Well, this is going to be tricky, I can’t help thinking. Arcana’s magic would really come in handy right about now.

Well, wait now, what about magic? Arcana’s certainly powerful enough to pull a trick like this off. What if it were a trap? Surely, she’s not the type that would set me up like this, let alone kill Doc Crimson.

The crowd behind me swells as they see the door has been open but stop in their tracks as they see that we’re well above St. Mignola and Integrity City. I sneak through them, hoping they’re not going to put two and two together in a few short seconds.

I rush into the lounge; snatch up my backpack and bolt for the washroom. I don’t even bother checking to see if anyone else is in here as I run into the stall, unzipping my backpack as I do so. I’m throwing off my civilian clothes at the same time as I’m digging into the pack for my costume. Finally, I grab my mask and throw it over my face, darting out of the stall.

I tell my powers that this is an emergency for about twenty-some people and my flight power kicks in. I fly into the lounge, startling the bartender, who ducks behind the bar. Some of the crowd start to hustle back into the lounge area to see myself, floating there.

“Everyone, don’t panic! I’m here to help!”

“Yeah, right,” one of the older men says as about half a dozen of them pull handguns out of their jackets. Ah, the life of an unknown superhero.

I quickly dive behind a table and prop it up on its side. The wood is strong enough that the bullets splatter against the top of the table like a light rainstorm.

“Damnit, let me save you, people! You wanna get off this floating club alive?!” I scream as loudly as I can.

I’m interrupted by the feel of a strong wind from behind me. I hear a couple of people shout and the familiar sound of guns flying to the floor with several thuds. A hand appears on my shoulder. I look around and The Jazzman has reappeared from the back room.

“Everyone, relax. You don’t attack the one that’s trying to save your life,” he says to the crowd. I stand up and the half dozen men that attacked me collect their pieces and holster them back inside their jackets.

“You an artist or a sell-out, kid?” The Jazzman asks me, looking me right in the eyes.

“Artist,” I tell him, matter of fact.

“Then get to it,” he says and disappears into the backroom again.

I take a quick minute to think, and then get that rare brainstorm that saves lives. I grab another nearby, large wood table and flip it over. I grab each leg, one at a time and snap them off with a swift kick. I flip the table right side up and look to the people.

“Okay. This should carry about five people. I don’t have the strength to carry any more than that at a time,” I tell them, pointing at the table. A few people look at each other nervously and begin to step forward.

“Are you nuts?” one of the gunmen shouts. “We’re way above the city and the best thing you can think of is to carry us on a table?!”

“What do you want me to do!? Carry the whole damn building?!”

“Oh great,” he shouts, waving his arms in the air at the crowd, “We’re being saved by a low level SPEC. Where’s Humanity Man or Dark Steel when you need them, huh?”

“Fine,” I sternly say, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I push my way past the crowd, into the foyer and jump out the front door.

My flying powers kick in by default and I swoop below the building. The entire infrastructure, including the basement, has been ripped out of the ground. Burst water pipes are still dripping a small excess of water. And in the very center, holding the entire building in the air is the most muscular SPEC I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Wearing nothing but a pair of black tights and a black executioner’s mask, the man doesn’t seem to be even trying as he holds the entire club with one hand. His other hand is behind his back, as if threatening dozens of people makes him some kind of distinguished gentlemen.

“About time you got here,” the disguised voice says. I can tell it’s some kind of voice box or something to disguise his voice. A closer look and I can barely make out a rectangular shape on his neck poking out of the Executioner hood.

“Why are you doing this!?” I plead, “There are people inside!”

“Don’t care,” the masked man says. “They would’ve been witnesses, anyway.”

Before I even have time to attempt anything, a hole smashes open from the basement, right by the man in the executioner’s mask. A hand that seems to be made completely of red bricks appears through the whole and grabs the masked man by the wrist.

“You special invited guest tonight, yes?” a heavy Russian voice shouts from the hole.

The arm made of bricks takes the masked man completely by surprise and yanks him through the hole, into the basement. The masked man doesn’t even make a single sound or whimper as he disappears through the whole.

Within that same second, I feel another strong wind. This one coming from directly out of the hole in the basement flooring I watch as a small tornado funnel forms underneath the entire building, holding it in place, hovering high above the twin cities. The wind continues to spew out of the hole with no sign of letting up at any point.

“Come, comrade! I could use your hand, too!” the Russian voice shouts to (I assume) me. The voice is grunting heavily, as he’s no doubt in the middle of a fight.

I zip back up to The Vodka Room’s entrance and through the doors. I stop in mid-air, inside, long enough to close the doors. As fast as my flight will take me indoors, I fly towards the lounge—

—only to see the crowd all running towards the foyer. I hover high above them to allow them room to pass and look into the lounge. In the center of the lounge, another large hole has appeared. I recognize one of the most expensive suits I’ve ever seen, but it’s being worn by a man that looks to be made of red bricks. The suit has been heavily torn, but I recognize the black beard and black hair, which oddly enough, did not change along with the rest of the man’s skin. He’s lying on his back, not too far from the hole and looks to be trying to get up.

“Ha, ha!” the brick man laughs a hearty laugh. “That was a good one, comrade! Will cost me much to repair floor, yes?”

I rush over to the man, who is already helping himself up to his feet. He looks at me, smiles widely and pats me on the shoulder. I nearly lose my balance and fall into the hole from the pats.

“Is good that you came, yes? Good music, good fight, yah?”

“What the hell is going on here?!” I yell, trying to look into the hole, but the dust is so heavy down there that I can’t.

“What it always is!” he grins, nodding to the masked man, “Old, unfinished business!”

At that moment, the hooded man hovers through the dust and into the lounge. With his arms crossed, he looks down on both of us.

“Please, man!” I yell to him, “The executioner gimmick has been done to death in this business!”

The Russian bricked man looks over at me, pats me hard on the back again and laughs.

“Red Brick likes you, boy! We finish this guy off, you help get my bar back on ground and we have drinks, yes? I give you good offer and work for me!”

“I’ll think about it,” I answer.

“You’ll think nothing. You won’t live long enough to enjoy another drink,” the masked man says in his disguised voice.

Once again, before I can react, the masked man leaps at me, taking his large arm and clobbers me in the side. I’m sent flying, crashing back first into the glasses behind the bar, and landing hard on the tile floor. The bartender is cowering underneath the bar. Guess he hoped to make some business while his life was in danger.

I hear some more tussling as the bar rumbles from the fight that I can’t see. I try to make it to my feet but then a pain in my side sets my world on fire. The world grows dim for me; my hearing leaves me with nothing but a humming noise. I grab my side and can feel that my ribs just don’t feel like they should. I try to stand a second time and the air leaves my lungs, forcing me to cough. I cup my hand over my mouth when I cough and look at my hand. It’s covered in blood. First official injury of my career, it looks like.

I try to make it to my feet, despite the pain that’s killing my side.

“Stay down or you’ll get us both killed!” the bartender shouts to me.

“Can’t,” I grunt through my grimace, “Lives at stake. It’s business as usual.” I make it to my feet, using the bar as support and look into the lounge.

Red Brick is crawling away from his stalker, laughing his hearty laugh. His entire right arm is missing and I see a large pile of red sand on the ground between himself and the masked man. Some blood is trickling out of the wound, but not gushing like you would expect from, you know, losing your arm.

“This is about bomb, yes? No survivors, no witnesses, yeah?” Red Brick asks, crawling away but still chuckling to himself as his killer floats closer.

“Get away from him!” I scream and leap with a bit of flight momentum towards the masked man.

Without even looking my way, a muscular hand reaches around my throat and holds me in mid-air. My side is screaming at me for daring to move even an inch. My lungs struggle even harder for air. I try to pry my hands under his vice grip but to no avail. I kick at his side but it’s like hitting concrete.

“Do you even know what this man does for a living?” the masked man asks me, staring at Red Brick, “How many lives have you taken for business, Communist?”

“Oh, I’ve lost count,” Red Brick chuckles.

“You see? I’m doing the world a favour. Surely, you see that.”

My world fades and begins to blacken as my lungs begin to give up. I’m about to fade out for good and there are two last thoughts in my mind. Twenty people, even if not all are innocent, are going to die tonight. And where the hell is Arcana in all this? Was she planning on showing up at all?

I barely catch a glimpse of red movement in the corner of my eye as a bricked foot rushes up from the floor and catches the masked man directly between the legs.

The grip loosens and I fall to the ground, coughing up more blood and attempting to catch my breath. My eyesight is still blurry and I catch a huge fist rushing towards my face. I have no time to react as I feel the bones in my nose crunch and some teeth loosen in my mouth. I’m sent reeling backwards again, this time crashing into the front of the bar.

I hear a series of large booms and the sound of sand sifting onto the floor. My eyesight still won’t clear for me to see a damn thing. I try to move but muscles are screaming at me not to. I then feel a thud against the front of the bar beside me and a heavy breathing.

“Hope this teaches you to mind your own business, kid,” a muffled and obviously disguised voice says. “Maybe you’ll know that in the next life.”

I hear a whoosh sound and all is silent, except for some heavy breathing.

“Red Brick?”

“Yes, comrade?” the Russian pants beside me. “He is gone, yes? Gone into the hole. Into the basement, I think.”

“Good. I still can’t see a damn thing.”

“You look as good as I feel, comrade,” Red Brick chuckles through panting.

My eyesight begins to clear somewhat just as I hear a horrifying scream from somewhere in the basement. The scream is soon replaced by a loud gurgling sound. Then a thud is heard as something hits the floor in the lounge.

The entire building shudders and the feel of the elevator pressure, this time an upward motion, returns. I leap to my feet, my body now screaming every obscenity in the book. My eyesight still blurry, I walk quickly to the center of the room, hoping to find the hole into the basement.

I end up stumbling and falling into the hole, falling face first onto the concrete floor. I can hear the wind whistling nearby. My nose is now gushing blood and I can hear it spattering onto the concrete floor. With what little strength I have left, I slide my body towards the whistling sound. After a second, I fall into through the hole in the concrete.

My flying powers kick in again by default and I find myself barely hovering in the hole in the basement. I feel around the sides and lay my hands flat against the bottom of the club.

Over twenty people are going to die if I don’t stop or at least slow down this crash! I wail at my powers. The only chance I have is to have more strength than I’ve ever had in my entire life.

The pain in my side feels like it wants a divorce when this is done. It’ll probably run away with my nose and keep whatever teeth are loose in my mouth as kids.

I feel my cape swoop over my head from the winds and get caught in the prongs in my mask. I try to tense my muscles as best I can to lift this monstrosity but nothing is working. These people are going to die because I can’t lift a goddamn building! And that masked man is going to get away with the murder of twenty-some people.

Suddenly, my muscles feel like they’re on fire. I feel like I just hit the weights at the gym for two days straight with no break in between. I can feel every tendon and ligament in my body grow just a slight bit. My skin tightens as it makes room for the new muscles growing in my body. I don’t feel like I’m growing bigger, just tighter…stronger.

The wind resistance cuts in half. There’s a creaking as the entire building sounds as if it wants to fall apart at this very moment. Then the wind feels nearly non-existent. I don’t dare let go now as I can feel myself hovering slowly towards the ground. I grit my teeth, my muscles still on fire and my side now wanting a divorce, custody of my teeth and all of my alimony.

My feet suddenly touch concrete. I sigh but grit my teeth, realizing that it’s not quite over yet. I bend with my knees and slowly bring the entire building down to my feet, quickly slinking my hands between the street and the basement concrete so as not to crush my hands. Somewhere outside, I can hear tires screeching and the faint sound of sirens.

I collapse on the basement floor, my legs still sticking into the hole at the bottom of the building.

Thank you. Thank you so much. I endlessly praise my powers, making up for several times I’ve cursed them for not giving me x-ray vision.

“Comrade?” I hear a faint shout in a Russian accent somewhere above me.

With my body still screaming at me and my muscles needing a hot bath for hours, I climb to my feet and float through the hole in the basement ceiling into the lounge. I brush my cape away from my mask, letting it flow down my back. My eyesight looks to have been cleared, but it’s with a tint of blood red. And the scene by the bar is something that made me wish I was blind again.

By the hole, towards the foyer, The Jazzman lays silent in a pile of red sand.

Directly in front of me, in front of the bar, lies what’s left of Red Brick. His left leg is missing, the stump trickling blood like his right arm. In fact, his left arm is now missing, as well, the stump trickling blood. But the worst of all is the blood that is more than trickling out of a hole where the Russian’s bricked stomach once was.

“Looks to be the fall of the Red Brick, yes Comrade?” he coughs, bloody spitting out of his mouth and adding to the coat of blood in his beard.

“I couldn’t stop him, I’m sorry,” I say in a heartfelt voice.

“Ha,” he chuckles, coughing up more blood, “You save my club. I’m sure you will be paid well for that from my family.”

“I didn’t do it for the money,” I tell him, dropping to one knee in front of him.

“Ha, ha! Of course not, comrade!” he chuckles a final time, “Of course not,” and then goes silent.

My knee joint cracks as I climb to my feet. I stumble over to The Jazzman and flip him over on his back. I cover my mouth in shock and step back a moment.

The Jazzman’s windpipe is completely crushed. An indent of a large hand is the only trace left of the masked man.