Saint-Max stood in the perfume aisle looking for the cheapest perfume to buy for his best friend, Xia Li. She had a party tomorrow, and he wanted to get her something. He was tired of being the "broke friend" who didn't get her anything every time she met one of her life milestones.

Watching her new friends spoil her with expensive gifts irritated him. They didn't know her as well as he did. She and he were like brother and sister. They were born on the same day, at the same hospital, and their parents used to live in the same apartment building.

"Give us all your money!" a man's voice said. It came from the counter where the clerk was at. "Now!"

Is this a robbery? Saint-Max crouched and tiptoed to the end of the aisle. He peeked over the shelf and saw four men in red suits and red ski masks. The Red Ski Gang. A group of mundanes—powerless humans—who robbed stores that had little to no security. They were brothers. Each had the first letter of their first name stitched at the front of their mask: Adrian, Bas, Camron, and Daniel.

Saint-Max looked at the camera above the entrance, which surveilled the whole store. Someone had destroyed it. When had it happened? Was it before he arrived?

"Check the rest of the store to see if anyone else is in here," Adrian told his brothers while staring at the clerk, Old Man Antonio. Adrian was the oldest and shortest of the four. Standing at five-foot-one, he didn't do a good job of disproving the theory that short people had anger issues.

Sourness filled Saint-Max's chest. Its acidic touch burned his heart. Watching Old Man Antonio beg Adrian for mercy with tears running down his face didn't sit right with him. Old Man Antonio was the sweetest person in the neighborhood. He was also one of the few religious people who respected those who didn't share the same beliefs as him. He always stood up for others. Whether it was fighting for LGBTQ+ rights, supporting Black Lives Matter, or ending violence against minorities.

"Open the register," Adrian said, then grabbed a small duffel bag from the floor, placed it on the counter, and unzipped it. "Put everything in here." Old Man Antonio tried to talk, but Adrian smacked him. "Don't talk unless I tell you to."

Saint-Max's hands shook from anger but he didn't want to do something stupid. He had bigger ambitions in life and, if he acted without thinking, then his dreams wouldn't come true. He crouched and rushed to the store's bathroom before Bas, Camron, and Daniel spotted him. Once inside, he locked the door quietly.

He sat on the toilet and took a deep breath. His lips and fists shook with a wave of rage he'd never felt before. He hated seeing good people get treated like shit. The world was short on good people, so it had to cherish the few. Sadly, bad people ruled this sick world. And bad people gave power to other bad people. It was an endless cycle.

Gangs like the Red Ski Gang got away with robbing the poor because no one cared about the poor. Not the police. Not the rich. And most definitely not the high-ranked superheroes who only cared about their image and ranking.

After he calmed down, Saint-Max reached in his pants pocket and took out his phone. He dialed his agent, Tim Angels.

"It's lunchtime, Saint. I told you not to bother me during lunchtime," Tim said. He was five years older than Saint-Max, though he acted like he was his father. He had a hero agency called Tim and Pumbas. Unfortunately, he was the only staff member, and Saint-Max was his only client. The agency world was tough. Superheroes didn't work with unproven agents, and agents couldn't prove themselves without getting the chance to.

Saint-Max hired Tim after Xia Li had introduced them to each other. Tim used to work under Xia Li's management company before he quit and started his own agency. He had connections and knowledge most agents didn't. Not even the famous ones.

"I know it's lunchtime," Saint-Max said with a low voice. "I called because our big break is finally here. All the years of hearing 'no' and having doors shut in our faces are about to end."

Saint-Max had been trying to make it as a superhero in Gluevale before meeting Tim. Sadly, Lady Luck wasn't on his side. There were many superheroes with powers similar to his. And they also had the look and background sponsors and advertisers loved. Unlike him.

His life wasn't thrilling. A biracial man who grew up in a stable home wasn't a fascinating story to advertisers. They wanted grief, torment, mystery—anything but him.

Even with his parents being an African man and a Latino woman, sponsors weren't biting what he sold. They wanted him to have a deadbeat, abusive, or dead parent so they could sell his story to their viewers.

The white viewership—which was the majority—loved it when minorities came from troubling backgrounds. It meant they were better than them. Thus, when they bought a BIPOC hero's merchandise, it was like charity.

Saint-Max didn't care what other people thought about him. Let them think he was a poor little black boy who needed their charity. He just couldn't agree with the sponsors' terms. It would disrespect his parents, and that was the last thing he would ever do. He loved them too much. Few people had a childhood like his. Both parents were alive and married, and they supported their children's dreams. No matter what those dreams were.

"Tell me more," Tim said.

"Have you heard of the Red Ski Gang?"

"Yes."

"I'm inside Pretty Boy Convenience Store's bathroom. The Red Ski Gang is in the store, robbing it as we speak. I called to ask what to do next."

"The Red Ski Gang are robbing the store right now?"

"That's what I said."

"Excellent, excellent." Excitement filled Tim's words. "You were right. This is our moment, Saint. If you stop them, then the media coverage you'd get—no matter how small it is—will open doors for us. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Saint-Max couldn't remember the last time he heard so much joy in Tim's voice. The man had endured crisis after crisis in the last three years. He lost his house to his ex-wife. His former accountant drained his savings account dry and ran overseas. He also lost his legs in a car crash.

"So, what should I do?"

"How fast can you stop them?"

"Come on, Tim. It's me you're talking to."

"Do you have your costume?"

"I always wear it, as per your instructions."

"Excellent, excellent. I'll call a friend of mine who's a freelancer for Bastion News. She lives near the store, so it won't take her long to be there. Stop the Red Ski Gang, tie them with a rope or whatever, then wait outside the store for the reporter."

"Alright."

"When you're talking to her, remember to do your hero pose and smile. Viewers love that shit. You might even trend on social media."

"Alright."

"See you tomorrow, Saint."

"See you." Saint-Max ended the call.

His stomach sank and swam.

His hands and lips trembled from excitement.

He tapped his heels repeatedly on the floor.

This was it. He was finally about to become a superhero. And if things went well, he might even trend on social media. He couldn't believe it. Seeing his superhero name on the trending list was all he ever wanted. It would give him leverage over the sponsors and advertisers.

An unranked superhero on the trending list? It hadn't happened before. But today it might. So he couldn't fail. Not now. Not when he was so close to achieving his dreams.

Saint-Max returned his phone to his pocket, took off his clothes, and hid them inside the toilet's water tank. The black costume he wore under his clothes had two white lightning bolts on the chest. An homage to his favorite childhood superhero from Tombstone City. The black mask he took from his pocket had white eyes with many functionalities. He also wore black gloves, black boots, and a black belt with two white lightning bolts on its buckle.

He opened the bathroom door and peeked outside. Bas, Camron, and Daniel walked in different aisles. But the store had three shelves, meaning there were four aisles. And with only the three of them keeping watch, one aisle was always unattended to.

Saint-Max took a deep breath, then exhaled. It was now or never. There was no going back. He ran out of the bathroom. Everything around him moved in slow motion. He could've taken it up a notch or two, but it would consume most of his energy. Also, he didn't need to in this fight.

Daniel was in the aisle closest to the bathroom, staring outside the store. As the youngest and largest, he acted as the gang's muscle. Saint-Max snuck behind him and chopped the back of his head with the side of his hand. Daniel slumped to the floor.

There were horror stories from old speedsters about hitting mundanes while at superspeed. They either tore the mundanes' bodies in half or decapitated them. They had advised stopping before striking a mundane. Saint-Max listened.

It was different with peculiars. No matter the speed, speedsters couldn't tear them apart or decapitate them with a single strike. Well, at least to Saint-Max's knowledge.

He darted to the next aisle and stopped Camron the same way.

Saint-Max also held himself back because he didn't want to throw them across the room and destroy the store. Being a superhero was more than stopping villains. Protecting properties was also important. Even if the hero insurance covered it.

He grabbed Camron's legs and dragged him to Daniel, placing the former on top of the latter.

"Hey, what are you doing!"

Saint-Max turned around. Bas pointed his blaster rifle at him. Camron and Daniel didn't have one. This was one of those moments where the older siblings got to play with the toys while the younger ones watched with envy.

Shit! Saint-Max recognized the type of blaster rifle. Peculiar Killer: capable of piercing the bodies of peculiars with impenetrable skin. He didn't have impenetrable skin; he was all speed. The blaster rifle would tear him apart. Any gun would, actually.

Rumors going around the city were that a peculiar named Carolina from Tombstone City made the blaster rifles and other weapons that could harm peculiars. She had creation powers, allowing her to make anything from thought. That scared a lot of heroes and villains around the world because Carolina had no allegiance. In the fight between good and evil, she chose money.

Bas looked at his fallen brothers, then back at Saint-Max. "What have you done to them?"

"Relax. I just put them to sleep." Saint-Max should've hidden them in the bathroom. This was the problem with amateurs, they always overlooked the simple things. It was a good lesson to learn.

"Stay right there. Adrian will know what to do with you." Bas leaned back and glanced to where Adrian was. "Ad—"

Saint-Max darted toward Bas before the man called his brother. He stopped in front of him, then chopped the man's head with the side of his hand. He caught Bas before the man fell to the floor. Then he dragged him to Camron and Daniel, placing him on top of the two.

One left.

Saint-Max walked to the end of the aisle and leaned on the shelf. Adrian hadn't seen him. The gang leader was busy telling Old Man Antonio to finish up putting the money in the duffel bag.

"Happy Halloween!" Saint-Max shouted, startling Old Man Antonio and Adrian.

Adrian turned to Saint-Max and aimed his blaster rifle at him. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Really? Who am I?" Saint-Max pointed at himself. "Mask. Costume. Isn't it obvious?"

"You're a police officer?" Adrian gripped his gun, index finger on the trigger, ready to shoot.

Saint-Max frowned. "I'm Santa Claus."

"It's February."

"Happy Black History Month."

"Happy Black History Month to you too."

Saint-Max narrowed his eyes. "Are you...?"

"No, but I have friends who are."

"Oh."

Saint-Max had only entertained Adrian to distract him while Old Man Antonio escaped. Once the old man left the store, Saint-Max smiled. Adrian turned to the counter and sighed when he didn't see the clerk or the duffel bag. When he turned back to Saint-Max, the superhero stood a few inches from him. Saint-Max smacked the gun out of Adrian's hands, then chopped the gang leader's forehead with the side of his hand, knocking him out.

He then went to the aisle with ropes and mountain climbing gear, grabbed a long, thick rope, and used it to tie the four brothers together. He dragged them out of the store where Old Man Antonio stood beside a dark-skinned woman holding a microphone and a fair-skinned man carrying a shoulder camcorder.

"Thank you, Saint," Old Man Antonio said. He knew Saint-Max since he was a child, having employed him during his high school days. Saint-Max felt some type of way when Adrian made the old man cry. Old Man Antonio was the grandfather he wished he had. A real OG.

The dark-skinned woman went to Saint-Max. She wore a white jacket, black jeans, white flat shoes, and black lipstick. She had long dreadlocks that reached down to her stomach, a nose piercing, and amber eyes.

"I'm Janice," she said, then pointed at the cameraman. "That's Fabian."

"I'm Saint-Max."

"Nice to finally meet you, Saint-Max. Tim has spoken highly of you. And for him to use the favor I owed him on you shows how much faith he has in you making it to the top."

"I hope so too."

Janice looked at the unconscious Red Ski Gang. "You did the neighborhood a big favor by stopping them. The heroes don't care about us, and the rich secretly ordered the police to let the gang run rampant in the area. Every time I wrote an article on them, it got buried. I never thought I'd see the day they get caught."

"What do you think will happen to them?" Saint-Max asked.

"Someone will bail them out and they'll go back to their usual routine." She frowned, sadness swirling in her eyes. She must've seen this situation so many times, and no one did anything about it.

"Don't worry. I will stop them again, and again, and again. Until they give up," Saint-Max said. He meant it. Even if he'd become a popular superhero, he'd never forget where he came from.

Janice smiled. "If only that was true. You're destined for big things, Saint-Max. You won't always be around to stop them. But that's Ok. Once the news gets out, people will feel empowered to fight for themselves. They may kill one or two of us, but they can't kill all of us at once. At the end of the day, they're mundanes like us."

Saint-Max didn't know what to say. Hearing mundanes speak of their powerlessness always brought a sour taste to his mouth. People treated superheroes like godly beings when in actuality they weren't. Still, for as long as he was in the neighborhood, he'd protect them. He had done so many times over the years without acknowledgment.

Janice looked at Saint-Max. "When Fabian turns on the camera, I'll ask you a few questions before you reveal your hero name. You have one, yes?"

"Yes."

Janice smiled. "Good."

"Stand beside the gang for a few seconds. I want to take pictures," Fabian said. Saint-Max did as told, placing his hands on his waist with a smile on his face. After Fabian finished taking pictures, he counted to three then started recording.

Janice introduced herself to the viewers, then spoke with enthusiasm about the defeat the Red Ski Gang faced at the hands of a local, unranked superhero. Then she introduced the unranked superhero and asked him how he defeated them. After telling them, Saint-Max told the viewers not to worry about neighborhood criminals anymore. He was there to serve and protect them, whether he was ranked or not.

"Any last words before you tell us your hero name?" Janice asked.

"Yes." Saint-Max looked straight into the camera. "To all the ranked superheroes who ignore areas like Bastion because you gain nothing from saving its people: If all you care about is money and fame and not the innocent lives lost, then you're also villains. A wise man once said, you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain."

"Woo! What a statement!" Janice smiled. "And now, the moment we've been waiting for. Hero, can you tell us your name?"

"Call me Lightfoot." Saint-Max smiled.

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