text: [Themes: modern, superhero]
  
  Reggie flew home, smoking his cigarettes on the way there. He wasn't in a particular hurry, as he wasn't exactly looking forward to getting screamed at. He floated down on top of a nearby house in the neighborhood, and smoked his cigarette to the butt, then flicked it off of the roof. He didn't want Mia to scream at him for smoking cigarettes anyways.
  
  He then floated towards the house, and immediately knew something was wrong. In the driveway, was her BMW, except the door was left open, and a blood streak led inside. The front door was ajar.
  
  Reggie set down in the front yard, slowly walking towards the front door, preparing himself for something, but not exactly knowing what. He walks up the steps to his house, and slowly pushes the door open. "Mia?" Reggie questioned.
  
  Silence. He walks in the house.
  
  Anything that Reggie tried to prepare himself for, he couldn't have prepared himself for the sight that he beheld inside of his house.
  
  In short, it was a bloodbath. Mia was laying facedown on the floor, blood pooling around her. Blood was splashed on the walls, on the couch, everywhere.
  
  He immediately fell to his knees next to her and tried to shake her awake. She didn't move. She wasn't moving. Reggie couldn't move. He couldn't think. Who had done this? What have they done? They killed his wife...
  
  Reggie stood up, observing the scene. Mia was riddle with two bullet wounds, two to her chest. One must have hit her in the heart. Reggie gritted his teeth in anger. This had to be Arma's doing. This was his fault, he knew it. The threat on the phone, this must be revenge for sending him to jail.
  
  Suddenly, Reggie heard sirens outside. He peeked out the window to see four police cars parked outside, shotguns drawn, ready to breach the house.
  
  Reggie doubted they wanted to hear the story about how he found her like this. He made a break for the back door, forcing himself through this and immediately took to the skies to escape the horrible scene.
  
  "Hey, look! Up there! Open fire!" One of the cops below yelled, and they collectively starting shooting at Reggie from the ground.
  
  But Reggie was too fast, and he took off in the sky. He didn't know where he was going. He had nowhere to go, and now he was on the run for a murder he didn't commit. On top of that, Mia was dead. His wife. As much of a bitch as she was, he loved her. He had married her, after all.
  
  Reggie knew he couldn't go back to the office building, the cops would be all over there. All Reggie could think to do was find whoever did this, and prove that they committed the murder. But he had nowhere to start. The only lead he had was thinking that Arma had something to do with this, but he was in jail. He couldn't go to a jailhouse and question a man, not when the cops are looking for him.
  
  He felt so fucked. He needed to know who killed his wife. It hurt his soul to think about her lying facedown in a pool of blood... because of him.
  
  That feeling hit Reggie way to hard, and he was suddenly thrust into a horrible depression at that moment. He needed to find somewhere to rest.
  
  He was currently hovering over Sterling City. He looked down below and saw a bridge that was well known as a squatters paradise. He knew there would be plenty of homeless people there, and Reggie remembered Arma had once been homeless. Reggie decided it would be best to question the squatters there to see who Arma associated himself with.
  
  He flew down under the large bridge, and plopped down in the midst of the squatters camp. Tents were set up near the SC river, homeless people were mingling, and it smelled like trash. He knew this was a hub for homeless people, and he knew that Arma, at one time or another, had come here.
  
  He looked around and immediately felt out of place. He looked down at his clothes, clean and worth something. Then, he looked at the homeless and saw them in rags, discolored clothing, looking like they hadn't taken a shower in years. He knew he was out of place.
  
  Everyone in the general area began looking at Reggie and whispering. Some pointing, some giving threatening glances. He didn't know what to do. It appeared to Reggie that they didn't want him here.
  
  "Aye, clean boy!" A gruff man yelled. "We don't like yer kind here! Best get going before you get into something you can't get out of!"
  
  Reggie refused to give up because of a few threatening glances. He needed information.
  
  Reggie flew at the man and set his foot down in front of him. The gruff man gave the stink eye (literally) and his face distorted in disgust. He suddenly went into his pocket and pulled a pocket knife out.
  
  "You smell like a pig, boy," the homeless man spat. "Don't get gutted like one."
  
  "I just need some information," Reggie protested.
  
  "Yeah, well I don't have none. And neither do these fine folks of my community. So, you best be going now."
  
  Reggie had to think. He knew that Arma had come here, but it seemed to Reggie that this man thought he was pig, a cop. He had to say something, and fast, or he just might get gutted like a pig. "Arma. Do you know him?" Reggie asked.
  
  The man tensed up. Reggie could tell that he knew Arma, and he probably knew more than just that.
  
  What should Reggie say?
  
  > say "I need to know who Arma associated himself with. My wife was killed, and I want revenge."
  "I need to know who Arma associated himself with. My wife was killed, and I want revenge," Reggie said coldly.
  
  The man seemed to think about it for a second. He could see a twinge of sympathy in the man's eyes. But, to Reggie's disbelief, he should his head. "I'm sorry, but I just cannot say."
  
  "Sir, please-!" Reggie yelped, begging the man.
  
  "You don't understand. I'm not trying to be next on the chopping block. I wish you luck on your investigation on your own terms, and I'm sorry you lost your wife. I lost mine not to long ago, as well. But..." The man shook his head and turned away. "Leave, and do not return."
  
  Reggie stood in shock for a minute. He couldn't believe that it didn't work. "Can you tell me anything? One word? Something to follow?"
  
  The man turned around and thought about it. "Wilia Street." Then, he signaled to some guys who had been lurking behind Reggie to escort him out. They grabbed his shoulders, but Reggie shrugged them off.
  
  A street. That was something that Reggie could work with. He flew out from under the bridge in a second. He saw the sun setting in the distance. Wilia Street. He had never heard of it, but he was sure it was in Sterling City. He pulled it up on his phone, and it was all the way across town, but Reggie knew he had to go. It was his only lead. He took off in the direction of the Arlon District in Downtown Sterling City, but not before lighting up a cigarette to calm his nerves.
  
  > Wilia Street
  By the time Reggie approached his destination, it was nearly pitch black outside. He slowly approached the street, and from the aerial view he saw some fires and the like set out, with people huddling around them. Another homeless camp, but that worked well enough for Reggie to gain confidence in himself.
  
  He landed a few blocks away, and immediately decided to rub some dirt on his shirt and pants, and even taking to ripping some pieces off. He rubbed dirt all in his hair, on his face, everywhere that was visible. He wasn't going into this place without, at least, appearing to be one of them. He then huddled as if he was cold and began walking towards Wilia Street. The street itself wasn't that large. It was almost an alley, but it did have a definitive one-way street sign that was there.
  
  As he entered the alley, he witnessed how many people were actually set up at this camp. At least thirty, maybe more. Reggie began walking through the midst of the camp, not exactly sure as what to do at this moment. Who would he talk to? How would he know what to do here? He seemed to get lucky last time, but what if he isn't so lucky this time? He cradled his broken hand, and looked around to see if someone here looked as if they knew something. He didn't seem to be getting as much attention as last time, but nonetheless, some people gave him sideways glances, as he was a new face.
  
  Finally, Reggie spotted the man he was going to talk to. He was sitting cross-legged in a tent, and Reggie spotted another homeless person taking a bag off of his hands. He identified the substance in the bag as heroin, and he knew for sure that Arma was a heroin junkie. Jackpot.
  
  He approached the tent, and immediately patted his pockets down for his wallet. He still had a hundred or so dollars in there.
  
  "Hello, newbie!" The dealer said happily. "It looks to me as if you are just starting to learn the ways of this... ah... delighted and free lifestyle. Shit, man, how long you been homeless?"
  
  Reggie was struck for answer, not expecting to be put on the spot like this. "Three- three months."
  
  "Well, damn. I've been out here on these streets for close to three years, now. But, shit, dude, I love this lifestyle. No rent, no mortgage, drugs are everywhere, what's not to love? I'm Morrison. And you?"
  
  "Reggie," Reggie said as the man stuck out his hand for a handshake. He took it and attempted to shake the man's hand, but it felt strange.
  
  "Bro, do you even dap?" Morrison chuckled. "Here, like this." He demonstrated a dap with the junkie that had just bought the bag of dope off of him. It consisted of slapping their hands together, and some weird grabbing gesture. Reggie must be a little bit out of style, since he had never seen something like that before. "Dude, how old are you? Shit, man. You must be an old-timer."
  
  Morrison chuckled and patted on the sleeping bag on the ground. "Take a seat, tell me what you want, my dude, and I will accommodate."
  
  "Well..." Reggie said nervously. He had never officially bought drugs off of the street, the only drugs he had ever dabbled in was some weed, and he had been tricked into doing acid one time. "...What do you have?"
  
  "Well, my main shit that I sell is Skag, but I also got some Crank and some Snow, too. So, my dude, take a pick."
  
  "What the hell is Skag? Sounds like a weird possessed rat or something," Reggie said jokingly.
  
  "Heroin. Skag is heroin. Shit, dude, I can't deal with old-timer shit that you got going for you. Now are you going to get some or what? At least I know you're not a cop, and if you are you're a bad one," Morrison said, chuckling.
  
  "I'm not a cop," Reggie said seriously.
  
  "Well I sure hope not. I'm really not trying to go back to that shit, it fucking sucks," Morrison shook his head. "Back to business, Skag, Crank, or Snow?"
  
  The junkie next to Reggie already had a needle out, taking a lighter out and putting the flame under a spoon with the heroin on it. It started bubbling, and then the junkie took the needle and sucked up the drug up in it. She fashioned a makeshift tourniquet around her arm, and shot up the substance into her arm. She immediately leaned back, dozing off into the space.
  
  "That's some good shit, my dude," Morrison laughed. "By the way you looking at her, I suspect you want some Skag, then, am I right?"
  
  Reggie sighed and nodded his head. "Yeah, give me twenty bucks worth."
  
  "Alright, my dude! That's what I'm talking about!" Morrison slapped him on his shoulder and started readying the bag.
  
  "Hey, Morrison," Reggie asked, "did you know a guy named... Arma?"
  
  "Arma? Oh yeah, man, that's my dude! He was around for about a year before he said he found a... job and a place to live and shit. I was happy for him, he even said he was clean and shit. But then he came and bought a fucking huge bag off of me about a week ago. Why, how do you know him?" Morrison said, putting the heroin on a scale. "Did he OD or some shit?"
  
  "No, he just got himself locked up," Reggie sighed. "Do you know anybody around here that would... say, do some dirty work for him?"
  
  Morrison bagged up the heroin, but didn't tie it shut. "Look, dude, I can't go around spouting nonsense like that. That's some deep shit that I'm not sure you want to deal with right now. Plus, you asking like a cop. I'm gonna need you to shoot this shit up now, just to prove otherwise."
  
  "What?" Reggie said, shocked.
  
  "Yeah, my dude. Cops don't do drugs when they undercover. It's totally, like, against their moral code. You got some moral code you not tryna break, my dude?"
  
  Reggie was pretty sure undercover cops, if they were forced to choose with blowing their cover, or shooting up some dope, that they shot up the dope. But he wasn't about to explain that to Morrison.
  
  "Yeah, dude, but I'm not an avid user. I haven't done heroin, in a long, long time." Even that was a lie. Reggie had never in life touched heroin.
  
  "Well, shit, my dude, I'll prepare it for you. And a hit for myself. I'll tell you everything you want to know after we, you know, come down and shit."
  
  Reggie's heart pumped in anticipation. He wasn't going to let it off that he wasn't actually a druggie, but he needed information badly. Everyone seemed scared to give anything away about Arma's associates.
  
  Soon, Morrison had the drug in the needle and ready to go. He even prepared a tourniquet for him, which Reggie guessed was a nice thing to do.
  
  "Just lean back, my dude, and enjoy the ride..." He plunged the needle into Reggie's arm and pushed down on the syringe.
  
  It hit Reggie like a pillow full of clouds. It knocked Reggie back, making him ease slowly down on the hard ground, which suddenly felt like he was laying on an unprecedented amount of soft puppies. Reggie couldn't repress a smile as he looked at the junkie chick that was passed out next to him. For some reason, she was great. Like, she wasn't exactly attractive, and he didn't know her, but he wanted her to feel as good as he did right now. He tried to lean up, but it felt like somebody was trying to pull him back, down back onto the ground. He achieved maximum height that he could lean up, but it was only like four or five inches.
  
  He looked to Morrison, who was leaning against a pole in the tent. He was smiling wide, and Reggie smiled back, and gave a thumbs up.
  
  A thought crossed his mind. Mia. He remembered her laying face-down in a pool of blood, her dead. She was dead. Mia was dead.
  
  Reggie began crying hysterically, and banging on the floor in rage.
  
  "Whoa, duuude. You're totally killing my high, man... chill out," Morrison said, slowly shaking his head. "Chill."
  
  But Reggie couldn't he was overwhelmed with grief and pain and misery, and he couldn't stop. He just couldn't do it.
  
  "Hey. Hey. Hey." Morrison said. "Hey!"
  
  Reggie suddenly felt like a rabid animal, and launched himself at Morrison, grabbing his collar. "Arma. His friends! Where are they! I need to know! I need to know-!"
  
  Reggie felt pain in the back of his head and he fell over, dazed from the drugs and the hit. He looked up, and everything was blurry. A man was standing there, holding a lead pipe.
  
  "What the hell was that guy tripping on?" The man with the pipe asked.
  
  "Uh... that dude... he... uh... he's good... it was just some Skag, dude. Just some Skag... Chill out, Corbin... Chill."
  
  The man looked down in disgust at Reggie. "Learn to control your drugs, you fucking idiot."
  
  And at that moment, Reggie passed out.
  
  > run for your life
  Reggie awoke to sirens. Police sirens. He immediately shot up in the tent, and the first thing he noticed was the sunlight peeking through the flap. He poked his head out to see homeless people dashing every which direction. He stood up, yawned, and rubbed his head. Damn, he really shouldn't have done that heroin, but he needed the trust of the community to get any information out of them. He looked down at the sleeping form of Morrison, and shook him awake.
  
  "What? What, newbie? What?" Morrison said, swiping Reggie's hand away.
  
  "Cops!" Reggie said, suddenly alarmed as he spotted the police moving amongst the tents and burned out fires.
  
  "Fuck!" Morrison yelped, jumping up and moving all of his drug bags into a bag. "We gotta get the hell out of here!"
  
  He dashed out of the tent in such a hurry that Reggie became unbalanced. He looked back at the cops and he saw one of them pointing at him. "Hey, that's the guy that murdered his wife! Get him!"
  
  Reggie cursed and dashed away, after Morrison. He attempted to take off and fly, but as he took off, his body suddenly declined the request and he crumpled to the ground.
  
  "Oh, shit, man, you're an Empowered?" Morrison said ahead of him, still dashing away.
  
  Reggie got up and began running as fast as he could. Behind him, he heard the police commanding him to stop moving.
  
  No way, buddy. Not when he was this close to getting information about his wife's killers. "Follow me, dude! I've got a hiding spot that we can use!"
  
  Morrison dashed down the street and took a left. Reggie followed suit, taking a left. Morrison was already down the street, and hard to distinguish from the rest of the homeless people dressed in similar rags. But he noticed his bobbing afro and ran towards it. Behind him, the police had just now turned the corner, and they had their guns out waving in the air and shouting.
  
  Morrison took a left into another alley, but he was so far away he doubted he could make it there and not be seen by the cops going into this hiding spot. Reggie glanced back to see the cops hung up by a group of homeless people, holding them back. Reggie wasn't sure why they were helping, but he silently thanked them and kept on running. His lungs hurt, he was a smoker after all, but he pushed on, fueled by adrenaline.
  
  He turned the corner to spot Morrison, surrounded by cops, slamming him on the ground, and putting him in handcuffs. Reggie didn't know what to do- he was following Morrison to get away from the cops.
  
  Suddenly, Reggie was yanked sideways and thrown into a building.
  
  > Savior
  Reggie was thrown on the ground, shushed by a person. The man then peeked through a peephole in the door.
  
  Reggie surveyed his surroundings. He was in a trashed out building, with cigarette butts and trash littering the floor. It was dark, but there was still enough light to recognize his savior: it was Corbin, the man that had hit him over the head from the night before.
  
  "Why-?" Reggie started, but Corbin turned around with a finger to his lips in a shushing motion.
  
  "Cops ain't gone yet," he said, then proceeded to look through the peephole.
  
  After about thirty minutes, Corbin said, "the coast is clear. We should still lay low for a little while, wait for the heat to go down."
  
  "What happened back there?" Reggie asked, confused.
  
  "A snitch, or something. I don't know, it seems like the cops knew there were drug activity going down. Did you see Morrison?"
  
  "Yeah, he was getting arrested," Reggie said, shaking his head. He kind of liked Morrison, but then again, he was selling hard drugs, and that was a very bad thing to do. Reggie wondered why his powers weren't working earlier. The only thing that could explain it was that heroin subdued his powers.
  
  "We should just lay low all day. It should be fine; we're not exactly wanted criminals, you know? Probably got Morrison and that was that," Corbin said. "Then again, I don't really know why the 12 pulled up on us like that."
  
  "12?"
  
  "The cops. You seriously don't know what the means? Shit, man, how old are you?"
  
  Reggie just shrugged off the question and sat down on the cold, hard concrete floor. Corbin did the same. "So, since we're going to be stuck in here for a while, how about I tell you my life story."
  
  Reggie was just going to roll his eyes, but as Corbin started, he decided he had nothing better to do.
  
  Corbin leaned forward and cleared his throat. "A-hem. Well, simply put, I was born into a poor family. Like, dirt poor. My mom was an addict, my dad was an addict-"
  
  "Seems like everybody around here are addicts," Reggie remarked.
  
  "Well, anyways, I went to public school, like you know, everybody does. I hated my school, hell, I hated my life. I was a giant asshole. I- I bullied this kid..." Corbin put his head in his hands. Reggie thought he heard a sob. "I didn't mean to be so harsh on the kid, man. I-" He breathed out and sighed. "He killed himself. I mean, I wasn't like, the only person bullying him, I wasn't even that much of a bully. Like, other kids were beating him up and shit, and me, I just called him names."
  
  Reggie just sat there and looked at the man. He didn't know how he felt about his story.
  
  "After that, I didn't say a bad word, not to anybody. I became a pretty nice guy, you know? I gave what I could away, I was nice to everyone. I changed after that," Corbin sighed. "I promised- I promised myself, that I wouldn't hurt a soul again," Corbin wiped a tear from his eye, and then composed himself. "Well, since I got that out, what do you want to do?"
  
  "Nothing, I guess. I'm looking for somebody that was connected to a guy named Arma. You know anybody like that?" Reggie asked.
  
  Corbin's face went from shock to fear. Reggie's eyes squinted. "Something wrong?"
  
  "Yeah, I know somebody like that," Corbin said, shaking his head. "Uh... a guy named Zeke. Why?"
  
  Reggie automatically had some kind of suspicion from this guy. But, he did give him a name. Reggie could try and act like he was good friends with Arma and he wanted to speak with the man, or he could tell him straight up that his wife was murdered.
  
  > say you want to meet Zeke because Reggie was a good friend of Arma's
  "I'd like to meet him," Reggie said. "I was a good friend of Arma's and he wants me to tell Zeke something."
  
  "Oh, okay," Corbin seemed to relax. Reggie's suspicions were aroused more than ever. Reggie figured Corbin knew about the murder, but Zeke had done it.
  
  "Well," Corbin started. "We could meet him at the docks. That's where Zeke usually hangs out."
  
  Reggie cursed. He knew that the man was lying to him under that bridge, somebody there had been involved in his wife's murder. Then again, he sent him here. Maybe Corbin had been involved too.
  
  "We'll wait until the heat goes down, and then we'll go, okay?" Corbin said, smiling. "Well, what did Arma say?"
  
  "That's between me, Arma, and Zeke. Sorry, dude," Reggie said, trying to act normal. Inside, rage was burning, but he had to hold it in. He didn't want to blow his cover and lose the trust he had with Corbin, at least not right now.
  
  After a couple of hours of waiting, it was around noon, and Corbin and Reggie decided that it would be okay to leave. He knew it was going to be a painful walk, since the bridge was across town and he couldn't fly anymore, but nonetheless he had to. He had to find his wife's murderer.
  
  They began walking across town, the heat from the sun beating down on them. Along the way, Corbin was asking everybody for some change, and sometimes they looked sorry for him and gave him a quarter or a dime. Reggie tried to maintain his pride and avoid Corbin when he asked, but half the time people tried to give him money too, and he just rejected the money.
  
  "What the hell is wrong with you?" Corbin asked after he told a lady he didn't want her dollar. "You homeless, bruh. You need the money."
  
  "Not like that," Reggie said, shaking his head. "I don't need money that bad."
  
  "If you homeless, you'll learn," Corbin said, counting out his money as he walked beside Reggie. "Six dollars. Nice."
  
  They walked for hours, through the streets of Sterling City. Reggie was tired of walking; he wished he could just fucking fly to the bridge and catch the murderer right at that moment.
  
  Reggie couldn't stop thinking about Mia. How she died, scared for her life. Two bullet wounds to her chest. Her bleeding out, scared, alone, in horrible pain.
  
  And it was all his fault.
  
  Reggie wiped a tear from his eye as he thought about the gruesome scene he witnessed. He needed to find the people that did this, and end them. Send them to jail for life.
  
  During this train of thought, Reggie heard a familiar voice call his name from across the street. "Reggie?"
  
  Reggie turned his head to see Brocky standing there, groceries hung around his arms. Loads and loads and loads of groceries, more than anybody under normal circumstances could really hold.
  
  Reggie cursed under his breath as Corbin asked, "Who is that dude?"
  
  Reggie sighed and shook his head. "Nobody," he sighed again as Brocky came closer. "Just an old friend. Stay here."
  
  Reggie met Brocky a couple of feet away from Corbin. "Look, dude, some serious shit has happened, and I just need you to leave me alone."
  
  "What? Why haven't you been to work? We need you, dude. Especially now that our funding is being cut-"
  
  "Look, dude, I just need you to shut up, and walk away," Reggie said. "I'll call you once everything is settled down."
  
  Brocky looked at him strangely. "Dude. What's going on?"
  
  "Well, hi there!" Corbin said, approaching Brocky. "Do you happen to have any spare change, or you know, dollars, for me and my homeless friend here?"
  
  "Homeless?" Brocky asked, looking at Reggie confused. "Reggie...?"
  
  Reggie looked over to Corbin. Corbin was looking around frantically. "No change? Well, all right man... I'll uh..."
  
  Corbin took off in a sprint away from Reggie and Brocky. "Fuck," Reggie muttered under his breathe, then took off after him.
  
  "Reggie?!" Brocky yelled behind him. "What the fuck?!"
  
  "I gotta get this guy!" Reggie yelled back. He spotted Corbin dashing into a nearby crowd of people waiting in line in front of a high-end restaurant. Once Reggie broke through the crowd, he found himself in a narrow alleyway. Corbin was gone.
  
  "Fuck!" Reggie yelled, and tried to lift himself into the air to get an aerial view of the situation. He rose about two feet, and gravity took hold once again. He tried again, his body straining against him, but he finally rose, inches to feet, to finally, above the building. He looked down and around, trying to spot Corbin amongst the city streets.
  
  He spotted Corbin entering a building a block away and slamming the door behind him.
  
  Reggie tried to fly straight there, but his powers were still acting up from the heroin, and he slowly decreased his altitude. About ten feet from the ground, he plummeted, and crumpled.
  
  "Reggie, you good?" Brocky said, approaching Reggie from behind. His grocery bags had disappeared. "You weren't flying so good, man. What the hell is going on?"
  
  "That man-" Reggie started, and began choking up from emotion. "That man was one of the men to kill Mia."
  
  "Mia's dead?" Brocky asked. "Shit, man. I'm sorry."
  
  "I've got to stop him and his friend. I've got to get them locked up. Arma sent them, man, Arma sent them to kill my wife for sending him to jail."
  
  Brocky helped Reggie to his feet. "I'll help you find them, dude. Deus thinks you went rogue or something, and the state is teetering on the edge of just cutting the whole company. Shit's bad, man. Shit's really bad. Come on, let's go get that fucker. But... why can't you fly?"
  
  "Heroin, I think."
  
  "Heroin?!"
  
  "Look, can we just get moving?" Reggie said, sighing and wiping a tear from his eye.
  
  "Yeah, let's go get that bitch."
  
  > Catching Corbin
  Reggie and Brocky walked down the street and approached the building that Reggie saw Corbin enter. It was a small warehouse, boarded up with a visible 'No Trespassing' sign right out front. Reggie looked around; the street was a mostly empty one, with little foot traffic.
  
  "You certain this is the place?" Brocky asked. "And you're for sure that this guy was involved?"
  
  "Positive on both fronts," Reggie confirmed. "Now, let's get this son of a bitch."
  
  Brocky walked to the front door and pressed his hand flat against it. He thrust forward and the door came off of it's hinges and the door flew inward. He took a step inside, Reggie close on his heels.
  
  "Freeze." A cold, chilling voice said as a barrel of a M-16 was pointed directly in Reggie's face.
  
  In a matter of seconds, Reggie and Brocky were surrounded by men dressed all in black. They wore masks and carried swords at their waists. "State your business." The voice behind the M-16 said.
  
  "My wife was murdered. A man came in here that was directly connected to the murder. I only want him and his friend that were involved," Reggie said, gritting his teeth in anticipation. He didn't like a gun in his face, and neither him nor Brocky were bulletproof.
  
  "You mean Corbin?" The man asked. He seemed to think for a second. "Yes, he infiltrated your home, looking for you. And yet only your wife was home. So he slayed her in your steed."
  
  "I want him behind bars. I can't let that slide," Reggie said firmly. "Let me handle him."
  
  "That idiot," the man said, lowering the rifle. "No, he shall not go to prison. I understand your motive, and I do not blame you for it. And for that, I respect you. But he cannot go to prison. Our entire enterprise depends on it."
  
  "Enterprise?" Brocky asked.
  
  "Silence!" The man said, turning away. He pointed a finger back to Reggie. "Keep him under gunpoint."
  
  Another couple of rifles were pointing at Reggie now.
  
  The man disappeared down the corridor, and returned after a few moments with Corbin in tow. He had him by the back of the neck. Corbin was struggling, and screaming. He threw him down on the floor.
  
  "Please, man! What the hell!? Don't we protect our own?!" Corbin yelled, putting his hands together while he sat on his knees, begging the man. "Come on, man! Kill him, not me! I was just doing this for the enterprise! And- and Zeke! Zeke did it anyways, not me!"
  
  "And that is why you shall never go to prison," The masked man muttered, shaking his head. He pulled a sidearm from his belt and cocked it. "Make peace with your god, Corbin."
  
  "No! Please-!"
  
  The man swiftly placed the gun to Corbin's temple and pulled the trigger. He crumbled to the side with a fresh gunshot wound to his forehead.
  
  Reggie grimaced. He didn't want anybody else to die, but here was another dead body. Corbin's corpse was dragged away by a couple of other men.
  
  "Do not fear," the masked man said, as he stepped over the dead body being drug away. "We will also deal with Zeke Myers. But as of right now, you have witnessed something that should bring you closure. Now," the man said as he raised his gun to your forehead. "Make peace with your-"
  
  At that moment Brocky sprung into action, grabbing the mans arm with two hand and snapping it clean off. The man yelled in anger and pain, and the rest of the men opened fire.
  
  Reggie dove out of the way of the hail of gunfire. He crouched and dashed away, bullets and screams behind him. On the floor was the handgun that the man had dropped, and he scooped it up and turned around.
  
  When he saw the scene he was amazed. All of the men lay on the ground, twitching, groaning, moaning, and whimpering in pain. All of them had multiple broken bones and missing limbs. Brocky was covered in blood, but he visibly had multiple gunshot wound himself.
  
  "Brocky, we got to get out of here, now!" Reggie begged, running over there to hold him. "We gotta go..."
  
  Brocky fell to the ground and was leaning on a wall. He coughed up blood into his hands and smiled. "How am I going to get out of here? We don't have a car, we don't have shit. I saved you, Reggie. Now go avenge Mia."
  
  "No fucking way!" Reggie said, tears flowing from his eyes. He didn't want anything like this to happen. This was gruesome, and sad. He just wanted to send Corbin and Zeke away, for good. Now his best friend was dying in his arms.
  
  Reggie hefted him up into his arms, as heavy as he was, Reggie was able to do it thanks to adrenaline. He ran to the door, and attempted to fly off, but combined with the heroin subduing his powers and the weight of Brocky in his arms, he couldn't do it.
  
  "Just... leave me..." Brocky said.
  
  "Heroic, but no fucking way-"
  
  "Don't fucking move!" Somebody commanded.
  
  Reggie looked up to see that he was now surrounded by cops. He, in other words, was fucked.
  
  > Guilt
  Reggie was in a state of shock as they put the handcuffs on him and placed some Gravitator boots on him to keep him grounded. He was still in shock as he was hefted to jail, and as they took Brocky away and disappeared.
  
  Reggie came to his sense when he was hauled into an interrogation room, where he waited for hours, until finally a man entered the room. He looked uppity and full of himself, but Reggie didn't care. He was just depressed about how his whole life had gone awry in the span of two days.
  
  "Okay, Mr. Reggie Rogers..." The detective said, taking a seat across from Reggie. "If you give a confession, then we won't pursue the death penalty."
  
  "I didn't do it," Reggie said. "I didn't kill my wife. A man name Zeke Myers did, and the other one was murdered by those men at the scene that you guys just got me from. I didn't kill my wife. I've been trying to find the killers since it happened."
  
  The detective sighed and made a motion to the window, like cutting something. Then he turned back to Reggie. "You're going down for this."
  
  "But I didn't do it," Reggie repeated. "Do your fucking job and find the actual killer. His name is Zeke Myers, he was hired by-"
  
  The detective slammed his fist on the table. "I don't give a fuck who actually killed your wife! All of our lives are at stake if you don't confess to the murder, on camera. We won't pursue the life penalty, and you'll probably only go to jail for a couple decades, maximum. Plead manslaughter."
  
  "Fuck you. What, is that criminal organization holding this above your head? Why don't you just get the killers, and sentence him to death instead of framing an innocent man."
  
  "It's not that simple," the man said, standing up and pacing back and forth. "You've got to be the one to go down. The Kingdom can't look weak. And they're threatening my life, my families lives, my entire departments families' lives if you don't go down for this murder."
  
  "You're ridiculous," Reggie said, taken aback. "What the fuck is wrong with todays system?"
  
  "A lot more than you even know about. If you don't confess, we'll get the death penalty, and we'll take you out by firing squad. Or hanging."
  
  "This isn't legit," Reggie said. "You aren't legit. This is a setup."
  
  "We'll kill your friend," the detective said. "Now, confess."
  
  Reggie was frustrated beyond comprehension. He couldn't see a clear way out of this. He was stuck, between a death penalty and his friends getting murdered or a confession to a murder and spending 25 to life in prison.
  
  "Well?" The detective asked.
  
  > confess to the murder of Mia
  Reggie thought about it long and hard. He knows he didn't do it, but he also didn't want Brocky's life on the line, and, if the detective is to be believed, he sure as hell didn't want to risk all of their families' lives either.
  
  "Fine. I did it," Reggie said.
  
  The detective's face sparked with joy. He motioned towards the glass a thumbs up. "Please repeat that once again."
  
  "I killed my wife, Mia Rogers," Reggie said, putting his head in his hands.
  
  "Reggie Rogers, I place you under arrest for first degree murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning," the detective said as he roughly raised Reggie from his seat and placed the handcuffs on him. He leaned in and whispered in his ear, "You did the right thing..."
  
  Reggie was hauled off to jail. He sat in his jail cell for days without any sense of time. He had done it now. He had confessed to his wife being murdered. It was all over for him; he would be going to jail for a long, long time.
  
  After a week or so after sitting in jail, they informed him that he had a visitor. When he was escorted to the room, he found that Deus, his old boss, sat across the glass.
  
  "Reggie, I can't believe this," Deus said, tearing up on the other side of the glass, holding the phone to his ear. "Since you killed your wife, Brocky died two weeks ago in the hospital from gunshot wounds. And the state- the state cut off the team completely, expelling it and dishonorably discharging us from any records. It's horrible... you ruined not only you and your wife's lives, but all of ours too..."
  
  "Deus-"
  
  "Shut up," Deus said, slamming the phone down and walking out of the room.
  
  Reggie was hefted back to his jail cell and sat on the newfound information, guilt plying it's way in his bloodstream. He caused this; he did the right thing, sending Arma to jail. Now it had ended up with Mia and Brocky dead also, him awaiting trial for murder, and the team completely smudged off of the face of the planet. It was a horrible time in Reggie's days.
  
  The trial came soon thereafter. His lawyer was court-appointed, and it was brutally quick. The trial lasted two days, and the jury took five minutes to come to a decision. Guilty of first degree murder, and sentenced to Death Row.
  
  Reggie couldn't believe it. The cops said this wouldn't happen.
  
  The judge demanded they hurry the execution up, and within two weeks they had Reggie strapped in a chair. He ate his final meal, a simple cheeseburger, two hours before. His final words were 'I didn't do it'.
  
  Then they injected the deadly serum into his arm and he died two and a half minutes later.