I slept until about three am. By then both Mochi and Kimber had fled to their own beds and I was the only one left laying on the couch. I was still in my work clothes. A thin white shirt and some basketball shorts.

  I should take a shower. I hadn’t been out for long but I never really felt clean without one.

  I went to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself along the way. My dreads were getting a bit long, maybe I should go in for a retwist soon.

  That thought soured my face. I’d always had a woman in my life for hair retwists, whether that was my mom or Kayla but now, I’d have to look up an appointment with someone.

  I could just leave it be, but it had already been five years, and I didn’t want to see my grandma all raggedy like this. I’d gotten a bit lighter, but that was barely noticeable. I was black and while I would have gotten a nice glow from being outside during the day, I worked mostly during the night.

  Thirty minutes later I was clean and in bed. Then my phone buzzed.

  Mike: Got time to talk?

  Me: No, why?

  Mike: Big stuff. Real Big stuff.

  Me: What?

  Mike: I really don’t want to type this out.

  Me: Too bad.

  Mike: You’re getting about fifteen grand in total. And we have a Hero who wants to meet with you, a big one. He said he’ll meet you tomorrow night at midnight on top of the warehouse from last night.

  Me: No

  Mike: Not a guy you can say no to kid.

  Me: What’s that supposed to mean?

  Mike: Just find him or he’ll find you, whether you like it or not.

  Me: You’re acting like this guy’s the wolf or something.

  Then there was a minute-long pause, one that I didn’t like the implications of. I didn’t text too many people nowadays, but I still knew hesitation over text.

  Me: Mike, it’s not the Wolf, is it?

  Mike: Just be there.

  Me: Is it Airborn or Tank?

  Mike: No, just be there

  Me: So you’ll confirm it’s not Airborn or Tank but you won’t confirm whether or not it’s the Wolf?

  I didn’t get a reply.

  “What the fuck!”

  Mochi walked into the room a few minutes later, but the poor dog forgot why and just jumped into the bed and went to sleep. Kimber followed shortly after.

  And I, well I couldn’t sleep. I might be meeting the Wolf, the Hound. There was a reason why he was called that, and it wasn’t because he had chosen the name. Sure his costume resembled a dog motif but he hadn’t named himself the Wolf.

  His enemies had. He was the official hero of New York City and Chicago. He had started in New York but his sidekicks had become powerful in their own right and taken over there, then he moved to Chicago and did the same.

  He had been around for nearly two hundred years and he was still in the game. He was one of the first wishers and it was a known fact that their powers tended to be far more powerful than the newer generations.

  He wasn’t particularly strong or scary, about as scary as a tinker could be putting him around Major A class in terms of power. Well, that was pushing it. Major A’s could wipe out half a megacity and while he could technically bomb half the city away, in terms of accessible combat power he was around a Major C at best.

  But he knew. He always knew. He knew almost anything and everything and it was said that once the Wolf howls, you go to him or he’ll find you.

  He also led a lot of the Hero Union up until a couple of decades ago, when he officially stepped down and the Lioness took over. He was a myth, a legend. The guy your mom warned you about. ‘If you don’t eat your veggies I'm gonna call the Wolf.’

  You were afraid of him the same way you were afraid of the boogie man. But the difference was that the Wolf never stopped being real.

  Why the fuck would a guy like that want to talk to me?

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I thought about barraging Mike, but he might’ve already been in trouble for slipping up and letting me deduce the whole thing.

  “It might not be the Wolf. It might be some other guy,” I mumbled.

  But it probably wasn’t.

  It wasn’t.

  Seven hours later, I was sitting on the ground while a tangle of robotic limbs worked their way through my hair.

  Mochi sat on the couch and her service dog vest had opened up like fancy car doors to reveal eighteen thin spindly electronic arms. That, along with the helmet was probably the most expensive piece of machinery in this place. The helmet had been custom-made by another tinker who specialized in biology and robotics. It was a sensor, one that would normally be used for paralyzed patients to be able to move and direct their robotic arms. But it had been custom-fitted for Mochi and her dog-shaped head. The guy had been weirded out by it when I had first approached but I just claimed to be a middleman for a very rich guy who wanted to give his pet dog hands.

  A scan of Mochi’s skull and two hundred grand later, we were sent this beautiful piece of tech.

  But that was beside the point. The point was Mochi wanted to try her robotic little knuckles at a retwist. She watched about ten instructional videos and then suddenly believed herself to be an expert. I brought out my hair oils, which seemed to be the hardest part for the robotic appendages so Mochi had to wear makeshift gloves.

  In hindsight, I probably could have done this myself. No, I definitely could have done this myself, I just chose not to.

  At worst, I could cut it all off anyway. I’d long since stopped caring about my appearance.

  But surprisingly, Mochi did a good job. Then I had to spend an hour cleaning out her robotic limbs from oil and hair, but it was fine. I had nice hair and she had clean, shiny robot limbs.

  “Let me clean that helmet too Mochi,” I said, reaching for her head.

  She let out a little whine. She hated going without the helmet.

  “I’ll be quick.”

  She whined again.

  I reached over and slowly lifted the helmet off her head. I knew why she didn’t like going without it. I had gottent the thing custom-made for comfort for a reason. Losing the helmet was like losing her limbs to Mochi. Normally, with the helmet, she could feel each robotic arm, and its position and guide them to where she wanted them to go. But then, for an instant, she was limbless and that terrified her.

  And since the helmet and the arms were waterproof, she even cleaned herself with them on.

  I quickly wiped it down and gave it back to her. Then apologized for a bit as she whined and shook her head for the next few minutes.

  I ended up cooking bacon and eggs for the both of us, which got her to calm down almost right away.

  “I might be meeting the Wolf tonight.”

  “Wha--” She immediately started coughing up her food, coughed it up, then licked it up, then looked back at me.

  “WHAT? The Wolf? As in the legendary Hero? One of the first wishers? The man who set up the Hero’s Union, Wolf?”

  I nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight, at midnight.”

  “But- but- why?”

  I shrugged and both of us waded in the thought for a moment.

  “Maybe he wants to arrest you.”

  “If the Wolf wanted to arrest me, then I’d be arrested.”

  “Then what do you think he wants,” Mochi asked.

  “Something about the fight. I sent all my drone footage but he might want my suit footage as well.”

  “Do you want me to get the file ready on a flash drive for him?” Mochi asked.

  “Yeah. Also, I think I’ll take off west around eight and then fly in at midnight. I have stealth tech but it definitely isn’t enough to fool him. It’s no invisibility.”

  It’s true. My suit had some camo abilities but that was general color change, nothing detailed. I also had my drones doing regular recon and locating all the security cameras around here. Most people didn’t have them to open. Villains, vigilantes, and even heroes were known to smash in unnecessary cameras.

  That was the thing with power suits, you had what you could afford. My suit was a bit bulky but all I did was fly around and shoot target missiles. And even then, I had to buy missile parts, fuel, solar panels, and batteries. Otherwise, all anyone needed to do to figure out my secret identity would be to look at my electric bill.

  I was trying to upgrade to a plasma core, meaning I could replace my fan-based engines and have plasma thrust instead, which would be quieter and faster. And if I get the right type, I could ditch missiles and go with plasma shooters.

  There were a lot of tinkers on the hero and villain side of the business, but vigilantes didn’t make enough money to be tinkers. Tinkers needed things and things cost money. One power armored tinker said he spent about one hundred thousand per month on just equipment alone.

  He was a Major C hero. But I had no such delusions. If I could make more than a hundred grand per month, I’d work for a year and retire. There were other jobs that could keep a man like me afloat.

  I thought about quitting sometimes, maybe signing up as a registered tinker and getting a job at a major corporation. Walking around in a white lab coat, designing some state-of-the-art tech maybe.

  But that all sounded like a bad time. A lot of work and reading and other stuff I didn’t like. Why build something if I can’t use it?

  Then the day got started.

  I tried to distract myself. I did maintenance on my suite, reloaded, and rechecked my ammo. I even browsed the black market for a time. I normally bought stuff through Cobra but there was a local in-person market right by my neighborhood that I could visit. I’d avoided going there for a while now. I’d seen Caleb in costume, buying something from a local tinker.

  Caleb and Kayla, professionally known as QuickNick and PunchStar. One was a speedster and the other had generic super strength and durability. They still had their secret identities for the most part. The media never actually reported on unmasked villains, but their close family and friends had learned about their secrets, and back then, that included me.

  But their story as secret lovers in both their planes-cloth and hero identity did sell well. They must have made hundreds of thousands at least.

  I was mostly over it, but seeing them in person was a different thing.

  Next Thursday was going to be annoying.