Just like me, they match everything. None of them are expensive designer brands, but they aren’t thrifted either. My wardrobe exists in the in-between. The Maria decision is rapidly reaching a head, and if nothing is done, it’ll end. Now that I can feel joy, does she bring me joy? Am I happy in our relationship? If she does and I am happy, do I want this enough to keep it going? Long distance doesn’t work; everything I’ve read says it kills ninety percent of relationships. That is exactly why I wanted it. Maria Estella and Eryk Blakely are perfectly compatible, but Eryk Blakely isn’t real. If I gather more powers and traits, could I become someone who could love her the way she loves me? Would she love me if she knew what I’d done? Davis, Marcus, Dynax, Froggy, Lee Daeshim, and the woman from last night were all killed directly or indirectly by me. Their deaths don’t weigh on me. Each of them died for a reason, but would Maria see it that way? I’ve gone too far to stop, and seeing people express genuine feelings arouses a hunger deep within me. I want to feel what they feel. I want to know what gutwrenching sadness feels like. I want to hate and love and fight not from a place of logic and composure but from pure, unfiltered emotion. I know what I want to do now. I grab my phone and text Maria back.

You were right, and I’m sorry. Can we talk tomorrow? I can’t tonight, but it’s better if we have this talk face-to-face. :(Eryk)

(Maria): Are you breaking up with me? Is this because of the diner? I love you, Eryk. Please don’t.

I’m not breaking up with you. The conversation needs to be in person. I can’t text or talk tonight. Meet me at my house tomorrow at 2:30. :(Eryk)

(Maria): I’ll be there. Have a good night. I love you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you. <3

After that, I contact Vivienne to let her know I’m ready. Grey joggers and another black hoodie are tonight’s attire. Unrecognizable and able to hide in the night. It’s worked for me so far, so I see no reason to switch things up. Now, all I have to do is wait for my ride. I can feel her approaching before my phone dings. I grab my mask and head outside. Vivienne’s waiting, and I climb into the back—time to catch a rat. I don’t put the mask on while we’re in her car. It might draw attention if someone somehow sees me through her front windshield.

“I have a lot of questions about the person we’re going to see, but before that, I’d like to renegotiate the 50/50 split. That kind of equal compensation is for partners, but as of right now, I see very little value in you as a partner. Depending on how this goes, we can revisit the conversation at a later point. We can do 80/20 unless you have a counteroffer,” I stated.

“No, you’re right, and that’s more than fair. Last night was my fault. I fucked up and got my ass handed to me by some rando. It won’t happen again. Tonight will go off without a hitch, I promise. I was right about one thing, though. Sticking with you is going to give me plenty of strong people to fight,” she said.

“My objectives will cause me to be in constant conflict with a lot of strong people. If you want to continue to work together, you need to be ready. Going forward, I want to be very clear about what I want and expect. If a fight is imminent, you should immediately transform. If you want to toy with your food, just ask me. I don’t mind as long as it doesn’t interfere with the job.”

“I appreciate that, and I gotta say you are very professional. I’ve worked with a lot of Cowls, and you are certainly an odd one,” she said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Like I said, I’ve worked for and with a ton of different Cowls, but you are scary as shit. It isn’t just the helmet, it’s the efficiency in nearly everything you do. It just feels like you go into everything with not an inkling of doubt. Like no matter what happens, you are going to achieve what you set out to do and fuck anybody in your way. It makes me wonder what would have happened if you had turned me down. I wanna be clear, straight up, I’d beat you in a scrap, but you give off the vibe that you wouldn’t make it easy,” she answered.

“Your observations are entirely correct. There is no reason for me to treat this any differently than I would a regular job. And any plan that factors in failure is destined to fail. In regards to me being scary, that only helps me accomplish goals. Fear is a great destabilizer.”

“Well, last night showed me that you’ve got my back in a scrap, which I’ve never had before. And something I’ve learned is I’d rather have the scary motherfucker on my side,” Vivienne answered.

“As long as we’re working together, I have your back. I just need you to watch mine. By the way do you have a Cowl name because calling you Vivienne will only invite people to investigate. You are the only person who knows who I am, after all.” I don’t consider her a loose end. There aren’t many people who could even capture her.

“Nope, never needed one. I’m not like you, Nobody. I don’t separate my civilian life from my criminal one. I’m unapologetically me, and that’s all I want to be. I’m a battle junkie; I don’t need a codename. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I’d never break Cowl code,” she said.

“That’s your choice, but do you mind if I call you V? It will help slightly with the anonymity problem. Loyalty is important to me, and I fully believe in approaching situations objectively. Correcting failures and owning up to mistakes is important. I’ll be frank with you: last night was also a failure on my part.” As the words leave my lips, I see Vivienne’s confusion reflected in the mirror. She wasn’t expecting me to say that. Absolving her of the blame and placing it on myself will subconsciously work to deepen her debts to me. She has shown herself to be open to criticism and shows remorse for mistakes. All of that makes for an ideal soldier. “I did not properly set expectations, and that’s on me.”

“No, I don’t mind the nickname. We’ll be there soon. Do you want me to fill you in about the contact?” V asked.

“Yes. Everything you know about them could prove helpful,” I said.

“My informant is a private detective. His name is Kitt Sursich, and he’s a bit of a coke addict. I happened to hear about him from Gio. I’ve only used him twice before. He lives in Breeton, and unlike Crimton, the law isn’t just a suggestion there. His addiction to nose candy makes him very easy to blackmail. He’s not well-liked and has a lot of enemies because of the work he does. He’s smart as shit, though. He created this database that helps him solve crimes or something. He’s not a Tinkerer either,” Vivienne said.

“Kitt Sursich, coke addict, what else? Is he married or divorced? Does he live alone, or does he have a roommate? What does he look like? How old is he? Any other information you have could be vital.”

“He lives alone, for sure. No girlfriend or family in the picture either. He has graying hair combed over and looks fucking rough consistently. He’s average height and weight and sucks at cardio, but he makes it up for it by being a crack shot. Found out that last one the first time I met him. He shot me three times in the head and three in the chest when I threatened him. If I hadn’t shifted, I’d be dead. Don’t worry, Nobody. I’ll keep you safe,” she said with a laugh.

“I’d hope so. That’s what you’re here for.”

We don’t exchange any more words for the remainder of the drive. It’s purposeful. We aren’t partners anymore. I’m treating her like she’s my subordinate and I’m her boss. Cordial, but not friendly. Likable but feared. The screen in the center console says it’s seven twenty-four. The summer sun has long set and has been replaced by the cool, dark air of the night. Breeton is far nicer than Crimton but less densely populated. There are suburban culdesacs and chain restaurants. It proudly boasts having two Walmarts. It’s a large town, unlike Crimton, a small city. There are no Heroes’ Union teams or BNA squads, but there’s a good chance that there are Neuvohumans here. The database sounds very useful. Is it a basic program that processes a ton of information into easily digestible amounts or some sort of primitive A.I.? How did he make it? I’ll find out soon enough.

The street Kitt lives on is proof that every place has bad parts. Breeton isn’t immune to that fact. The scent of trash and a mixture of weed and cigarette smoke seep through the closed windows of the SUV. There are a few people milling around, looking suspicious, and trying to project danger. They intelligently avoid our car as we pull into the parking garage attached to the detective’s apartment. I should get a weapon. I could’ve kept one of the guns from the docks, but there was no way of knowing what crimes they were tied to. There’s no guard at the booth, and the ticket machine only accepts cash. No witness to silence and no digital trail to prove we were here. My helmet protects me from cameras, and the only person who will know I’ve been here will die tonight.

The car shuts off, and Vivienne steps out of the car, looking around. I press the button at the bottom of the mask, and it springs into motion, securely encasing my visage. Could I find a Tinkerer to alter the helmet for me? Pressing the button with my chin is inconvenient but doable. Can Tinkerers even work on other Tinkertech? I brought a pair of gloves in anticipation of what is to come tonight. Every night since I picked up the moniker of Nobody has ended in violence. It hasn’t been intentional, merely an unintended side effect of my aspirations. Tonight, that changes because I’m going out with the expressed purpose of inflicting bodily harm. Tonight, I will rob a man of his life for doing a task he was forced to do. Tonight, I will kill a man for knowing my name.