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trying to shove it into a messy bun. The roots of my hair are significantly, horrifyingly, darker than the ends. I arrange my hair in such a way that the lighter bits hang out in a distracting way. This is the worst time for someone to notice my darkening locks.
    The sound of Max’s Hero alarm goes unnoticed at first. I hear it so much lately it’s become like background noise. But then I realize—mid lip-gloss applying—that Max isn’t home. So why would his alarm come to the house MOD?
    Multiple ignored calls to Max and Dad have me flipping between staring obsessively at the MOD and checking the television for any sign that they are getting my messages. The camera shows Dad often, standing somber, respectful, and completely ignoring the BEEPR on his wrist.
    I don’t see Max in the crowd, but the GPS locator on the MOD shows him ten feet away from Dad. Why isn’t he checking his BEEPR? Why is no one here to accept a call to duty? The alarm continues to wail, awaiting Max to press his thumbprint to the screen and accept the mission.
    Suspected villain—south kapow entrance. secure door is ajar. Secure the area. only Heroes may pass.
    I could tell him. I could run out of the house, take the KAPOW, and tell Max about the mission.
    Or I could do nothing. Max can suffer the consequence of betraying his oath to protect. He would be ruined.
    Just like me.
    Hero Training. I must think like a Hero to be a Hero. What would a Hero do in this situation? I don’t have to think long about it—I know the answer.
    My solid white training suit will have to do.
    Once again I’m in my closet, exchanging my King City tank for my suit. I’ll need to look badass when they’re taking my photo and interviewing me as the first regular Super to capture a villain, so I pull out the messy bun and let my hair flow loosely around my shoulders. The dark contrast of my hair on the suit looks badass indeed. Too bad the dark and light colors of my suit and hair are switched. I pull my black facemask over my eyes. Step into my boots and hear them click themselves into place.
    I’m not even nervous.
     

     
    The south KAPOW entrance is one of only two doors in the KAPOW tunnels that lead outside of the canyons without the use of a pod. This particular door is square and barely taller than I am. They use it for maintenance and transporting deliveries to the human world. All I know is that it’s securely locked and monitored just like everywhere else in Central. So why it’s open in front of me, I don’t know.
    With my legs in a secure stance and my arms free to attack, I push the door open further so I can see what waits on the other side. A gust of wind knocks me against the wall as the door swings wide and clangs into the stony canyon surface.
    I see stars. And they aren’t from bashing my head into the wall; they are real, floating in the sky, stars. Millions of them, sparkling and beautiful against the night sky. I wish I could stop time and admire them forever. But I have a villain to catch.
    Beyond the door lies a walkway carved from the south side of the canyon. I see no villains and sense no other power around me, so I relax and take in my surroundings. The walkway stretches about four feet wide and is as long as I can see in both directions. My first thought is that I’d love to take a morning jog along in this place.
    My second thought is that beyond the walkway is a plummet hundreds of feet to the ground that even a Super can’t survive.
    I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Guess I could camp out for a while, see if anyone comes up. With my back against the wall, my legs stay shoulder-width apart as gusts of wind pile into me. If it weren’t for the wind, I’d come here all the time. Make it my own personal balcony. The view of the canyons and the stars is almost enough to take my mind away from my fate as a Retriever.
    I’ve spent so many nights dreaming about what life as a Hero would be like—picturing my days of