Young Writers Society

A/N Yep, we're switching POVs. I just wanted to say that at this point in the story, pacing is going to be crap, POVs are going to hop around, and in general all will be a mess. But I hope you enjoy it, at least a little. :)

Emma/ ZENITH

Rift was acting strange. Well, stranger than normal. Emma (or Happy Zenith, as Rift tended to refer to her) was used to his quips and odd sense of humor, but she was getting none of that today. He hadn't mentioned her dumb gaudy outfit even once. Instead, he was fighting like his life was actually on the line.

His black and white mask gave away no emotion, but he grunted in pain as she wrestled his arms above his head, trying to pin him long enough to qualify as a win. Normally she never got this far. Usually her wins consisted of merely holding him off long enough, but her Status was still on "Pending," so she had to continue to put up appearances.

"Ah!" he cried, fading in and out of view, but still caught fast in her grip.

"Are you okay?" Emma whispered, and his eyes, barely visible in the slits in his mask, shot to hers. "Why haven't you phased away?"

She'd caught him before he'd even made it to the mattress store, before he could even do anything to warrant this arrest.

"A mattress store, really?" Celeste had laughed. She was Emma's roommate and the other Zenith. "He and I destroyed a furniture shop just last week. What does the Program have against home decor?"

Rift yanked one arm away and elbowed her in the chest, but she managed to keep her hold. She swept a leg into his ankles, and he buckled into her.

"Feeling a bit under the weather lately," he gasped, voice ragged. "This is only my first day back." She frowned in concern, even as she pulled handcuffs from her belt. She never wanted to arrest him, but she had to look like she was at least trying.

"Do you need more time off? Are you too sick to do this week?" she asked, hesitating. She almost felt embarrassed for him, at the ease that it took her to hold him still. He must be really sick. Would a fever mess with her abilities like this, too?

His chest heaved, and he shook his head in fury.

"No. I'm fine."

He dropped his weight all at once, causing her to lose her balance, and his skull drove up into her diaphragm at the same time. Zenith gasped in pain and loosened her hold. He kicked her in the stomach. She doubled over, gripping her middle.

"Sorry," she heard him whisper.

When she looked up, eyes watery, only moments later, he was gone.

---

Emma didn't get a new mission for another three days, but Celeste was assigned one with Rift before that. When she got back to the apartment, Emma couldn't help voicing the question that burned on her tongue.

"Is Rift doing alright?"

Celeste paused and shot her a bewildered glance, eyebrow raised. Her bantu knots were fuzzy, messed up by the suit's head covering. "Why would you care?"

Emma had shrugged, adjusted the ball cap she wore over two long, black braids. "He was really struggling last time. Said he was sick."

Celeste snorted, ripping the Zenith goggles from her backpack and throwing them onto the table. Even though Emma wasn't fond of the costume, Celeste held a certain disdain for the hero business that Emma could never hope to achieve.

"He lost like normal. Although," she pulled her shirt over her head, exposing the bright costume underneath. She grabbed her clothes and strode to the bathroom. "Now that you mention it, he wasn't nearly as annoying as usual. Less talkative. I kind of like him like that." She looked up, expression flat. "He should be sick more often."

"Celeste!"

"Just saying." Celeste waved away Emma's disapproving frown. "I think he's okay. He holding his own."

Emma had given a small nod in relief, and then wondered if it was completely wrong to be happy that a villain was doing fine at committing crime.

She cleaned the whole apartment to get her mind off of that.

---

When she did see Rift again, the pair had been hired to hold a staged fight, sponsored by the prominent soda company FizCo. She met Rift on one of the rooftops of the soda factory, the surface riddled with chimneys and air conditioning units. He sat with his legs dangling over the side, his shoulders slumped. The sky was dying a brilliant death on the horizon, and this evening's batch of employees was just starting to file through the main doors.

"Okay, what's the plan?"

He jumped at the sound of her voice, then seemed to wince at the movement. Still sick, maybe.

"Hey Happy." His voice was flat, the humor gone out of it. "I don't have a plan, at the moment."

She cocked her head and came up beside him. "Maybe we could do some of those fun flip moves we did that one time at the insurance place?" She shrugged. "Just don't scare the workers too bad. Enough to call 911 and the media, not enough to need it. I was thinking you can fall through the roof to get the ball rolling, and I follow."

"Ah." He fidgeted with his sleeves, black gloves gliding over his watch. It looked slightly larger than hers. Maybe he'd gotten an upgrade. "About that."

He glanced at her, and his mask shifted in a way that made her think that he was trying to smile. "I'm still not 100%. Can we avoid roof debacles today?"

"Sure," she said, hesitating, trying to stifle the concern in her gut. If the Program thought that Rift's performances were losing their energy, he could be reassigned to a lower tier, for lower pay. And even though their fights were always too easy for her, especially compared to some of the other villains she had been assigned to, Emma had to admit that she liked working with him. He tried his best, and he was kind to her in the midst of it all. He seemed to be in the same boat as her-- a broke college student with few options but this-- only he had definitely been given the shorter end of the stick.

He continued. "I'll go in one of the employee entrances, and make a big appearance in one of the main workrooms, one with enough space for a good brawl. When enough cameras are rolling, you burst in. Sound okay?"

He sounded drained, like even discussing the plan tired him out.

Emma knew the feeling of burnout well. At one point, she'd feared that she'd had to drop out completely due to exhaustion and time pressure. She couldn't balance such a big persona on top of her pre-med degree. But then the Program had hired another Zenith, Celeste, to take away some of the pressure. She'd managed to co-maintain the hero ever since.

"Sounds good," she said, forcing her normal cheery tone into her words. She felt that Rift needed it.

He rose stiffly to his feet, rolled his shoulders, and promptly jumped from the roof to the one below, about two stories down. He landed with a roll and popped back to his feet, then ran across the rooftop, towards the main entrance.

Emma watched him go. She shouldn't have been worried about him. He was just a coworker, and not one that she could afford to get close to. He'd either recover, or the Program would find a new villain for her and Celeste. But she couldn't help but see him as he was, a young man struggling with more than she knew, as she watched him disappear into the dark.

She waited on the roof for a good bit of it, kicking her legs and relaxing in the fading warmth of the sunset. It was taking him way longer than Emma expected. No one was screaming, no police sirens had been sounded. Not yet, at least.

She waited a few minutes more, just in case. Maybe he was snooping around for fun, dodging through walls with that power of his.

After waiting for far longer than necessary, she sighed, then rose to her feet. She jumped down a few stories until she found a side door, but when she rattled the handle, she found it was locked. She went around to the main doors.

The clear glass automatics clearly displayed the chaos that was unfolding in the lobby.

Rift was holding a gun and a hostage-- a teary, balding man in his upper years. Blood trickled from the man's temple and was staining the front of his wrinkled suit. The supervillain held him by the scruff of his neck, shaking him and shouting something. Despite the fact that his attention was clearly only on the man before him, a small cluster of employees had flattened themselves to the walls and quaked in fear. Rift held the gun loosely in his free hand, but made no move to threaten anyone with it.

She squinted in confusion at the scene. This wasn't the plan. And why had he targeted that man? It wasn't like him to attack civilians.

Emma expected the glass doors to open for a hot second before realizing that they were locked, too. Was that Rift's doing, or just a security measure? It wasn't much like him to block the exits.

He noticed her by the door and shouted something, raising the gun. Emma leapt to the side as a bullet tore through the glass, shattering it. Glass shards rained down on her, but she was up on her feet in seconds.

"Rift!" she cried, generating plasma orbs in her hands as she stalked through the ruined doorway. She immediately assumed her other persona, the ultra-confident Zenith. "Get away from them!"

He swung towards her, chest heaving. The older man yelped. Her blood chilled at the sight of Rift like this, wild and dangerous.

"Zenith," he shouted, and there was something in his voice that made her stomach twist.

Something's very wrong. This was supposed to all be an act, but if guns and civilians were involved, the risk of it getting messier than intended was much higher. They had only intended to scare them and get the cameras rolling. What was going on?

Her palms burned with the rippling plasma. "Let him go, Rift."

The man's expression melted in relief, but Rift looked around wildly, as if searching for something.

"This man! He's done something, he locked the doors--"

"Let him go," she hissed, irritation rising in her stomach. "We can't worry about that right now." What was he thinking? Hostages were beyond some dumb promotional fight. This was all a big mess.

"I can't. I don't know what it is, but something's about to happen, and he knows."

She pressed the plasma orbs together, trying to edge her way between Rift and as many employees as she could. Some of the them squeaked and ran past her, towards the door, seizing at their chance to escape. Sweat broke out of her forehead at the concentration needed to keep the plasma alive. She had to let it go soon, or the energy would backfire and tear through her.

"Zenith!" Rift shouted, jamming the gun into the man's temple. He backed away into the hall, dragging the poor man with him. The man clasped at Rift's hands around his collar, his eyes wide with terror.

Emma ground her teeth. She liked Rift, she really did, but if it came between him and protecting innocents, she was going to do her job. Her real job.

"Please. I need you to help me figure this out--"

Emma didn't let him finish. She shot off a blast over his head, a warning shot.

Rift flinched, and the man dropped to the ground with a grunt. Zenith swept forward and kicked the villain in the chest, sending him flying down the hall. He fizzed out of sight before he could crash into the tile floor, and reappeared a moment later, back on his feet.

Emma planted herself between him and the man. "Explain, Rift. Without a hostage."

She heard the sound of the man scrambling to his feet, panting, and running back down the hall, towards the exit.

"No!" Rift howled, lunging forward. "You can't! If he's gone, everything will--"

At that moment, Zenith registered a low rumble in her chest. The floor began to quiver beneath her feet. She stepped back.

"What?"

Rift grabbed her arm. His hand was slick with blood. Whose, she didn't know.

"Come on!"

She let him pull her towards the entrance, but it was too late. There was a concussive boom, and she flew off her feet. Rift landed beside her with a groan. The floor rippled before them, then cracked into jagged canyons. Rift yanked her back up, and they sprinted towards the exit, maneuvering around the fissures best they could. Sweat poured from her face as the temperature in the hallway shot up. Flames licked the walls, appearing out of nowhere.

That was when she recognized her mistake: The man had triggered a bomb. And she had let him.

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