Arrogance: Volume One of Ebb & Flow

Growing up was difficult, to say the least—conservative, God-fearing bigots who resented my disinterest in traditionally girl activities. Shopping, home decorating, and makeup bored me to no end. It didn’t matter how many times my mother tried to correct me. Her words and my father’s hands could not change who I was. I was a tomboy who liked roughhousing and getting dirty.

I remember the first punch I ever threw. Freshman year, Claire Bouvier kept making fun of my hair and lack of makeup until one day, I had enough and socked her in the jaw. The feeling of my fist hitting her face was incredible, and I knew I wanted to do it again. My parents did not like that, and I got the worst beating of my life that day when I got home. But instead of discouraging me, it just made me want to fight even more. I’d get into a fight every other day until I got expelled from school, but that wasn’t what sent them over the edge. They could live with a boyish daughter, prone to fistfighting. What they couldn’t stomach was that daughter being gay.

They kicked me out and called it the last straw. Nowhere to go, I ended up on the streets. I lived beneath an underpass for a while, I had nothing but the clothes on my back. Stealing food out of a few of the local restaurant dumpsters kept me from starving, but I lost weight very rapidly. The streets were not kind, but I was never a victim, even when I was homeless, hungry, and less than eighty pounds dripping wet. One winter got real cold, and I had to find somewhere to sleep, or I was going to freeze to death. There was a local gym nearby the underpass and one particularly freezing night, I snuck in through an unlocked window. I was a weak, frail shell of myself and didn’t notice that the window I snuck into was the gym owner’s office.

At some point, I fell asleep, and he discovered me in the morning. Instead of throwing me out for trespassing, he brought me some oatmeal and let me take a shower. He introduced himself as Mr. Jonesby and took me in. I kept expecting something to happen, for him to turn out to be a creep, but he never did anything. He trained me and helped me learn how to fight correctly. I’d gotten by with just raw aggression, but Mr. Jonesby is the one who taught me that technique trumps talent. His gym wasn’t focused on just boxing, or MMA, or BJJ; he took on anyone serious about fighting. Grappling, jabs, leg sweeps, how to take a hit; he taught me everything I know. He molded me from a tiny ball of rage into the machine of violence I became.

I love, well, I loved him like a dad. Mr. Jonesby was a widower and had no children. We became as close to family as you can get without being blood-related. Those two years we spent together are the happiest memories I have, and I’d trade anything to relive them. He would’ve thought my shifted form was awesome. His murder was my trigger event. Some local thugs thought he was easy pickings and broke into the gym, hoping to rob us. Mr. Jonesby and I handled them without much trouble, but one of them brought a gun. He killed the only person who ever loved me for me. The gym burned to the ground that day with his killers inside.

His passing left me without a home or a purpose, and a girl's gotta eat. I was a seventeen-year-old Neuvohuman and only good at fighting, so becoming a Cowl seemed like my only option. For the last three years of my life, I’ve been living as a mercenary. A for-hire bruiser you bring on jobs if you expect heat from Capes or other Cowls. It’s paid my bills, and occasionally, I get to fight people who can give me a challenge. It’s in those moments where I’m testing myself against another skilled fighter that I feel like Dad is watching over me.

I’ve been stuck fighting no-name nobodies, not even worth my time. Even the “Lightning Dragon of the Docks” was a letdown. I’ve been feeling like I’m stuck in a rut and that there’s nobody around to give me a challenge. But when Nobody showed up that night, I knew he was interesting. I thought he might be able to give me a good fight, but I was wrong. He doesn’t see the beauty of violence the way I do. He’s clinical with his violence, detached from it. It’s like watching a surgeon clock in for a shift.

Surprising him in his home showed me that Nobody may wear a helmet, but Eryk is the mask. Learning he was a brand new Cowl was a surprise, but it proved my suspicion that he was worth my interest. The way he handled his first night as a Cowl shows that he could never be content with civilian life. I knew after talking to him that I wanted to work with him. I even demanded a partnership, and then I fucked everything up. But he didn’t hold it against me, even when he rightfully could have. He helped me get rid of that terrible fucking woman. He took the burden of murdering her, so I wouldn’t have to. Nobody did me a solid and I won’t forget that. I’ve worked with and for dangerous people, but none of them hold a candle to Nobody. In my short time working for him, I’ve seen him commit fucking terrible acts and then go right back to being kind. He isn’t some angry asshole lashing out at every possible excuse; he responds to every scenario with a measured response. There is no doubt that Nobody is a monster, but he isn’t a bad boss. He’s focused in a way a lot of Cowls aren’t. It makes his near-impossible goal feel doable.

I haven’t seen or heard from Nobody in three days. It gave me plenty of time to get a rough base set up. I got rid of all the dead bodies and then collected the small amount of remaining bricks and cash. It’ll be a nice surprise for Nobody when we meet up later. His text came in an hour ago. It said to grab Isaiah and contained the names, pictures, powers, and locations of five Neuvohumans. Nobody might not be able to give me the fight that I want personally, but today’s mission proves he can arrange for me to get what I want.

I stop thinking about Nobody as I pull into one of the nicer neighborhoods in Breeton. Checking the GPS I park in front of a muted mint house. It has two floors and an incredibly manicured lawn. Apparently, Hotpants lives here. I text him that I’m here and check over the list Nobody gave me. My eyes glaze over the first four to hover over the name that interests me the most: Tramp. If the video I saw is anything to go by, she will be the toughest opponent I’ve ever had. I can’t wait! The front door to Isaiah’s house opens, and two women walk out giggling. One is holding her heels in her hands, and the other is quickly trying to adjust her dress. Isaiah is standing in the doorway wearing a fluffy purple robe. He blows a kiss at them and shouts something I don’t hear from inside my car. My phone rings, and it’s Isaiah’s number.

“What’s up, Hotpants?” I asked.

“That you parked outside my house?”

“Yeah, let’s go. We have a lot to get done,” I said.

“Got it. I’ll get dressed and head right out,” Isaiah said.

It’s so strange to compare the huge lizard beast with the slutty guy I call Hotpants. He’s better since meeting Nobody, same as me. I believe everything he’s promised; he’s given me no reason to doubt him. I turn on the radio while I wait for Isaiah. It’s basic American pop music that doesn’t excite me. Mr. Jonesby didn’t just give me a home; he gave me my love of K-pop. Memories of him and me doing kickboxing to the sounds of old school artists like After School and 2PM fill my head—sweet times with my dad. I get so lost reminiscing I don’t notice Isaiah until he’s knocking on my window. He opens the door after I double-click the unlock button.

He’s dressed nicely; he shares that in common with Nobody. But where the boss wears nothing but plain dark clothes, Isaiah dresses like a less flashy pimp: cuffed white pants, Timberland boots, a loose pink button-down shirt, and a white beanie. He’s got a matching belt and a watch from a designer brand I don’t know. Clearly, that group he was in was much more successful than I thought. He owns such a nice house and expensive clothes. He opens the passenger side door and struggles to get in. I have a big car, and he still has to push the seat back to fit. His blue duffel bag sits across his lap.

“Damn, Hotpants, you’re fucking huge,” I said.

“You’re the third woman to tell me that today,” he laughed.

“Ew, brag about your dick size to someone who cares. What’s in the bag? Did you bring snacks for our little adventure?”

“No. Wait, do you guys normally bring snacks?”

“Well, there was this one time Nobody did. He even brought multiple drinks for me to choose from,” I answered.

“Okay, I didn’t bring any snacks; I brought guns.”

He unzips the duffel bag, and inside are twin Glock 43s. It’s good he’s taking this seriously. Does he know that this mission determines whether Nobody lets him in on the plans? There’s also extra ammunition and silencers for both pistols. He’s been de-monsterized for three days, and he’s already picking up guns and women. He’s different from the other two vultures. Isaiah wants to work for Nobody, and he probably has a rough idea of the boss’ ability. Having even a glimpse at Nobody’s power is enough to know he’s gonna shake the world up. I forwarded the list to Isaiah to look over while we drive.

“Nobody gave you this list? Where the hell is he getting his information from? This is the type of shit the BNA has. So what’s the play? We crossing em out or grabbing em?” Isaiah asked.

“Nobody wants them delivered alive to a secure location. Then you’ll watch over them while I bring him there. Don’t fuck this up for him or me. See the name, Tramp? She’s a Cape, and I wanna fight her one on one.”

“Got it. And don’t worry, I won’t cramp your space,” Isaiah replied.

“Good. Also, if we’re going to be working together, then understand that I have two rules: don’t interfere in my fights, and don’t hurt kids,” I said.

“Please, V, I’m a gentleman. I understand crew hierarchy, so I’ll follow your lead. And I wouldn’t do anything to mess up the boss’ plans; I owe him too much. If you don’t mind a suggestion, I think the order should be to ambush the Cowl duo first, followed by the two Capes in Shrewster and the civilian last. That way, we end on the easiest one.” Isaiah said.

“That’s a good plan, Hotpants. It looks like there’s more to you than sarcasm and vanity.” I paused for a minute. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll be a great fit.”

Now that we have a plan, I enter the address for our destination into the GPS. Our targets are a couple of Neuvohuman thieves named Diminish and Punch—an Alter and Caster, respectively, who do smash and grabs. They have a mechanic’s shop out in Rivington where they keep their stolen scores. Rivington is close to Crimton, so we’ll drop the two of them off at the docks once we’ve grabbed them. I take another glance over at his outfit. Why the hell is he dressed up?

“You know we’re going out to commit crimes, right?” I asked him.

“Yeah, why?”

“Because you’re dressed like you’re going on a hot date,” I said, shaking my head.

“I asked if there was a dress code. Don’t be mad that I’m dripped out and you look like a gym rat. I’d rather die than look bummy,” Isaiah said.

“Gym rat? I do not look like a gym rat,” I replied defensively.

“All you wear is sweatpants, hoodies, leggings, and sports bras. You’ll never find a girlfriend if you look like you use two-in-one shampoo.”

“First off, I don’t use two-in-one shampoo. Second off, what makes you think I’m a lesbian?”

“You didn’t react to seeing my incredible naked form, and also, I have a working gaydar,” Isaiah said.

“Lucky guess, and there’s nothing wrong with my choice of clothes,” I argued.

“Whatever you say, V. You should probably get a mask or costume made soon. Your clothes change with you, so something that hides your identity would be helpful. But maybe ask around for some feedback on the design so it doesn’t look like a 1960s women’s one-piece bathing suit. Just my two cents, though,” he said.

I’m going to strangle him. Commenting on my sexuality and shitting on my outfit on our way to fucking kidnap people. Realizing I’m not gaining any ground in our conversation, I slowly turn up the music until I can’t hear him. The rest of the ride is much nicer for me.

The garage where the two Cowls live is in the rougher part of Rivington. Abandoned cars have their wheels replaced with cinderblocks, trash is all over the street, and the sign for the garage is missing all but two letters. They were probably stolen by whoever else lives around here. I park on a cross street five minutes away from the shop. I turn the music down and shut the car off.

“You follow my lead once we get in there, and absolutely do not kill either of them. Nobody needs them alive,” I warned.

“What about collateral damage? If there are others in there, are we taking them as well?”

“If anyone gets in the way, we’ll take care of them, but don’t kill anyone unless absolutely necessary. Most importantly, do not say Nobody’s name or allude to us even having a boss. As far as the world is concerned, this job is just you and me,” I said.

In contrast to his appearance and jokey attitude, he’s taking this seriously. I watch him install the silencers and pocket some extra ammo. Then he triple-checks the guns to make sure they’re ready to go. We exit my car, and he puts both guns in his waistband behind his back. His shirt choice of something open and flowy hides the pistols while still letting him access them quickly. Good. This has to go perfectly. I have leggings, a sports bra, and a hoodie on. I’m going shopping after this. We must make quite the impression with his ridiculous size and me being small and muscular.

It’s mid-afternoon, and the street is empty of anybody. There aren’t even any stray dogs or homeless people. The Cowls must’ve made everyone leave. The shop is big, with enough space for a few offices on the second floor, leaving the ground floor for the cars and mechanics. The chain link fence surrounding the property has a ton of holes and is so rusty the whole thing is brown. It must have been quite nice before it was abandoned.

“I'll breach the front. Go around and look for another way inside,” I said.

Isaiah doesn't even respond; he just leaves me and disappears around the back. Unlike Isaiah and Nobody, I don't sneak. I walk right up to the door and knock loudly. While I wait, I transform, feeling the heat surge through me. The warmth increases with each beat of my heart. My body pulses with fire, growing and hardening until I’ve fully shifted. My hood is up, and my loose, flaming hair gives it an orange glow. I feel powerful, and I look intimidating. I'm going to rock their shit.

From the moment I transform, I begin heating up. It isn't until the fifteen-minute mark that it starts affecting my environment. After thirty minutes, any Neuvohumans that aren't classified as Bruiser or have a way to mitigate heat will combust. I don't know what will happen past that point because I’ve always stopped the transformation or expelled the heat. I doubt I’ll need to do either until we go after Tramp.

The door finally opens to show a groggy white male in a dark yellow costume with blue boots and gloves. And this is Punch. The costume outlines a body in decent shape. He doesn’t have a mask or helmet, revealing a bearded face with long, greasy hair. The bloodshot eyes and his overall appearance scream drug use. He certainly looks like an addict who turned to stealing to pay for his fix. I wonder if that’s Diminish’s story as well. He stares at me for a moment before he speaks.

“Whaddaya want?” He slurred up at me.

“You.”

I jab him in his face. His head rocks back, and he stumbles while wiping blood from his nose. In this form, I’m bigger than most entrances, so I break through the doorway when I enter. I rush him and smash my knee into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Keeled over and coughing, I chop hard at his neck, and he drops. One down. Punch can generate short-range beams of kinetic energy from his palms that hit with the force of a truck. Unfortunately for him, I’m stronger, and I know how his power works. He’s only dangerous if I give him the chance to attack.

I step over his unconscious body and look around the shop. There’s shit everywhere. It’s a complete mess. There are mattresses stacked up in one corner and furniture everywhere. The whole place smells of smoke and grunge. Nearly every surface has beer cans, half-eaten food, or a bong on it. There is a group of three sitting on one of the couches catatonically. Pills, powders, and needles are on the coffee table in front of them. None of them look like the description of Diminsh, so I head upstairs.

Where the hell is Isaiah? Did he abandon the mission? I walk up the metal stairs as they creak under my weight and see three doors—one at the end of the hallway and one on each side. I open the left office and see three people going at it on top of a big bed. Quietly, I close the door and continue to the next one. The right door leads to storage, wall-to-wall junk. There are motorcycles, clothes, jewelry, and even gold bars. I’m a clean woman, and seeing all this shit everywhere is gross. I close the storage room door and head toward the final door. And then there was one. I hear voices coming from inside and then the sound of a silenced pistol firing twice. I rip the door open. She better be alive.

The door hits something as I open it. Behind the door is the fresh corpse of a man with two bullet holes in his face. There’s a couch and a large bed in the room. Isaiah is standing next to a topless, rail-thin black woman sitting on the bed. Diminish. He has his gun pointed at her head, and she’s crying. She’s wearing booty shorts and slippers with only one sock.

“Why, why did you kill him?” Diminish asked.

“Yeah, why?” I asked Isaiah.

“I entered the room and told her to come with me. He didn’t like that and swung at me. I put two in his head and closed in on the target. Then you came in,” he said casually.

“Alright, the other one is taken care of downstairs. Grab her, and let’s get moving. I don’t wanna be here any longer than I have to,” I ordered.

I leave the room, walk down the metal stars, and rip the railing off. It’s been six minutes since we entered. Using my shifted form’s strength and heat, I’m able to bend the metal like it’s nothing. I prop Punch up and wrap the metal around him, binding his arms against his back. Trusting Isaiah to his job, I hoist Punch onto my shoulder and leave through the giant hole in the wall that used to be a doorway. His clothes will get a little singed, but he’ll be fine. There still isn’t anybody on the streets when I get back to my SUV. I pop the trunk and throw my captive in it. I'm glad I went for the bigger model. I shift back as the trunk closes. Then, I drive over to the shop to wait for Isaiah.

Ten minutes pass, and Isaiah finally comes out. He’s walking with his arm around a more clothed Diminish, and he doesn’t have his guns out. Isaiah opens the door to my backseat and helps Diminish get in before he scoots in next to her. I turn around to ask him what the fuck he’s doing and see a cutoff belt around her left arm. Her eyes are glazed over, and she’s mumbling softly. That’s one way to get her to come quietly. Without saying anything, I start driving away, with Isaiah smiling in the back. Two down and no problems. This is going really well.

It’s a quick ride to the base, and neither of our passengers even fidgets. Diminish is high as a kite, and Punch is still knocked out. I pull into the Crimton Docks, going over the turns needed to get to our destination. I park next to a warehouse with all of its windows boarded up or rather welded up. Metal paneling covers every single window opening, and I got rid of the fire escapes and scaffolding on the outside of the building. Nobody had mentioned he used both to get the drop on Dynax and Froggy, so I didn’t want to take any chances. Isaiah and I move the couple inside the warehouse. There isn’t much of anything here yet, only a few chairs and a table. I left the metal shelving alone in case we needed it for something.

I place Punch on the ground, shifting to my titanic form, and grab some of the shelving to make a very, very crude cage for containing the Cowls. Bending and contorting the metal is effortless for me. I make a rough jungle gym-like box for our captives. The two Cowls are hanging by their arms, encased in thick winding bindings, almost like metallic vines. Both will be on their tiptoes and unable to use their abilities effectively. Diminish is an Alter that can shrink inorganic objects down to the size of a skittle. It’s an incredibly useful ability for a thief. Her power requires physically touching the item, so she’s useless, thanks to my little creation. The warehouse’s ceiling is too tall for Punch to reach with his beams.

“This is the temporary base? You did good work in a short time,” Isaiah said.

“Thanks, I gotta send a text,” I said, motioning toward Diminish with my eyes. I don’t care how high she is; I don’t want to reveal anything. I text Nobody that we got the two Cowls and that I’ll contact him once we have all five. As soon as I finish the text, I add more shelving to wrap the two of them like flies in a web. While I do all of that, Isaiah sits at the table, checking his guns and reloading.

“Whenever you’re finished, we’ll take off,” I told Isaiah.

He nods his head, continuing his inspection. Next up are the capes Tramp and Callback. He’s a Traveler who can teleport objects to himself and vice versa. This is gonna be awesome. I can’t fucking wait.