Chapter 2: 1.01

The headline read: ‘Dusk Hunter aided by debut heroine in takedown of A-Class villain Doctor Jackal.’

Didn’t even include her name. Sure, it had been mentioned once or twice by the newscaster during the report, and her image—Spotlight in all her regalia—had been flashed in a few flattering snapshots, but so what? Ava wasn’t good enough to be in the headline?

“What a load of horseshit,” Jacky said.

“Tell me about it.”

Ava doubted they were talking about the same thing.

They hadn’t even gotten the facts right. Debut? Ava had been in the game for three months—her escapades with Dusk Hunter had hardly been her debut. If she hadn’t been on the clock at Paradise Pizzeria, she might’ve thrown her hands in the air and let out a creative string of curses, because, good god, the audacity on display. But seeing how she was standing next to a coworker while watching the report run, she somehow didn’t think that wise. People could be dense when it came to secret identities, but that didn’t mean Ava should be giving any more ammunition than necessary.

Not that anyone would think a broke nineteen year old working as a pizza delivery girl was the superheroine Spotlight. People weren’t aware how shitty the lower-level heros had it. The Hero Association wasn’t exactly generous with their stipends. For god’s sake, Ava needed to work full time just to make ends meet. The flow of money from the so-called 'benefactor of hero society' might as well have not existed, for all the good it did her. Paid for her groceries was about it, and not even always in full.

Not that she wanted to sound like an ingrate, because fighting crime as a non-contracted superhero wasn’t a protected profession, and The Hero Association didn’t need to be handing out anything.  But still, the pitiful stipend wasn’t remotely worth the four to eight hours she spent patrolling every day. Didn’t even get a full night’s sleep, most nights.

And for what? What were the fruits of her labor?

To not even make the headline by name?

“I mean, as if some nobody C-Class helped in a fight between Dusk Hunter and the Doctor,” Jacky said. “Reeks of PR. I’d put money down that some exec is trying to turn her into the next big thing.”

Ava scoffed; she couldn’t help it. Because oh, the irony. The Hero Association couldn’t give less of a shit about her, as demonstrated on a daily basis. Much less the media, who highlighted only the most promising of the promising—hence Ava's distinct lack of coverage, despite being a crucial factor in last night’s events. The Hero Association adored its big name S- and A-class heroes, but the dregs?

Well—the dregs were the dregs. And Ava swirled along at the bottom with the rest.

Jacky reasonably misinterpreted what Ava’s scoff had meant. “Like, no offense to Miss Sparkly Gold-And-White or whatever, but the marketing couldn’t be more obvious, right? Hot bimbo blondie with flashy skillset? PR gold.”

Ava paused. “Hot bimbo blondie.”

“Like, not to be objectifying, but fucking look at her.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Feel like you’re judging me here, Aves. Seriously, look.” Jacky mimicked an hourglass figure with her hands. “You’re saying you wouldn’t? I’m not even the gay one between us.”

Ava had never been asked if she wanted to fuck herself, and it wasn’t a question she wanted to give considerable thought to. “Edging in on ‘rude’ territory here, Jacky.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure, guess I am. But the point stands. Pretty blonde thing like that comes along, ‘course they’re gonna try to build her up.”

Again, Ava hadn’t ‘just come along’—she’d been patrolling for months now. So she knew for a fact Jacky had things wrong. “Seems like she did plenty to help, based on what they’re saying,” Ava said with forcible mildness. “Maybe she’s getting coverage because of that, not her body.” 

Jacky snorted, which irritated Ava despite her fondness for her coworker. Because far as colleagues went, Jacky made a good one—playful, filled the silent moments, overall enjoyable to be around, even when things were chaotic and stressful. Not that Ava had to deal overmuch with that, working delivery. 

But this topic was, for obvious reasons, bothering Ava. Because the ‘hot bimbo blondie’ who’d ‘done nothing but be marketable’ was, in fact, Ava. And she’d done mountains to help Dusk Hunter, thank you very much, despite not having a tenth the skillset as the S-Class heroine. Her place on the news report was more than deserved. She’d gone underreported, if anything. 

Not that Jacky, or most the population, would believe that, apparently.

“That seems like a stretch,” Jacky said. “How would she?”

“Hard-light constructs are pretty damn useful. Versatile.”

“But hers? They have her pegged as C-Class. Means they must be weak as hell.”

“Maybe she uses them smart,” Ava snapped.

Jacky paused, and Ava reined herself in. 

“Sheesh, not tryna upset you or anything, Aves. Why do you care?” A smirk. “What, got a hard-on? Hero crush? Simping for the up and coming, the wondrous ‘Spotlight’?” She threw her hands wide and jazzed them in a show of dramatics.

“Fuck off,” Ava said simply.

Jacky laughed. “So,” she said. “Tall, blonde, and busty is your type? I always knew you were a narcissist. She’s practically you in superhero form.”

Yeah, Ava really shouldn’t have engaged in this conversation. What happened to ‘not providing ammunition’ on how to discover her secret identity?

“She’s not my type,” Ava said. “I just thought you were being dismissive. We don’t know the whole story—you know how media spins things.”

“True,” Jacky said, “but I don’t buy that reasoning for a second. And besides, I’m more into the whole, crushing on Spotlight thing. You are, aren’t you?”

“How did we get here, again?”

She laughed. “God, you’re always so awkward when we bring this stuff up. Adorable. Look. You’re blushing.” Jacky pointed at Ava’s cheeks, which she swatted away.

“It’s awkward to talk about,” Ava huffed. “Sorry I don’t have zero shame like you and Max, talking about my sex life like it’s the weather.”

“Sex life,” Jacky said. “As if you have one. Who do you think you’re kidding?”

In her time as a semi-professional superheroine, Ava had learned when it was time for a tactical retreat. “I have a delivery to make,” she said. “I’ll see you in thirty.”

“Grow a spine,” she called to Ava as she fled. “Tell me what gets you off, coward! Is it those piercing blue eyes? Or is it her huge—”

The kitchen door, thankfully, cut her off, as did Ava clamping her hands over her ears. 

Not that she couldn’t guess.

---

There were worse jobs than pizza delivery in Capital City, but by no means would she call it enjoyable. Midday this time in August, her clothes stuck to her, clinging wet and sticky from the humid air and exertion as she pedaled toward her destination. Paradise Pizzeria offered a refund-backed, time-delivery guarantee, which inspired some extra zest, because much as she hated her job, it paid fine enough, and she sure as hell would rather not go on an employment hunt again. Best not to give customers reason to complain, cash in that refund if she turned up even a minute late. As one of ten million residents in Capital City, and lacking any kind of higher education, reasonable jobs could be difficult to find. ‘Kicking criminal ass’ wasn’t a marketable skill, after all, and while ‘could summon constructs of golden light’ and ‘grew stronger relative to popularity’ (the new shocking discovery) might be useful in a variety of trades, mundane application of superpowers weren’t typically relied on, by matter of secrecy. Most supervillains abided by the unspoken contracts of super life, but some didn’t—some were willing, even enthusiastic, to be hero hunters, and those who wore their identities on their sleeves were often the first target by those unhinged individuals. There was a reason secret identities had become the modus operandi of supers across the world, despite the inconvenience.

Plus, when it came to getting a new job, who wanted to deal with interviews? Ava wouldn’t call herself a recluse or anything, but those—to borrow a phrase from Jacky—sucked giant ass. She might be fine enough in casual social situations, but soon as it became professional, Ava started sweating up a storm. Not bad enough to be incapable of landing a spot at a pizza joint … but she wouldn’t call herself a smooth-talker, either. Ironically, Ava’d never done well in the spotlight.

Her plan for hasty deliver was, unfortunately, and adhering to Ava’s general lot in life, interrupted when she took a right turn at 55th street. Trouble seemed to gravitate to her—part of being a superhero, she guessed.

She could’ve ignored the yelling if she wanted to. In Capital City, it was always something—somebody, somewhere, getting mugged, or harassed, or assaulted, or any other of a thousand street-level crimes. But Ava’d always had a big fucking heart, even if it meant she might lose her job. She groaned, then pivoted to the right, down an alleyway.

Handle it quickly, I’ll be fine.

She hopped off her bike and it careened sloppily to the side. The pizza bag, she treated with slightly more delicacy as she set it down—but not overmuch. Because hey, the boxes were designed to be durable for a reason, weren’t they?

The sight laid out in front of her wasn’t anything unusual for Capital City. As the so-called ‘crime capital of the world’, despite its numerous heroic residents, a burglary wasn’t anything outside of the ordinary. Ava chose to be generous with her assessment: the two men who had a woman cowering against the wall didn’t appear to have nefarious intent, in the ‘truly nefarious’ sense of the word. Only after her belongings, and not … something else … based on how they were trying to yank her purse away, but otherwise leaving the woman unmolested.

“Hands up,” Ava shouted. “Where I can see them!”

Now, Paradise Pizzeria might not have the most distinguished marketing in existence, but for inconspicuity’s sake, she’d developed a process for this kind of thing—because as reasonable to most heroes, she’d rather her identity didn’t become public for aforementioned reasons. So, in preparation for arriving on the scene, she’d slapped on a black circle sticker over her employer’s logo. It wasn’t like a pizza delivery place with a uniform of black shirt and blue jeans was rare to find—it narrowed her down her to, hm, about one of a thousand places in the city, if these two lowlifes ever cared to look. And why would they?

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As for her face, she’d donned one of the cheap black domino masks which had become ubiquitous in this day and age, and which Ava always kept on her person, just in case. They were effective enough for impromptu purposes. A full costume was of course preferable, but the cheap black eye mask did the job.

At Ava’s warning shout, the two burglars turned to her.

Ava briefly appreciated what the sight splayed in front of them must look like, a girl, dressed in a black t-shirt and blue jeans, wearing a domino mask, but otherwise appearing harmless. Ava knew her figure didn’t impose, naturally speaking. There was a pause as the two men decided whether the threat was genuine—feigning superpowers wasn’t, after all, a bizarre strategy, employed a number of times for various reasons, though probably not common. With Capital City having the highest supers per capita, sightings of villains and heroes weren’t a rare thing, relatively speaking, but objectively—quite sparse.

They chose the statistically more reasonable assumption.

“Fuck off, blondie. Who do you think you’re kidding?”

Ava sighed. Just have to make it quick. Hal will have my ass if I’m late again.

---

She arrived three minutes late, knocking on 414 of the Hazelrose Apartment Complex, sweaty from exertion and the summer heat. Three minutes. Surely whoever the customer was, surely they wouldn’t care—or so Ava lied to herself, to try to keep her spirits up.

The door opened, revealing a large, rotund man in a white t-shirt covered with grease stains. Ava’s stomach sank, because that didn’t bode well. But she plastered on her customer-service smile anyway.

“You’re late,” he said.

The smile faltered, but she renewed it. “I’m so sorry! Something came up on the way here. You know how Capital City can be.” She shuffled the pizza boxes out of the insulating black container, trying to maintain an air of friendliness despite how she would much rather be saying something along the lines of, ‘fuck off, man, it was three minutes, okay? Doubt you had anything important going on.’ “Traffic, right?”

The man looked unimpressed at her attempt at congeniality. Ava tried not to judge people by their appearances, but his greasy shirt and greasy attitude wasn’t leaving her much choice. “Your website said if it’s late, it’s free.”

It did. But every overdue delivery went reported to her supervisor, and she was already on shaky ground. This wasn’t a rare event for Ava. She wasn’t sure how close she was to being fired, but close. Possibly a single instance, because earlier this week she’d been late, too. Two in one week would seal the deal—Ava would really rather that not happen.

So her smile stayed cemented on, and she kept trying. “Technically, yeah … but I’d really appreciate if you cut me a break? I’m really sorry.” And it was three minutes, asshole. 

Who ordered pizza on a Saturday at ten in the morning, anyway? The store had barely opened.

Ava’s attempts at pleading went to waste. “Nah,” he said. “I think I’ll take the free pizza. But hey, you have my sympathy.” His smile bordered on a sneer as he held out his hands for the pizza boxes.

She didn’t pass them over. The two stared at each other.

“Come on,” Ava said tightly, the friendliness slipping. “You really can’t do me a solid, here? I really need a break, man.”

“Welcome to the club. Who fucking doesn’t, these days? Not my problem.”

“It was three minutes.”

“And?”

“Please?”

“Really don’t see why I would. That’s twenty bucks out of my pocket.”

“You already planned to pay it. Seriously, help me out. My boss will have my ass if I’m late again.”

“Again? Sounds like you needa be more punctual. Do better about your work ethic.” He took a step forward to grab the boxes, but Ava took a step back and held them away.

Another short staring contest. He considered her.

“Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll help you out.”

Ava’s spirits shot up, then immediately back down at the follow-up.

“If you do something for me, too.”

“Something,” she said, “being what?”

“It’ll take ten seconds of your time.”

Ava didn’t know what that meant, and didn’t have a good feeling about it, but she tentatively went along. “I’m listening.”

“Flash me.” He mimicked throwing his shirt up. “One-time offer. Guess I’m feeling generous today.”

Ava stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“You should consider yourself lucky. Think I’d ever get an offer like that? Or any guy, for that matter? Your gender saves you again.”

So he was one of those, too. She couldn’t say she was surprised. “You really think I’d flash you?” she hissed.

“Guess you don’t need your job that bad, by the sounds of it.”

For several seconds, Ava stayed frozen in spot, her temper and disgust flaring, but warring with a sense of practicality. Though she hated Paradise Pizzeria’s manager, Hal, her coworkers were great—and the hours accommodating. Pay was good enough, too, overall one of the better dead-end jobs she’d wound up in.

She really didn’t want to be fired.

And she was a practical woman at heart, even if she’d never done something like this.

“Fine,” she grit out.

She shoved the two pizza boxes at the man, which he took with a smirk. Asshole. Then, hands going to her uniform t-shirt’s hemline, she paused. Her determination hadn’t carried her forward through her decision.

“Waiting,” he said.

Ava didn’t think about what she was doing. She threw her shirt up and held it that way for several seconds, skin blazing where she felt the man’s eyes crawling across her chest.

She shoved it back down.

“Great doing business,” he said. “What’s with the white bra, though? Live a little.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I paid online, but I won’t call it in. I’m a man of my word.”

Ava packed up her delivery bag and made to leave. She could tell she wasn’t getting a tip. She fumed in silence.

“But hey,” he said, pulling her attention back. “If you’re looking for a tip, you can always come inside.”

“Fuck off, asshole.” 

She stalked away, her face burning.

I can’t believe I did that.

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