From above, the urban sprawl of New England City looked almost beautiful. Like a sea of stars blanketing the East Coast, vast and unblinking.

But from below, where Aleph patrolled the streets on his motorcycle, he knew the city more intimately: a nest of concrete and power lines, of traffic lights and sidewalk cracks, of broken windows and litter. A place where battles between rogue supers left craters in the asphalt and utility poles pierced through shattered windows like javelins. Where two warring villains could annihilate entire city blocks, if heroes from the the Metahuman Public Safety League weren’t there to keep order.

Heroes like himself, for example.

“Just got an alert,” a voice crackled through the speaker in Aleph’s helmet. It was Loquor, the communications coordinator for their local division of the League. “There’s a rogue mind-type that resisted intake. Tranced the screening officers, then apparently fled to the wharf. Just sent you the case report. Think you can handle it?”

Aleph opened the file on his helmet visor’s holographic display. It listed some bare-bones facts about the perp, all basic info pulled from the police report and public record.

Name: Isaac Cooper Jones

Age: 18

Abilities: Unclassified mind-type power

Status: At large

Incidents: (April 6th, 2055) Resisted detainment following the identification of a mind-type aptitude during a routine screening at Bloomfield public high school. Neutralized the attending officers alongside a gymnasium of civilians (approximately 50 individuals) before fleeing.

There was also a photo, likely sourced from a student ID, that showed a thin-faced boy with a shaggy bowl-cut nearly covering his sunken eyes.

“On it,” Aleph said, minimizing the report and taking a sharp turn towards the wharf. “Send out a ping for backup, though. Just in case.” Loquor replied in the affirmative before closing communications.

Fledgling mind-types were unlikely to have enough control over their powers to influence another metahuman, but it was good practice to confront them in teams. And Aleph liked doing things by the book.

The night wind whipped around Aleph as he cut through the empty streets, his motorcycle whisper-quiet as he did so. The moon and stars were covered by a thick layer of smog, and he’d turned off his headlights for added stealth, which meant the flickering streetlights were all he had to navigate by. A wall of skyscrapers loomed over and around him like a clamshell, and when he looked out over the bay, the endless sprawl of New England city blanketed the land in lights.

This wasn’t where he was born, but he’d been here long enough for it to feel like home, and he was determined to always do his utmost to protect this city and its inhabitants.

One might think that desire to protect would be a prerequisite for becoming a superhero. But Aleph knew far too many so-called “heroes” who were more interested in fame and fortune than actual public safety. Supers like that, who valued celebrity over duty, disgusted him.

The wharf was abandoned when he arrived. Everything was silent and still, save for the sound of black water lapping against the concrete quay. Aleph rolled to a stop and dismounted. He pulled off his helmet and shook out his curly brown hair, revealing a fair-skinned, strongly featured face.

He knew he was handsome, but was largely apathetic about that fact–if anything, his trademark costume (a mirrored motorcycle helmet, bulky black leather jacket, and dark jeans) seemed almost intentionally designed to draw attention away from his figure. Like he was crying out: pay attention to what I do, not what I look like!

His good looks weren’t an accident, of course–Aleph was created in a lab to be the perfect secret agent, part of an elite force of genetically-engineered super spies designed for espionage, assassination, and hand-to-hand combat. His sculpted physique was the result of a heightened metabolism and enhanced adrenal glands, tempered by the years of brutal training he’d endured at the hands of the agents who oversaw the black site where he was born and raised. And even though he’d left that part of his life long behind, his day job and hero work both demanded he stay in shape.

And as for his pretty face, well… seduction was just another tool in the secret agent toolkit. Not one he particularly liked utilizing, granted–but Aleph was never one to reject an advantage.

Aleph closed his eyes and allowed his senses to expand. Instantly, he heard light footsteps and heavy breathing from approximately 500 feet away. He followed the sound to an abandoned warehouse.

He must be trying to avoid aerial surveillance, Aleph thought. Good.

Under a roof, the escapee would be safe from the searching gaze of flying heroes. But Aleph hunted on the ground.

Aleph skulked through the dark ruins of the building, his form melting seamlessly into the shadows. He approached the source of the breathing sound and sidled up against a wall, maintaining cover while peeking around the corner.

Bingo. The runaway– Isaac– was leaning against a stack of shipping crates, trying to catch his breath. He wore a uniform shirt so oversized the sleeves were long enough to cover his knuckles, and his black slacks had a muddy hole torn in one knee. He had dark bags under his eyes. All in all, he looked like a bit of a loner–the type to get picked last for dodgeball and sit alone at lunch. Maybe bullied, maybe ignored, or maybe just shy and awkward–but definitely lonely.

He also looked young. If he’d fled during his power screening like the report said, he had to have literally just turned 18. That elicited a pang of guilt in Aleph, but he quickly shook it off. The boy had resisted intake upon discovery of his powers. That meant he was a criminal.

And a criminal with powers is a Villain.

Assessing Isaac’s position and physique, Aleph knew this would be easy. With his enhanced strength and speed, he could knock Isaac unconscious before the boy even knew what hit him. Aleph took a quiet step forward–

“Aly! There you are!” A loud, obnoxious voice reverberated through the empty warehouse, startling both Aleph and the fugitive. Simultaneously, they looked up to see a glowing figure descending from the ceiling, riding on a filament of molten gold.

Fuck. Of all the heroes who could have answered his call for backup, why did it have to be him?

“Needed some help from lil’ old me, did you?” the hero called Exuvia 79 said, the boots of his gold power armor clanking as they touched the concrete floor. He tossed his hair, and the ostentatious bits of jewelry woven in his dark locs jingled loudly as he did so. “Baby mind controller too tough for you to handle alone?” He grinned, and his teeth were inhumanly sharp. Like a shark’s.

Aleph attention shot back to where the fugitive had been and cursed. Alerted by 79’s grand entrance, he’d disappeared into the maze of abandoned shipping crates and rubble that stretched out across the cavernous expanse of the warehouse.

Following Aleph’s gaze, 79 seemed to finally notice his error. “Whoops. You let him go,” the other hero said, taking the time to inspect his cuticles in an outrageous display of feigned innocence. “Guess you really do need help.”

Aleph gritted his teeth. Of course things go wrong as soon as this shitheel shows up.

Choosing to ignore the other hero entirely, Aleph scanned the area for the sound of a heartbeat. When he heard it, he bolted in that direction.

It was times like this he wished his super speed worked the way other speedsters’ did. If he could zip around endlessly like Doppler or Peregrine, he’d be able to catch up to the boy in seconds. But his speed worked more like bullet time. He could only maintain it for a second or two, which meant it was typically only useful in close range encounters. Like the fight scenes in The Matrix, was how he usually explained it.

But just because he couldn’t run at top speeds for long periods didn’t mean he wasn’t fit. His heightened stamina meant his body could continue this chase without faltering for days, if need be.

His mind, however, was already tiring.

“Hey, seriously, I’m sorry!” 79 whined. The gilded hero was using his long golden tendrils to walk like a spider, easily keeping pace with Aleph as he navigated the warehouse labyrinth. “I didn’t see the perp there, I swear. Knight’s honor.” Aleph continued to ignore him, focusing only on the sounds of the two heartbeats pounding in his ears–the villain’s, and his own. Naturally, as a cyborg, 79 didn’t have a heartbeat.

Heroes who only cared about glitz and glamour–that was 79 in a nutshell.

79 was loud, brash, self-aggrandizing, and publicly flamboyant. He was the type of hero who’d wander out of League headquarters in full costume, trailed by a crowd of paparazzi and fans, just to grab a sandwich from the deli down the block (and no, cyborgs don’t need to eat, which is how Aleph knew he was doing it for attention). He was always the first to rush over to the reporters who’d arrive on scene in the wake of a metahuman incident, and as a result he’d become a bit of a de-facto spokesman for their region, a fact that endlessly annoyed Aleph.

79 seemingly spent just as much time on camera as he did fighting crime: he accepted brand deals, gave interviews on talk shows, made guest appearances on serial crime dramas. The tabloids loved him, and he loved them back–most of the league suspected he’d been leaking inside gossip for years. Not that anyone could do anything about it, though–as a member of the Mendeleev knights, Exuvia 79 had guaranteed job security. Even if he was (Aleph thought, somewhat pettily) one of their weakest members.

Aleph had no respect for the man, and had not bothered to disguise that fact in the many times they’d been forced to work together in the past. Thus, a simmering animosity had brewed between the two over the years. Aleph tried to keep things professional, but 79 made it hard.

“…Please stop talking,” Aleph said, after he finally gave up trying to think of anything nicer to say.

“Whaaaaat? Why?” 79 twisted so that he was lying down while suspended in mid-air, his hands behind his head. “Is my charm too distracting?” He narrowed his eyes. “After all these years as coworkers, you really should be used to it.”

Aleph thought as he ran. As annoying as 79’s needling was, the cyborg’s abilities might be able to help in this situation. “Does the perp have any metal on him?” he asked.

79 fell silent for a moment, concentrating. “I can sense a bit of silver and nickel–maybe an earring or necklace. There’s gold in his phone, but it’s trace amounts. Nothing I can use.”

Shit. “Could you, I dunno, restrain him with your weird tentacles or something?”

“Sure, if we get close. Got a limited telekinetic range on the metal that’s part of my body, and I didn’t bring any bullion.”

Aleph thought about how 79 had descended from the ceiling on ropes of gold, and had an idea. “Could you circle around and cut off his escape route? That way, we could trap him between us.”

“Roger,” 79 said. Gold filaments shot from his body up to the roof, yanking his body skyward. Out of the corner of his eye, Aleph could see 79 cutting across the length of the warehouse, swinging from the roof in the direction of the fugitive’s footsteps. Perfect.

Meanwhile, Aleph continued the chase on foot. This boy was fast–he must run track or something. Aleph was gaining on him, but the progress was slow. “Stop,” he yelled, rounding a corner just to see a flash of the boy’s huge shirt disappearing ahead of him. “You’re resisting arrest. Come quietly and the consequences won’t be as severe.”

“I didn’t do anything!” the runaway villain screamed. It was the first time Aleph had heard his voice, and it bothered the hero how scared he sounded.

They continued their chase through the aisles of shipping crates and into a long corridor of dense scaffolding and broken down conveyor belts. Aleph was steadily gaining on him, and was nearly close enough to tackle him when 79 dropped from the ceiling in front of them, turning into a puddle of molten gold when landing to absorb the impact before bouncing back into humanoid shape. Caught off guard, the boy stumbled back, right into Aleph’s hands. He was trapped.

“Gotcha,” 79 winked, and a thousand lines of gold shot from his body, ready to coil around and restrain the boy–

But then the wires froze in mid-air, hovering mere inches away from their target.

79 stood, confused. “Why can’t I…” the cyborg murmured, so quietly Aleph could only hear it with his enhanced senses.

Why is he hesitating? Aleph thought. Shifting his weight, he prepared to grab the kid by the wrist and force him to the ground–

[But for some reason, Aleph couldn’t do it. Instead, he let go of Isaac and took a step back.]

Aleph blinked, disoriented. What was that? It felt like a weird filter had descended over reality for a moment. Like…his thoughts weren’t his own. And now, his feet were rooted solidly to the ground.

Uh oh.

If this villain was strong enough to control two metahumans at once, having only just discovered his powers–that was bad.

Really bad.

“Listen,” Aleph said, putting his hands up and switching to a more conciliatory tone. Maybe he could talk his way out of this. “We’re not here to hurt you. I know power screening can be scary–I understand if running away was a spur-of-the-moment decision. If you choose to come back to the League with us now, we can pretend this whole thing never even happened.”

Isaac looked back and forth between the two frozen supers. “I can control you guys?” he said, the fear in his voice evolving into curiosity. “It was easy to control the screening officers and the other people in line, but…they weren’t supers. I didn’t think this would work on you two.”

Aleph didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to confirm what the boy had said, but his inability to move spoke for itself. “Isaac. Without registration and training, you’re a danger to yourself and others. If you would just come with us–”

“Wait a second. You’re Aleph, aren’t you?” Isaac interrupted. He turned around. “And you’re Exuvia 79, right?”

“In the flesh,” 79 said, grinning. “Well… in the metal, at least.” He flexed a gleaming bicep. “What, you want an autograph?”

Aleph rolled his eyes. Attention whore.

Isaac broke into a giddy smile. “Oh my god. It is you two. I can’t believe it.” He giggled nervously, his hands against his cheeks. “I ship you two like, so hard. And now you’re hunting me down together. Oh my god. This is amazing.”

Aleph frowned. “You… what, us?”

“I ship you! Lots of people do. It just means we’re rooting for you to be in a relationship.” Confidence growing, Isaac pulled out his phone. “Here, let me show you.”

Aleph felt like he’d swallowed a prickly burr. “Excuse me, are you saying people think I’m… with him…”

79 started laughing hysterically. His golden threads quivered around him, in telekinetic amusement. “Oh my god, Aly. You should see your face. You look like you swallowed a lemon.”

“Uh, it’s not that we think you are together! Just, that we think you’d make a good couple. Here, look.” Isaac pulled something up on his phone, then held it up for Aleph to see as he scrolled through a feed of images.

Images of him and 79.

Most were illustrations, the quality of which ranged from amateurish to commendable, but Aleph’s curly brown hair and signature black leather outfit made him recognizable regardless of the artist’s skill. Similarly, 79’s dreads and gold power armor were unmistakable. The drawings had them acting completely out of character, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes or embracing each other with furious passion. Occasionally collages of photos taken from their actual battles appeared–shots taken out of context or at odd angles that made it seem like Aleph and 79 were closer than they actually were. These were often accompanied by glittery stickers and text proclaiming them to be the artist’s “OTP”.

Revolted, Aleph flinched backwards and stumbled, forgetting his feet were glued to the floor by Isaac’s suggestion. “Those– that is completely inaccurate and inappropriate. I do not consent to…slanderous images like that being distributed.” He balled his fists and strained his frozen legs uselessly. Forget coming quietly–Aleph wanted to punch this kid in the throat. “How many people are part of this “shipping” community? Why in the world would they think I have… have intimate feelings about this freak?”

Aleph knew these sorts of communities built up around fictional characters. But did people actually have the gall to make such presumptions like this about real, living people? People with lives and jobs and dignities to protect?

79 was still cackling in the background as Isaac lowered his phone. “Uh, I think it’s the rivalry? Like, you’re both with the League, but you’ve gone on record saying you hate each other. And yet, you still work together frequently. Plus you’re both total hotties. So it’s just natural people would think you’d be hot as a couple.” Aleph opened his mouth to object, but Isaac prattled on. “I write a lot of RPF of you two–uh, sorry, ‘Real Person Fiction.’ My most popular story got over 5,000 likes.”

Aleph considered whether it was worth sending out 5,000 cease and desist letters. The League’s legal team might do it pro-bono, if he convinced them it was damaging their image…

Focus, he chided himself. This situation is serious. I need to figure out a way to break his control…

79’s laughter finally died down, ending with a long, high sigh. “As if I’d ever fuck a killjoy like him,” he said, nonchalantly.

At that, Aleph exploded. “It’s called taking my job seriously, you moron! Maybe you should try it sometime!”

“I do my job,” 79 said. His face looked bored, but Aleph could sense the venom beneath his words. He’d seen it too many times before–when the quippy, charismatic facade falls and reveals what a nasty, vindictive person he was behind it. “You can’t argue with my record. You, on the other hand… you’re a C-tier hero who struggles to beat even a rookie mind-type. What is it you can do, again? Go fast for a little bit? Lift things slightly heavier than average? Smell a fart from the next room?” 79 scoffed. “Don’t fucking compare yourself to me.”

As they fought, Isaac glanced back and forth between them. A devilish grin grew on his face. Aleph noticed it first.

“Isaac–” he began, in the most threatening tone he could conjure.

But before he could finish, reality bent and snapped like a piece of dry spaghetti.

[“Shit,” 79 said, kicking a stray piece of rebar with his foot. A dull clanging sound echoed as metal struck metal. “We lost him.”

79 was standing closer than Aleph remembered. He was so close Aleph could reach out and run his hand along the dark, flawless skin of his cheek if he wanted to. Instead, he clenched his fists. “This is all your fault,” he seethed. “If you hadn’t blown my cover with your grand fucking entrance, he never would have gotten away.”

“Oh yeah? Well, why’d you call for backup, then, if you had it all under control?”

“It’s protocol when facing mind-types!”

“Protocol, shmotocol.” 79 leaned in close, their faces inches apart. “Being a real hero is about results. Maybe if you weren’t so busy following the rules, you’d actually accomplish something.”

Aleph threw the first punch. Caught by surprise, 79 stumbled backwards. Aleph followed it with two quick strikes to the solar plexus and a kick to the chest so forceful it threw 79 across the length of the warehouse. He crashed into the side of a shipping container, leaving a crumpled crater in its hull.

“Oh, it’s on,” 79 hissed, clambering out of the impacted metal. Gold appendages erupted from his body and catapulted him towards Aleph, only for the other hero to disappear milliseconds before their bodies collided. Lightning-fast, Aleph materialized behind 79 and put him in a chokehold, only for the cyborg to turn into molten gold and ooze out of his grip.

“I don’t need to breathe, moron,” 79 said, resolidifying. Gelatinous metal tendrils shot from his palms towards Aleph, but grasped only air as the other hero dodged forward with impossible speed. Continuing his momentum, Aleph tackled 79, and the two heroes fell to the floor, with Aleph holding 79 down.

“You know I can just goo out of this, right?” 79 teased, his hands pinned in place on either side of his head. “Face it, you’ll never beat me.”

Frustration and anger and confusion bubbled up inside Aleph, alongside other feelings. Feelings he’d been denying for years. Why, why did it have to be 79 that made him feel this way? “Shut up, idiot.”

“Make me.”

Aleph couldn’t take it anymore. “Fine,” he spat, and pressed his lips against 79’s.

The other hero stilled, then returned the kiss, with a violence and fervor Aleph was all too familiar with.

They kissed like they fought, bodily and angrily, tongues battling for dominance. Years of pent up sexual tension were being released all at once, and the result was an explosion of passion, a roaring blaze of mutual desire. 79 bit Aleph’s lip, hard enough to draw blood, then shoved Aleph off him, rolling so that he was on top. Aleph growled and grabbed 79’s hair, the coarse locs weaving between his fingers as he pulled the other man closer. Never before had he been so aware of his own breath–his partner needed no oxygen, and didn’t think to allow Aleph time to breathe.

Aleph gasped, and they broke apart. They looked into each other’s eyes, as if realizing what they were doing for the first time. “You, too?” 79 asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” Aleph answered, panting.

“How long?”

“I don’t know. Since we met?”

79 surged forward again, this time tender, aggression melting into lust. His armor retracted like insect legs, folding and disappearing into his cybernetic spine, leaving him wearing nothing but a pair of spandex briefs, which he ripped off like they were paper. His skin gleamed in the dark, black with gold undertones and smooth as polished stone.

Aleph shrugged off his leather jacket, pulled his T-shirt over his head, and kicked off his shoes. Impatient, 79 cut away the rest of his clothes with a few precise slashes of razor-sharp gold filament. Then they were back in each other’s arms, skin against synthetic skin.

Ribbons of gold unfurled from 79’s back and coiled around Aleph’s stiffening cock, applying a light suction. The metal was molten, but only slightly warm to the touch, and almost gelatinous in consistency. It felt strange but good. Like putting his dick in jello.

Not wanting to be outdone, he slid his hand down 79’s torso and wrapped his fingers around the other man’s hardness. He moved his hand up and down, in time with liquid metal undulating against his own skin, and 79 let out a soft rumble of satisfaction.

“Ah, shit, that’s good…” 79 murmured, between kisses. He bit Aleph’s lip again, and the other man hissed in discomfort.

“Watch your teeth, dumbass.”

“I am.” 79 bit his jaw this time, and Aleph let out a very undignified sound, his toes curling in pain and pleasure. “See? I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Bastard,” Aleph murmured, but he bared his throat for more marks. 79 accepted his offering, leaving bruises like petals down his neck.

Aleph moved his hand faster, and he enjoyed the hitch that caused in 79. He was rewarded with a similar increase in tempo from the molten gold that pumped his cock. God, that felt good. Fuck. Why hadn’t they done this ages ago?

Their banter faded as pleasure overtook them. For a moment, all that existed was each other: brown eyes reflected in yellow and back again, like an endless hall of mirrors. Breathless gasps against airy moans. Two perfect bodies intertwined, bringing each other mutual ecstasy.

They came at the same time, scattering pearls across 79’s dark skin and coating Aleph’s hand in gold.]

Aleph’s head was throbbing as he came to. His training kicked in, demanding he immediately assess the situation.

Hard concrete beneath bare skin. The smell of dust and saltwater. Something warm against his back. A sticky fluid on his hand and torso.

The memories leading up to this moment trickled in one at a time. Cornering the fugitive, being unable to move, the earth tilting as reality shattered around him and 79…

Aleph sat bolt upright, prompting an angry groan from the warm thing he’s been laying against. It was 79, of course.

Oh my god. Oh my god. What did we just do?

Aleph raised his hand, which was coated in what he could have mistaken for metallic gold paint. He watched it run down his arm with detached fascination, then shuddered. He kicked 79’s sleeping form. “Wake up!” he hissed, then kicked again.

“Ism.. fimuhmins…” 79 muttered, swatting Aleph away.

“Wake.” Kick. “Up.” Kick.

79 sat up and peeled open his eyes. “Whassitime?” he said, blinking hazily. “Wheresm’larm?”

Then, his eyes focused on Aleph. “…Oh, fuck. That wasn’t a dream?”

In lieu of answering, Aleph just kicked him again.

“Ok! Ok. I’m up.” 79 rubbed his eyes and clambered to his feet.

The two men grimly surveyed their surroundings. “…Shit.” Aleph muttered, running his hands through his hair. “Shit, shit, shit. We just– we–”

Aleph cradled his head in his hands. Scenes kept playing out behind his eyes. The tingling pleasure of liquid metal surging on his skin. 79’s cock in his hands. How right it all felt, how sure of his feelings he’d been…

What was all that? And what were those things I was thinking and saying? Aleph replayed the scene in his mind. None of that was true. Before all this, I felt nothing but disdain for this man. But now…

Aleph raised his head and looked at 79. The other hero just stood there, with his smug [gorgeous] face and stupid [muscular] abs and disgusting[ly perfect] cock.

Fuck.

Confusion and hatred and desire twisted together inside Aleph and tied him in knots. He pushed those feelings down in favor of despair.

Things are never going to go back to normal after this.

A strong hand clapped Aleph’s shoulder, startling him out of his panicked reverie. “Hey. Snap out of it. We didn’t do that. None of this was our fault.”

Aleph looked up at 79 and eyed him warily. This wasn’t exactly the reaction he was expecting from the cyborg. He’d assumed 79, being the general turd that he was, would make a spectacle out of his own disgust over the situation, mortifying Aleph even more than he already was. This was… an unexpectedly serious and thoughtful reaction.

Aleph forced himself to shrug the other man off, and was perturbed by the sense of loss he felt when 79’s touch left him. An alien feeling of yearning. Shove it down, shove it down. “What…what do we do now?”

“We follow protocol. Your favorite.” 79’s mouth twitched into a grim smile. He was trying to be sarcastic, to inject some familiar animosity back into their dynamic, but it felt hollow. “We head back to the league, fill out an incident report, and request other heroes be assigned to this case.” His smile faltered. “We don’t need to mention the sex, but we clearly shouldn’t be the ones going after Isaac, since he’s apparently got some…weird obsession with us.” 79 put his hands on his hips and sighed. “Man. This is not how I envisioned getting my first arch nemesis.”

For the first time ever, Aleph found himself laughing at one of 79’s quips.