Derick and Jean had talked earlier in a cafeteria. It wasn’t progressive on the lady’s end, but for the guy, he got what was proposed to him by Benson at the zoo the other day—the contact of the damsel.
Derick was long gone, but Jean stood outside the cafeteria alone. She had a bitter look on her face. It wasn’t anger, no—it was frustration. She had failed her mission once again. She muttered to herself:
"Dammit, it didn’t work. What sort of thoughts does he have to resist my control? I have to inform the boss. The other guy will soon be free."
The light-skinned beauty in shorts and a sleeveless top caught the attention of men and women alike. She wasn’t bothered by the constant eyes glued to her. She wandered around the area for a while before finally sitting on a bench. Her phone rang—no caller ID, but she knew who it was.
A deep voice asked, "Jean, how was it?"
She hesitated before replying. The words were too hard to say. She didn’t want to anger the caller, so she answered, "His mind was too clouded for me to work on. I couldn’t get him."
Another voice in the background scoffed. "So, in full, you failed... again."
Jean’s frustration burst out. She shouted, "Shut up! What do you know? I’m the one doing the hard part, whereas you’re busy playing best-man bodyguard."
The voice fired back. "Incompetent bitch! How many times do I have to tell you never call me that? You wanna die by my hand?"
The insults from both individuals grew intense until the caller silenced them. His voice carried authority—calm, but cold.
"Don’t test my patience. You both know I hate unnecessary chatter."
Jean and the other man fell silent. They knew the consequences of angering the boss. With no words from either of them, the boss continued:
"Jean, you should learn to accept failure at times. But you haven’t failed completely. He got your contact, didn’t he?"
"Yes, sir," Jean answered.
"Good. That’s something we can work on. Don’t worry yourselves about the previous guy—no one will believe what he says anyway. So come home, Jean."
The boss ended the call.
Jean’s cheeks turned red. Her frustration melted into a wide smile.
"I love it when the boss praises me. He should just get in bed with me already."
Carnal thoughts raced through her mind as she sat on the bench for a while before eventually leaving for home.
In all my years, I never thought I’d see the day someone would do that outside. Guys, I think we can all agree—we know what Jean did. Like I said before, the story is just starting. Let’s continue.
Just as silent as a graveyard, the parking lot not so far from the city’s police station temporarily housed Timothy. The place was so cold and quiet that even a pin drop would be heard. Timothy was in his hero wear, lying on top of one of the cars.
The cold air soon turned hot, prompting Timothy to take off his dark mask. He kissed his teeth, a little frown forming on his face as he muttered,
"What’s taking Cecil so long to get here?"
The phone in his pocket vibrated. He dug his hand into it, clicked answer, and a voice spoke.
"I had to hide myself to talk to you. Have you checked your phone?"
Timothy replied, "Check my phone for what?"
Cecil said to him, "Seems you didn’t. I’ll be quick since you don’t know. The guy who caused the recent incident—he’s denying he ever did it."
Timothy shook his head, his eyes saying this guy can’t be serious.
"Please, everyone denies."
"No," Cecil fired back. "This is different. His cellmates can testify to it. They say all of a sudden he started yelling he shouldn’t be here, that he’s not the one who did it. They even say the way he talks is different from when he was brought in. The news, bloggers—it’s out there. I have to go now, we’re expecting him for interrogation."
The words Timothy heard brought both worry and confusion to him. His phone rang again. He picked it up and the voice called,
"Yes, I’m on my way," Timothy replied.
He jumped off the car, grabbed his motorcycle, and zoomed off, heading straight for the Hero building.
The city and its people weren’t panicking. They acted nonchalant. Most didn’t bother about it; they were calm. They wore the same expression Timothy had earlier—people deny, it’s nothing new. The citizens had no worry. But for the police and the Hero Association, there was a big problem.
Timothy arrived at the building. The top floor awaited him. The elevator doors slid open, and waiting for him were Layla, Johnathan, and Raymond.
"Thank God you’re here," Layla said. She was restless, her fingernails eaten off from worry.
Timothy rushed into the room and asked quickly, "Is there a way we can watch the interrogation from the police?"
Johnathan was quick to reply. "Yes, we can."
He picked up his tablet and tapped the screen. A projected image appeared, showing a room with police officers and Leonard.
The volume was raised to the max. Leonard’s voice sounded shaken, filled with worry.
"I swear to God, I didn’t do it! Can’t you believe me?"
"No, we can’t. How do you expect us to believe this crap you’re saying?" a police officer challenged.
The image zoomed in on Leonard’s face. It was dried of tears, though another wave of water was prepared to fall from his eyes. The officers in charge spoke in chorus:
"You want us to help you? Give us something."
"Dear God, you’re up there..." Tears streamed down Leonard’s cheeks. "I swear, I don’t know!"
Raymond had pity written all over his face. He felt for the culprit. "I don’t think he’s lying."
Johnathan responded quickly. "What if it’s an act?" Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs novelFirｅ.net
Timothy shook his head. "Nah. This isn’t planned." He sighed. "Give me a moment to think."
The voices around him faded. It was like an empty room filled with clouds—thoughts forming slowly. Then, like lightning striking a storm, recollection hit him. His eyes widened. Layla saw his look and knew he had figured something out.
Timothy said aloud, "We’re been fucked."
"What?" Raymond exclaimed.
Timothy raised his head and asked a familiar question. "What have we been fighting for?"
The others looked confused. Timothy asked another question. "What has been our main agenda from the beginning?"
Confusion lingered on their faces, but one of them was quick to remember.
Raymond spoke softly. "To fight superhumans."
The other two finally remembered as well.
Timothy turned to Raymond. "We don’t have time for explanations, but we have to get to the zoo hero."
"Why’s that?" Raymond asked.
"Why’s that, you ask?" Timothy repeated. His voice was heavy. "Because he’s a ticking time bomb."