I hate heroes.
Righteous-ass motherfuckers.
Even back on Earth, every story I read made me root for the villain. Not intentionally—it just happened. And it always ruined the book, because the villain never won. The villain would be god-level strong, unstoppable, terrifying…
Then the hero would appear like: "Actually, I remembered a tragic flashback, therefore I win now."
Absolute garbage.
There are no heroes in the real world. There's no good or evil—just survival. And everyone else decides whether you're "good" or "evil" depending on how pretty your survival looks.
Screw that.
I look down at the small kid sitting on the cold bank floor. Hostage number… eight? Nine? I lost track.
"Listen, I know you're five and all, so it's hard to understand this, but we're all just people, okay?"
"JAMES!" a voice thundered.
I shot up like someone slapped the soul out of me. "WHAT?! Dude, you can't just yell that!" I snapped, whipping around to face Darker than Black.
I glanced back at the kid and cleared my throat.
"Ahem. My name is not James, okay?"
Darker than Black stomped forward—no cape, but somehow still dramatic. "You're supposed to watch the hostages, not debate philosophy with them!"
I puffed my cheek out. "I was not chatting. We were in a debate about heroes and villains."
Before DB could yell again, the vault alarm exploded into a shrill howl that echoed through the entire bank.
DB froze.
I froze.
The kid froze.
Then DB slowly turned toward me… and delivered the kind of death stare that should qualify as a forbidden technique. His mask—basically two fancy pieces of cloth tied around his head—made the stare even worse. Black fabric, gold lining, a little too flashy for someone named Darker than Black.
His outfit didn't help either: a linen shirt with gold stripes, black pants stitched with gold fiber, black shoes with golden laces.
Subtlety was not part of his skillset.
I raised both hands. "Don't look at me. I didn't cause this."
While DB was contemplating murder, he shouted toward the vault, "Duplex! Cordelia! Hurry up! What is taking so long?!"
"We're going as fast as we can, asshole!" Cordelia yelled back.DB yanked out a cheap walkie-talkie. "Verge, got anything? Anyone coming?"
A bubbly, high-pitched voice answered, "Yes! About two heroes and three police vehicles!"
Not that much, DB thought. For a bank this size, the Hero Association should've sent at least four. While he pondered their incompetence, he failed to notice me waddling up like a guilty penguin.
"Uh… hey, DB," I whispered directly into his ear.
He jolted. "What?!"
"So… the alarm was, uh… activated by the kid I was debating earlier. Also most of the hostages ran out while I was figuring that out. So what I'm trying to say is… my bad?"
DB's golden eyes turned bloodshot.
I ducked as he swung a punch at my head. "YOU BUFFOON!"
"Wait! We still have the kid and the bank manager!" I shouted, stepping back.
DB marched toward me, grabbed my neck, and started squeezing.
"DB—DB—THE WALKIE-TALKIE IS BLINKING!" I choked out.
He pressed the button while still strangling me. Verge's panicked voice crackled through"They're close! What are you guys doing?! Five minutes until they rush you!"
DB dropped his hand with a long, suffering exhale.
I wisely backed away to the remaining hostages.
"Verge, get inside," DB ordered. Then he shouted to the vault, "Vex! Duplex! We're leaving! Take whatever we have!"
"Huh?" Vex stepped out, one duffel slung over her shoulder, another half-unzipped and hemorrhaging money. "This is barely half of what we came for! We need more time!"
"I know!" DB pointed at me like an accusation. "Smartass over there let the hostages escape and set off the alarm!"
Vex looked at me, sighed as if this was the most predictable thing in the universe, and said, "Yep. Verge owes me 40 Dills."
"Why—?"
Before I could finish, Verge burst in from upstairs. "We got company! Why aren't you guys ready?!"
Before anyone could respond, a booming voice thundered from outside:
CRIMINALS! THIS IS THE POLICE! WALK OUT OF THE BANK WITH THE HOSTAGES AND SURRENDER!"
DB peeked through a curtain. A dozen police officers. Two heroes.
He closed the curtain, inhaled slowly, exhaled even slower, and looked back at us.
"Guess we aren't going to do this quietly."