School in Austin was… overwhelming. There was no blending in — not with my Gotham accent, my tight compression shirt, and combat boots. I tried staying out of people's business for the most part, but only lasted a month.
Settling into my parking spot, I switched off the engine, set the bike, and dismounted. My only friends at the school waved me over — Matt, the jock, and his preppy girlfriend, Lana.
Lana had lent me her notes on, well… everything when I showed up a month ago. Her boyfriend Matt played sports like he was unbreakable.
He'd learned the hard way that he wasn't after going up against the new captain of the wrestling team. I'd had to slowly heal his ankle over time. His doctors swore it was a miracle. Naturally, Lana was suspicious, but I was certain it'd never amount to more.
I walked over with my school bag slung over my shoulder. I'd popped it out during the ride, switching it with my helmet.
"Sup, Johnny," Matt greeted. "You look particularly sour today."
John Walker. That was my new alias. Generic. I know. But it'd been the identity that was available.
"Family troubles," I said offhandedly as we walked toward the entrance. "Mom's nervous about her new job, and Sasha is… well, Sasha."
They didn't know much about my family. Just enough to think I was more or less normal.
"Aren't you guys loaded?" Lana asked.
"Money runs out," I said. Lana clutched her chemistry textbook a little tighter.
"I know you're ready for the chem test," I nodded at her, then turned to Matt.
"What about you?"
Matt's cheeks flushed. He scratched the back of his head. "You don't mind if I copy off you?"
Lana thwacked his shoulder. "Hey! I told you to read. You just collapsed last night!"
"That was because I was tired after practice," he said defensively.
"Then drop one sport!" she snapped. "Your GPA is going to tank."
"Why bother? I'm going pro anyway!"
Lana groaned.
On and on they went while I tuned them out.
Why was I in school again?
Right. I needed friends my age. Something to balance out the blood and murder.
The bell rang, and we peeled off into our respective classes.
The test was a breeze. It'd taken me less than an hour to get through half of the semester's reading.
A convenient side effect of getting your brains blown out, I was discovering, was significantly improved processing speed. Sky-high perception helped, too.
I let Matt bum off my test, and later in the day, lounged on the bleachers beside Lana and a dozen others as we watched the wrestling team practice.
Half came for the eye candy. The others were here for the drama between Matt and Finn.
Finn had been a scrawny kid who spent most of his freshman and sophomore years riding the bench. Then he vanished over the summer and came back built like a brick shithouse.
He'd challenged the team captain who passed him over time and time again — Matt. Matt, being stupid, accepted. The fight nearly cost him his ankle.
Finn rose to team captain while Matt recovered. Now, the disgraced golden boy was eager to redeem himself with a good old-fashioned duel.
"You have to talk him out of this," Lana said beside me, her fingers fidgeting with her glasses. "He listens to you."
"Only when he wants to," I said. "Still… I've got a feeling he'll be just fine."
Coach Whitney blew his whistle, his cheeks quivering under a long, greying mustache.
"You're up, Finn. Go easy on the ex-captain. It's his first match back," he said, nodding at Matt.
Finn huffed in response.
The giant kid rose, muscles straining against his tight leotard, a sheen of sweat on his face.
I grinned.
Lana — and most of the school — thought he was on steroids. And they were right. Just not the kind you could test for.
Diluted Venom.
It wasn't as potent as the pure stuff, but it had enough juice to turn a scrawny seventeen-year-old into an amateur bodybuilder over summer break.
Starve him of the juice, though, and he'd crumble like a house of cards.
I closed my palm and opened it, producing several vials of steroids he'd hidden around the school and at home. They vanished in a flash.
The coach blew the whistle. They lowered their bodies and began to circle. Finn lunged first — slow, sloppy — giving Matt the opening he needed to sidestep and trip him. Seconds later, Finn was on his back.
They went six more rounds. Finn only managed two wins.
By the end, the big man was soaked in sweat and panting, while Matt looked surprised.
The rest of the team weren't as subtle.
"What's the matter? Forget your shot today?" a loudmouth snorted.
"Told you he was a fucking loser."
Lana gave me an odd look. I gave a noncommittal shrug, turning my attention back to the drama.
Murmurs spread. All eyes turned to Finn, who'd gotten back on his feet. He looked seconds away from attacking someone when Coach Whitney came to his rescue.
"All right. That's enough. Finn, take ten. Swing by the nurse if you need to."
Finn gave a stiff nod and stormed out, something dark in his eyes.
Whitney hadn't pushed the boy to get tested despite the allegations.
I wasn't sure whether to applaud his support, call him short-sighted, or label him willfully ignorant.
Either way, he wasn't my target — the steroid pushers were.
After today's humiliation, Finn would be paying them a visit. Then I could shut them down before someone really got hurt. Taking all their money would be a convenient side effect.
"What did you do?" Lana asked, putting words to her suspicion.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," I said, gathering my bag.
"See you tomorrow."
Five hours later, I was squatting on a streetlight, shielded by Curtain, watching a conversation unfold between Finn and his dealer.
Finn stood across from a black man with a jacket that barely fit. They were about the same height, but Finn didn't meet his gaze.
"What do you mean it's all gone?" the man demanded. "You sold it all without telling me?"
The dealer's partner stood to the side, watching with disgust. He was bald, tattooed, and overweight. He spat phlegm when Finn met his eyes.
"No," Finn said carefully. "I… flushed it. Had to. Some jealous assholes on the team ratted me out. I had to clear my stash."
"Why the hell would you store my product at a high school, of all places?" the big guy growled.
"My dad's intense. He'd have sniffed it out. I'm sorr—"
"I'm starting to think hiring you was a mistake," the man said. "You're going to pay me back every fucking cent. Or I'll take it." His lips twisted. "Maybe we'll find out firsthand how scary your daddy really is."
I whistled.
I'd thought he had a bit more venom than usual when I was helping myself to his stash.
Finn swallowed, then clenched his fists, staring up at his dealer.
"Heard he had a sweet sister too," the bald one chimed in. "Goes to Texas A&M, right?"
Finn paled. The dealer tapped his cheek. "You've got a week, kid. Next batch is double. Don't even think about going to the police. They can't help you."
"We own your ass now, trust fund," the bald man laughed. "Now come get your fix and head home before bedtime."
Poor Finn did as he was told with gritted teeth and drove off with a cardboard container filled with diluted Venom.
"I put the fear of God in that little squirt," Baldy chuckled.
"Enough that he might actually go to the cops," the black guy interjected. "You know he won't like that. Draws too much attention."
"You sound like him," Baldy muttered. "Control this. Power that. But we never do shit."
"If we have to, it means we're not doing our job well. Attention gets you caught or killed in our line of business."
"So what do we do about trust fund?"
"Give him one more chance," the man said slowly. "He's got a chip on his shoulder. Might work in our favor."
They drove off. I was already perched on the back of their truck, following them to their hideout.
I wonder who this Him was?