Chapter 207 Change.

Chapter 207: 207 Change.

A lot had changed over the last few days.

I was famous now. Technically, I had always been famous in the underground and villain space, but this was an entirely different animal.

Khonsu didn’t rat me out, but the federal government needed a name to pin the destruction of their precinct on—self-defense or otherwise.

And that name had to be mine. They tried to keep the details on the down-low to save face, but like everything in this business, the cover-up was barely effective.

Now, any crazed fan or psychotic street-level vigilante could deep-dive the Iron Polaris and find my high school yearbook picture.

I tried to shrug it off. If they knew who I was, they knew what I was capable of. That alone should have been enough to keep the smart ones away.

However, the idiots were exceptionally persistent.

The day had been going perfectly fine until someone decided to try and shoot me in the back of the head.

To be fair, I’d been expecting it since I sat down for lunch. Years working in the mob meant I had long ago familiarized myself with the distinct shape and heavy hang of a concealed firearm.

I leaned back in my patio chair, casually stealing a glance at the bustling sidewalk.

Yeah, there he was. Sitting on a bench outside the coffee shop across the street. Long coat despite the warm weather. Slicked-back hair. Wearing a blue medical face mask to hide his jawline.

"Ey, my man? Something the matter?"

I shook my head and looked back across the table at Steve.

Psyren’s brother was currently slouched in the patio chair opposite me, entirely unbothered by the world. He wore huge tinted sunglasses, a frayed straw sunhat, and a painfully loud orange and green Hawaiian shirt.

"Just someone hunting for my head," I said, taking a bite of my fries.

"Aw, man. So uncool," Steve drawled, not even turning his head to look. "What’s he gotta have against you, man?"

I shrugged. "Honestly, I’m more surprised he came looking for me out of costume."

"Naw, man. It’s all good. You’re famous now, right? Like, you took down the BSA, man. You’re a big shot. Like... pshooooo!"

I watched Steve’s wiggling fingers pantomime a mushroom cloud over his half-eaten club sandwich.

Unfortunately, he was right. I’d worked very hard for a very long time to keep my actual face off the news cycle.

Rule number one of freelance villainy was to wear a mask for a reason. But I didn’t exactly have a secret identity anymore.

Those quiet, profitable days were permanently behind me.

I sighed. I didn’t regret what I did to Micheal. I’d been forced into it. But the consequences had officially found me at a local burger joint.

The guy across the street was definitely here for me. I didn’t need magnetic senses to catch the intense, deadly glares he kept shooting my way. Ugh. This was going to give me indigestion.

I stood up, stretching my arms over my head.

"Headin’ out, man?" Steve asked.

"Nah. Just going to take care of this. Be right back."

"Ey, cool, man. Cool," Steve said, lifting his sandwich in a lazy salute.

I stepped off the patio and joined the flow of the sidewalk, heading leisurely down the block. I didn’t look back, but I didn’t need to. I could literally feel the dense, shifting mass of the streeter’s hidden weapons following me at a steady distance.

Well, no doubts left about what he wanted. Let’s see... ah, the alley ahead would do. I turned down it, walking slowly into the shadows.

It was a grungy corridor, that was for damn sure. Despite being the gleaming mecca of supers and bleeding-edge scientists,

Metropolis was still a massive city, complete with all the grime that came with it. Spray paint tagged the brickwork. The heavy reek of trash hung in the damp air, and barely any sunlight peeked through the high-rises on either side.

Plenty of metal to work with, though.

A heavy industrial dumpster. Some discarded electronics in the trash. A cast-iron manhole cover. I let my powers bleed out, my senses vibrating as I tuned my awareness to the metallic landscape of the alley.

And, more importantly, to the streeter’s guns. I had a very good handle on his specific arsenal by now. I felt him hesitate at the entrance of the alley, peering into the gloom, before finally stepping in to follow me.

Alright, let’s get this over with so I can finish my lunch.

I stopped suddenly and turned on my heel, facing the guy. The streeter froze halfway down the alley, his hands instantly darting into the deep pockets of his long coat.

"You don’t want to do this," I said flatly.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice muffled by the medical mask.

"Come on, man," I said, crossing my arms. "Are you serious? How do you actually think this is going to work out?"

His eyes narrowed. His hands gripped the metal inside his coat. I could feel the internal springs and firing pins shift as he prepared to draw the twin handguns.

"A villain like you has to die," he proclaimed.

"Uh-huh."

"And you will fall at the hands of... Ragebait!"

He whipped the handguns out of his pockets and instantly pulled the triggers.

"Wait! What?!" I blurted, genuinely caught off guard by the name.

But he didn’t care. With twin, deafening bangs, the 9mm bullets ripped through the narrow alley.

They made it exactly three feet before they swerved hard. They hit the passive magnetic field I’d already erected around myself, hooking sharply to the left and right.

Both rounds slammed harmlessly into the brick walls on either side of me, kicking up puffs of red dust.

Ragebait blinked. He stared at his guns, narrowed his eyes, and opened fire again.

I just stood there, waiting patiently as the bullets went completely wild. They pinged off the walls, ricocheted off the dumpster, and rattled against the pavement until the magazines were entirely empty. Soon, only the hollow clicking of the firing pins echoed in the alley.

"Here, let me get that for you," I said.

I lifted my hand and made a brief, twisting gesture with my fingers.

Click-clack.

Every single bolt, screw, pin, and spring violently popped free from the two handguns.

With a loud clatter, both weapons instantly fell to pieces, scattering across the dirty concrete as useless lumps of metal and polymer.

Ragebait stared at the disassembled parts at his feet. Then he looked up at me.

"There," I said, dropping my hand. "Now beat it."

Instead, he snarled, tearing the medical mask off his face. He dropped into a wide, aggressive crouch and raised his bare fists.

"Doesn’t matter. I prefer the old-fashioned way anyway!"